“Sure.” Kane leaned into her and rested one arm over her shoulder. “Although I love the tune your teeth are playing, I wouldn’t want you to get frostbite.”
“Well, aren’t you two a picture of domestic bliss?” Emily looked over one shoulder at them and narrowed her gaze. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Jenna waved her away with a smile. “When there is, you’ll be the first to know.”
Six
Alone in a sea of faces, I’m one of many but I’m special. I blend in so well. You see, I’ve always been above the crowd in everything I do. I’m perfect. I know how to act, to use my charm, and make people believe the image I portray. It’s like acting a part and I’m so used to doing it now, it comes naturally. People call me friend, but I have none. I use people for my own endgame and they’re so deliciously vulnerable to an ego stroke that I could ask them to slit their own throats and they’d do so.
It’s amusing when people believe they have power over me, but it’s the opposite. Why can’t they understand I always win in the end? You see, it only takes a few seconds to silence them forever. I’m smiling now and attracting the attention of people around me. Their curiosity draws them to me like a magnet and I smile back as if I’m their friend. I’m not. Each of them is a potential clog in the drainpipe of my life, but I acknowledge them becaus
e that’s what people are expected to do. It’s all part of the charade, the deception, because I know inside they’re just as empty as me.
It’s just as well no one can read my thoughts. Can you imagine if they could? Would they run screaming or nod and say, “I’m just like you”? Most people are like me because I’m not responsible for the six hundred thousand people who go missing each year in the US. Trust me, there are many of us out there watching and waiting for the opportunity to indulge our passion.
The audience falls silent as another author climbs onto the stage to read the first chapter in a thrilling crime. I watch the audience’s eager faces as the author describes a bloody murder. How many here live for that rush? I look at my hands and see warm, sticky blood running over my flesh. I inhale, craving the addictive metallic smell of the crimson delight. I’m trembling and it’s not because of the cold. It’s becoming more difficult to control the craving when I sit among them—but I must.
Learning to be compliant is crucial to success—no tears came when my mom beat that simple truth into me. Don’t tell or they’ll lock you away, being her mantra. I’d stand in the choir every Sunday dressed in my white smock and sing to the heavens. Each day, I’d pray for someone to take me away from the pain and suffering. Nobody came and then I heard the priest say, “God helps those who help themselves.” I waited, allowing my strength to grow and my mind to accept the words given to me in answer to my prayers. But it was against all I’d been taught: thou shall not kill. But at the time, I was far too young to determine it was Lucifer tugging at my ear. At first I believed I’d been chosen to stop them from hurting other children—and they would hurt them. I soon became a fallen angel, never to return to the holy sanctum. I committed the unforgivable sin and killed my mom. I can still see her startled expression as the life seeped from her. Although, knowing her last image was of me standing over her with a knife has never bothered me. At last, I was free. Others followed and I found I enjoyed it—craved it. It was my chosen path. My abusers are all dead now but the hunger remains and I’m forced to choose others. No one can stop me. You see, I know how to cover my tracks and slip through life unnoticed. For I’m no one of interest, just one in the crowd. I’m the person you meet in one second and forget the next.
My heart races at the contemplation of my next kill and sweat trickles between my shoulder blades but I must push the delicious thoughts from my mind and concentrate on the words spilling from the author’s mouth. I need to clap at the appropriate time, nod, and make nice comments. It’s cozy inside this room and the beads of sweat on my brow are like warm blood spatter and trigger a cascade of memories. The thrill ride of the previous night repeats in color so bright it distorts the truth. I can still hear the sound of her voice. Her pleas have become an amusing earwig, running round and round inside my head. I can see the surprised expression on her face and feel her hot breath on my cheek as I squeeze the life from her. It exhilarated me, but more so seeing her shocked expression when I allowed her to rise back to consciousness to discover I hadn’t finished with her yet. You see, I couldn’t allow her to miss the climax, the grand finale. I wanted her to look at me as I plunged the gold pen she valued so highly deep into her startled eye.
My only regret is that she died too fast.
Seven
The last thing Jenna expected was cooperation from Mr. Brightway after hearing about Wolfe’s encounter with him. However, when she explained a killer might be on the premises and the absolute need to know the names of everyone on site, for them to ensure no one else was missing, he printed up lists of both the guests and staff. To her surprise, Brightway offered to check on the staff and split the list with his secretary.
