Chapter 19

After work, Huck found Laurel sitting on the top of her makeshift conference table facing the three white boards. She was dressed in dark jeans and a white sweater, her auburn hair curling down her back. "You changed your clothes," he noted.

She looked over her shoulder. "Yeah. I spilled tea down my front. Sometimes I get clumsy when my mind becomes so busy."

He looked at the boards in front of her. "What's going on?"

She sighed. "You're no longer involved with this case." But she didn't make a move to turn any of the boards over.

"It doesn't mean I can't look." He crossed around and sat on the table next to her. Then he shifted back, lifted her up, and put her on the table between his legs, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him, and her spicy strawberry scent filled his senses.

He looked over her head at the drowning victims' case. She had placed pictures of the victims at the crime scenes at the top, with persons of interest at the bottom. That included the mayor, Pastor John, Tim Kohnex, Jason Abbott, Pastor Zeke, and him. "That's quite the picture you have of me."

She nodded, the top of her head bumping the bottom of his chin. "I know. I've included anyone who might be involved. The problem is, we don't know enough about your mom to know who would want her dead. I'm hoping Nester will have a more complete picture of her life tomorrow. He's working remotely from Seattle and is doing a good job so far—even though we haven't been able to find the mayor or his sons."

"We'll find them. To be honest, I'd like to know more about my mother," Huck admitted. "Everybody on that board has some sort of connection to Teri Bearing. I'm the only one who has a connection to Delta Rivers."

"That we know of," Laurel said. "The victims could be randomly chosen as well. For now, take a look at the two crime scenes, more specifically the ice."

He studied the pictures of the ice.

"In each case, something different was used to chip it away. See how the ice at Delta Rivers's scene is more . . . I don't know. What would you call it? Rougher and more chiseled. But the ice that was cut or chipped away at the second scene has smoother edges."

He nodded. "It's possible a spud bar was used in the ice by my mother's body."

"A spud bar?" Laurel asked. "I don't know what that is."

She sounded surprised. The woman was a walking encyclopedia, so he grinned, careful to hide his amusement from her. "A spud bar is a long heavy metal rod that has a chiseled end. It's used for chipping or breaking through thin ice. We have several around here. Most people do." He studied the cuts in the ice near Teri Bearing's body. "That looks more like somebody just smashed the ice, maybe with a hammer or some sort of smooth implement. Possibly a sledgehammer."

"Would a regular hammer do that?"

"Sure."

She placed her hand over his against her waist. "So we either have a killer who doesn't care how the ice is broken or . . ." She let the word hang.

"The thing is," Huck murmured, "there aren't a lot of defensive bruises on the victims. He subdued them pretty easily and could have cut or chipped a hole in the ice while also maintaining control. Do you have the toxicology results back?"

"Not yet," Laurel said. "You think they were drugged?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. The other option is that the killer prepared the sites before taking the victims there."

Laurel nodded. "In that case, the fact that he used two different implements surprises me. Serial killers like the ritual."

"Maybe the ice isn't important."

She was quiet for several moments. "So he doesn't care how the ice is broken. It's the manner of drowning them that matters—in the freezing cold water?"

Huck shrugged. "This is more your purview than mine, but maybe it just doesn't matter to him."

"That remains a possibility."

He looked at the list of suspects that she had kindly labeled "persons of interest," probably because his picture was there. "You think Jason Abbott would do this?"

"I don't think there's a limit to Jason Abbott's need to kill," she mused.

Huck studied the pictures of the crime scene, which included the bodies. "Would he change his MO like that?"

"Yes," Laurel said. "It's not unusual for a serial killer to change their MO for various reasons. They adapt to avoid detection, or their fantasies evolve."

"Huh," Huck said. "I didn't know that."

"Sure," she said, her voice quiet. "Ted Bundy initially lured female victims with charm, but later changed his approach to breaking into victims' homes. He evolved as he experimented with different ways to gain control."

Sometimes it shocked him, the knowledge that Laurel possessed. He had difficulty sleeping at night because of some of his cases. He couldn't imagine dealing with the images she'd witnessed in her young life.

She patted his hand. "There are several other serial killers who changed, so it's entirely possible that Jason Abbott is another one."

"I thought cutting off the hands was a big deal to him."

"It was and might still be," Laurel said, "but he's been locked up for months. There's something about the cold water and the drowning that I can see appealing to him, the absolute control over a victim while she sucks in frigid water and tries to breathe."

"In which case, my mother would be, what? Just an opportunistic killing?"

Laurel put her hands on Huck's thighs. "Yes. We have two women right now—both blondes, but that might be a coincidence. Maybe Delta was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Why would she be here at all?" Huck asked.

Laurel shrugged. "I don't know. I'm hoping Nester can figure that out. She flew in by herself from Santa Fe."

"Really?" Her palms were warm against his legs.

"Yes. I need to ask you—we keep calling her your mother. Do you want me to call her Delta or Ms. Rivers or Delta Rivers?"

He thought about it. "I know it bothers you when anybody refers to Pastor Caine as your father, but honestly, I don't really care." It surprised him that he meant it. He felt curiosity about Delta Rivers, and he would find the person who'd killed her. He owed her that much. She was who she was, and technically, she had been his mother. Even if he'd never met her. "Do you think Abbott would've needed to kill as soon as he had the chance?"

"I don't know," Laurel said. "He was locked up for a few months building fantasies in his head. Frankly, I'm surprised he stayed in this location. The smart move would've been to head to Seattle or any big city with a large homeless population where it would be easy to hide."

