Among them was Bernie Firestone. As Kelsey walked over to join them, Firestone looked at her and took a long swig of his beer. “Any word from Chasson yet?”

“No.” She caught Tyler’s eye; he shook his head. There been no change at the Longhorn. Ricky was doing his best to keep things running smoothly, but the bar was busy that afternoon.

“Gawkers,” Bernie said.

“Yeah, you know how folks like to slow down at the scene of an accident,” Ricky agreed.

“Anyone seen Corey Simmons today?” Kelsey asked.

“Corey’s at the rodeo,” Ricky answered. “Bull riding.”

She nodded and glanced at her phone. She hadn’t heard back from Logan yet, but she didn’t want to bother him. She knew he was trying to ascertain the truth behind Bixby’s confession. Sean was working the computer angle, and Jane, Jackson and Jake Mallory were at the station, following phone leads. There was still a guard on Chasson’s house, but as yet, neither he nor Sandy had been found.

Restless and worried, Kelsey looked up the stairway to the gallery. “I’m going upstairs,” she told Ricky. “Can you see that I’m not disturbed?” she asked Tyler.

“Of course,” he said.

She walked up the stairs. The crime-scene tape had been removed from the stairway, but still covered the door to Room 207. She slid by it carefully.

No one had been in to repair any of the damage yet. There was plaster dust over everything and, now, a gaping hole in the wall. The body of Sierra Monte had, of course, been taken away.

Kelsey sat on the foot of the bed and said softly, “Are you here?”

But no one answered; no shadows appeared. She knew she needed patience, so she waited, but she’d disturbed the past yesterday, and even if it had been the right thing to do, she was now terribly afraid of the consequences.

She started when her phone rang and answered it quickly. Sean. “You found something?” she asked.

“Locals and regulars, people who work in the area and come in often. God knows, we may be barking up the wrong tree totally, but I spoke with a woman who was here one day and sat next to a man in costume. She’s the friendly sort. I guess she tried to talk to him, and she said he was rude to her—he didn’t want her to really see his face. He had a mustache and beard, but she was sure his hair was a wig. She also said there was something familiar about him. I’m trying to get her to remember what it might have been. When we were talking I suggested she might know him and that he was trying to hide his identity, and she agreed. Anyway, her name is Alice White, and I have her number. She couldn’t stay because she has small children and has to pick them up, but she’ll be happy to meet with you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sean!” Kelsey told him.

She waited again, staring at the wall. Today, her ghosts had failed her.

She didn’t know how long she’d been in the room when Logan quietly entered.

“You haven’t found Sandy or Chasson yet, right?” she asked.

“No, but I did talk with Sean, and he’s doing his best to trace anything he can on the computers, and Kat’s doing more tests. I know we’re close, Kelsey, and that we will find her.”

Kelsey nodded. “The woman at the internet café, Alice White, told Sean that she encountered a man who was heavily costumed, trying to hide himself, and very rude. She also said he seemed sort of familiar. He has to be someone fairly well-known. Like Jeff Chasson.”

Logan stretched out a hand to her.

“Where are we going?”

“My house. You have to eat. And sleep.”

“I can’t sleep. Sandy is out there.”

“And there’s going to be a whole city full of people looking for her. We brought Ted Murphy down to the station for questioning. He said he got all the information he had just by eavesdropping at the bar, but he did get a lot nicer. He’s put Sandy’s picture on their internet site and it’ll be in the morning paper. There’s nothing else you can do now, Kelsey. Come on. You’ll be worthless when Sandy does need you if don’t eat and get some sleep.”

She took his hand, and they left the Longhorn. Kelsey was starved by the time they put together a meal of tuna sandwiches, chips and salad, and when she’d downed two beers, she was also exhausted. She meant to lie down and rest a little, but in minutes, she was sound asleep. She kept seeing Jeff Chasson as she slept, saw him reaching out for Sandy as they stood in Room 207, talking about the blood and Sierra Monte.

In her dreams Chasson turned to her and smiled bitterly. “You,” he said. “You brought it all to life. You’ll pay a price.”

When she woke in the morning, she felt oddly refreshed—and furious. Logan was already up and in the kitchen; she showered, dressed and joined him there.

“It’s Chasson. I know it’s Chasson, and he has Sandy, and we’re going to track the bastard down before he can hurt her!”