The conference was in full swing. Four halls, usually used for weddings and other functions, were in use. One held the group listening to author readings, one was divided into booths for authors to pitch ideas to agents and publishers, the third was for a book signing, where authors sat behind tables and their fans lined up to have their books autographed. The fourth held panels of various experts from all fields of the publishing industry holding question-and-answer sessions throughout the day. The atmosphere was alive, energetic, and happy. It seemed a shame to spoil it with bad news.
Luckily, the guests had been divided into groups as well, and only ticket holders were allowed to attend the various forums on offer. Jenna obtained lists of the people and where they should be at any particular time. While waiting for Rio to arrive, Jenna arranged for the road and transport blockade. She decided that Rowley would stay in town to handle the office. Although the wireless network was a little sketchy, they could use the landline and the satellite sleeves for their phones if they needed assistance from Special Agent Ty Carter and behavioral science expert Special Agent Jo Wells at the FBI field office in Snakeskin Gully.
As she organized her team, Mr. Brightway interrupted her with a cough. She looked up from her notes. “Do you have something for me?”
“I do.” Brightway straightened the front of his burgundy jacket. “My secretary has viewed the CCTV footage and no one left the parking lot overnight or this morning. The builders working on the chalets came by this morning but stopped working because of the blizzard forecast and have returned to town. They left last night before six and arrived this morning at eight.”
That sure made life easier, and Jenna sighed. “That’s good. I’d like you to make an announcement over the PA system. Say a guest has handed in an earring and it is available at the front desk.” She gave him a hard stare. “If someone comes forward, make an excuse to keep them there. Ask for a description of the earring. If it matches the one I gave you, tell them it’s in the safe and ask them to wait while you get it and then call me.” She leaned on the counter. “Remember this person could’ve murdered Dakota Storm, so play it cool.”
“Okay, I’ll repeat the message throughout the day.” Mr. Brightway’s mouth hardened into a straight line. It was obvious he didn’t like taking orders. “Is there anything else?”
Jenna nodded. “Yes, I’ll need to check on the whereabouts of your staff last night. I want a list of anyone on duty between the hours of midnight and two this morning. I want to speak to the person who cleared the footpath to Miss Storm’s chalet and Agnes. Do you have a suitable room we can use for interviews?”
“Not really. Apart from the rooms you’ve taken for your staff, we only have the executive suite. It has two sitting rooms.” Brightway raised his eyebrows. “There are a couple of chalets free.”
“We’ll need to be inside the lodge. The suite would work.” Jenna made a note to call the mayor to handle any fallout. “Can we make it suitable? Perhaps have a couple of desks set up, and chairs?” She gave him a long look. “My department won’t be paying for the suite as no one will be sleeping there. There won’t be any damage. We’ll reimburse you for cleaning, if necessary. I’ll speak to Mayor Petersham.”
“And your rooms?” Mr. Brightway’s lips quivered at the corners. “I expect to be reimbursed for those.”
Jenna nodded. “I’m sure we can come to a reasonable arrangement. I’m not here on vacation, Mr. Brightway. I’m trying to catch a killer.” She met his gaze. “Make that announcement and get onto the whereabouts of your staff. I’ll need to know who to remove from my list of suspects.”
“Who have you got on your list so far?” Mr. Brightway fiddled with a pile of flyers.
Jenna shrugged. “Everyone here.” She turned, glad to see Rio heading toward her with Wolfe and Emily.
“What’s the plan?” Wolfe fell into step beside her.
She headed to a quiet corner and turned to face them. “It’s going to be an arduous job. We’ll have to restrict the people to the convention rooms. Get them to come up one at a time, copy their ID with your phone, and ask them where they were last night and if anyone can verify their whereabouts between midnight and two.” She glanced at her notes. “Apart from the majority of featured authors, agents, and publishers I’ve listed, who have come here alone, most of the other people attending the conference have traveled in groups. Many are sharing rooms. Everyone, apart from two of the authors, have booked their rooms for the full two weeks.”
“That seems like a long time for a conference.” Emily frowned. “Most are over weekends or four days.”