"The fact that he called you concerns me," Huck said. "I think he stayed here to deal with you and probably Abigail." Laurel's stomach audibly growled. Huck chuckled and lifted her up to stand. "I'm starving. Let's go eat."

"I have time for sustenance since we haven't found Saul Bearing yet."

Huck stood and slung an arm over her shoulders. "We have to get some protein in you. We can talk about whichever case you want."

She surprisingly let him take some of her weight. "How about we refrain from talking about cases tonight? Let's enjoy our dinner and engage in normal conversation."

"Huh," he said. He wasn't entirely sure either one of them knew how to do that.

* * *

Laurel followed the hostess, winding around tables toward a two-top by the window at Alberto's on the River with Huck's hand at her lower back. He felt like a solid and sure presence behind her, which she needed right now.

"Laurel?"

She stopped cold and turned to see Abigail sitting across from Special Agent Wayne Norrs. "Abigail, hello."

Huck stepped up beside her. "Hey, Norrs."

Agent Norrs placed his crystal glass on the table. "Hi, Huck. Sorry about the interview on Saturday. I didn't intend for it to go that long."

"Not a problem. You have to do your job," Huck said.

"I'm glad you stayed on the case, Laurel," Norrs said.

She noticed a small smile playing on Abigail's face. Obviously Norrs remained unaware of Laurel's pregnancy, or he would've insisted she recuse herself. Why hadn't Abigail told Norrs about the pregnancy? If she thought it was something to hold over Laurel's head, she was misinterpreting the situation entirely. Yet, it was none of the special agent's business, so Laurel felt no need to enlighten him, especially since she wanted to remain on the case and discover who had killed both Huck's mother and Teri Bearing. Nobody deserved to die like that.

"You must join us," Abigail said.

"Oh, no, thank you," Laurel murmured. "We just want a quiet night out."

Norrs snapped his fingers, and the waiter hurried over. "We have a big enough table. This is actually a four-top. Can we have the two chairs back?"

"Actually, we have things to discuss," Huck murmured, "but we appreciate the offer." His tone remained polite but firm.

Abigail's eyes flared. "Now, Huck, I know you're not a pococurante participant here, so please just have dinner with us."

Laurel tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Abigail often used her extensive vocabulary to stab at Huck, but from what Laurel could tell, he honestly could not care less. "You're right, Abigail. Huck is neither indifferent nor unconcerned," she said. "But we have matters to discuss."

"We're family," Abigail said, smiling widely. "Any matters the two of you might want to discuss are better served here at the table with us. You do understand me, correct?"

"I really don't," Laurel said, meaning it. What was Abigail talking about?

Huck pressed his palm against the small of her back again, as if providing comfort. "I think she's threatening you with blackmail, sweetheart."

Agent Norrs frowned and looked from Laurel to Abigail. "Excuse me?"

Abigail arranged her face in perfect lines of what Laurel interpreted to be shock. "I would never do such a thing. What are you talking about, Captain Rivers? I don't understand why you're being so intransigent."

Laurel shook her head. "He's not stubborn or uncompromising. And why would you blackmail me? I've done nothing wrong."

Agent Norrs looked from Abigail to Huck. "Yeah. What are you talking about?"

"Ask your girlfriend," Huck said shortly, before taking Laurel's hand. "Come on, we're seated over by the window."

He turned and started walking, leaving Laurel no choice but to follow him, which was good because nausea kept rising from her belly and she'd come close to throwing up all over Abigail and Norrs. The thought cheered her immensely, although then she'd probably have to explain why she'd vomited. Huck pulled out her chair, and she sat, looking outside at the darkness. Once he had settled himself, she leaned toward him. "Why do you think Abigail hasn't told Agent Norrs about the pregnancy?"

Huck shook his head. "I have no idea, but she seems to hold on to all information until she needs it."

"Like trying to blackmail us into sitting with them for dinner?"

Huck grasped his napkin, shook it out, and put it on his lap. "Exactly."

Laurel looked over at the other couple, who seemed to be enjoying their conversation. "I don't understand her at all."

"Me neither." Huck smiled as the waitress brought them waters and took their drink orders. Laurel requested a ginger ale. "Are you comfortable staying?" Huck asked. "We could order our food to go."

Laurel placed her napkin on her lap. "Absolutely not. We're not going to be driven away because of those two."

A bottle of wine was soon delivered to the table. Huck looked at the waitress. "We didn't order wine."

"Oh, no. This is from your sister." The young woman smiled at Laurel.

Huck's jaw clenched in that way it did when he was irritated. "Tell her thank you, but neither of us is drinking tonight. We both have to be up early to work."

"Are you sure?" The waitress faltered. "This is a 2005 Chateau Margaux."

"It sounds delicious," Huck said. "But again, we both have to work early." Disappointment darkened the young woman's face, and Huck smiled again. "But tell you what. Why don't you open it and pour it for them? They're just too frugal to order it for themselves. I insist."

"Really?" the waitress asked.

"Yeah. Open it first and then take it over and tell them thank you, but we want them to enjoy it."

Her eyes lit up. "How lovely." She took the wine away.

Laurel frowned. "Abigail knows that I won't drink wine right now."

"I'm well aware of that," Huck said. "That's why she sent the wine over."

Laurel played with her fork. "I don't understand why she plays such games."

"Because she's a nut job," Huck countered.

Laurel chuckled, feeling better than she had all day. "I don't think that's the clinical term, Captain, but I believe I agree." She looked at Abigail, who stared back, her face flushed and her chin down. Definitely angry.

Laurel turned back to face Huck. What would Abigail do now?