Logan looked back at her. “Kelsey, they found Jeff Chasson last night.”

“He’s guilty, I know he’s guilty!”

“They found him dead, Kelsey. In his own neighborhood, beneath a massive pile of mulch at the end of the street. His throat was slit.”

Kelsey’s heart seemed to stop.

“And Sandy?” she whispered.

Chapter Sixteen

“There’s no sign of Sandy yet, but I’m sure she’s alive and well,” Logan said, trying to reassure Kelsey, which was probably ridiculous. The situation didn’t look good.

Kelsey sank into a chair at the dining room table.

“Listen,” Logan said, sitting across from her and taking her hands. “I’m going to talk to Jackson and get you taken off this case, because I know how much you must be suffering. That way—”

“No! No!” she said, standing and jerking her hands from his. “I am staying on this case, Logan. I know Sandy better than almost anyone. I know the Longhorn. I have to stay on this case. I need to talk to Alice White today. And we need to get Sean or Kat or someone researching files to figure out who’s had chemical or pharmaceutical training. We’re close on this—so close. And there’s a chance we’ll find Sandy alive,” she said urgently.

She was passionate, and he understood how she felt.

There was no way in hell they could’ve sent him home once Alana had been taken.

This was different, of course…and yet not so different.

“All right. I’m going to drop you at the internet café with Sean. Then I’ll stop by the morgue and see what Kat’s learned. I’ll check with the group at the station and find out how our research is going on the actors, construction workers, Ted Murphy, Bernie Firestone—and everyone who was then or is now at the Longhorn. They’ll pull up everything, even on Ricky and the maids. When you’ve finished your interview with Alice, keep working with Sean, read any emails he’s gotten. He can connect them with whatever correspondence he found in Cynthia Bixby’s computer, as well. He’ll need your help. And we’ll meet up later at the Longhorn.”

Kelsey nodded her agreement.

Logan noted that she appeared strong and determined as they drove, and he reminded himself again that she belonged in the fray as much as he did.

He also knew the kind of toll emotion could take on the human mind and body.

Sean greeted them at the front of the café. He’d apparently become friends with Shelby Horton, the manager; coffee was on Shelby.

Logan left the two of them to work and headed over to the morgue.

The body of Jeff Chasson was laid out on a table. He didn’t look real anymore, Logan thought, and then again, he looked too real. Kat had performed the Y incision, but she hadn’t gotten to the brain. Chasson’s face, void of the animation of life, was sunk into his neck. Logan experienced a moment of guilt for disliking the man so much and then knew he didn’t need to chastise himself—he would never have wished this on anyone, regardless of his own feelings.

“Cause of death?” Logan asked, although he’d already heard and it was obvious from the bright red necklace around the man’s throat.

“Extremely sharp knife, at the jugular.”

“Looks like someone was trying to take his head off,” Logan commented.

“This killer wasn’t trying to do that, but he did know that if you got the vein or artery, death would come quickly.”

“He wasn’t killed in his house,” Logan said. “There wasn’t a drop of blood.”

“No. Here’s what’s odd. He was killed on that mulch pile. There’s no sign of any struggle on his body, so he wasn’t forced there. The incision is left to right. He could have taken his own right hand and slit his throat. But also…” Kat stood behind him; she was tiny, but he knew exactly what she was demonstrating. “Someone directly behind him could have done this, and the blood spray—there was a spray—went straight ahead. Chasson would’ve gone weak almost instantly, and then crashed forward into the mulch. The killer covered him with it, but Chasson’s neighborhood is pretty swanky, and they have a neighborhood watch, so he was found. If there hadn’t been a ‘patrol’—two retired residents who get together and walk their dogs—Chasson could’ve lain there undiscovered for a month. That’s when the mulch company does a pick-up.”

“Do you have test results yet? Sounds like he was hit with the same cocktail the women were,” Logan said.

“I don’t have the results, but I do have something. Look here.”

Kat lifted Chasson’s head and held back his hair. There was a very faint circular impression near the hairline.

“What is it?” Logan asked.

“It looks like there was a transdermal patch here. I’ve taken a skin sample—you can see my biopsy mark—to assure us that this is indeed the method if it proves to be our fentanyl-roofie mix. You’ve seen nicotine patches for smokers trying to quit. And of course, fentanyl is given that way for extreme chronic pain.”