LITMIR.BIZ

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eyes still closed, Lucy could feel the killer’s methodical coldness.

      “He stopped the car where it wouldn’t be easy to see. Then he got a shovel out of his trunk.”

      Lucy felt stumped for a moment.

      It was night, so how would the killer find his way into the woods?

      It wouldn’t be easy to carry a flashlight, a shovel, and a corpse.

      “Was it a moonlit night?” Lucy asked.

      “It was,” Agent Paige said.

      Lucy felt encouraged.

      “He picked up the shovel with one hand and slung the body over his shoulder with the other. He trudged off into the woods. He kept going until he found a faraway place where he was sure nobody ever went.”

      “A faraway place?” Agent Paige asked, interrupting Lucy’s reverie.

      “Definitely,” Lucy said.

      “Open your eyes.”

      Lucy did so. Agent Paige was packing up her briefcase to go.

      She said, “Actually, the killer took the body to the woods right across the highway from the motel. He only carried Tilda’s body a few yards into the thicket. He could easily have seen car lights from the highway, and he probably used the light from a street lamp to bury Tilda. And he buried her carelessly, covering her more with rocks than earth. A passing bicyclist noticed the smell a few days later and called the cops. The body was easy to find.”

      Lucy’s mouth dropped open with surprise.

      “Why didn’t he go to more trouble to hide the murder?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

      Shutting her briefcase, Agent Paige frowned ruefully.

      “I don’t either,” she said. “Nobody does.”

      Agent Paige picked up her briefcase and left the lecture hall.

      As Lucy watched her leave, she detected an attitude of bitterness and disappointment in Agent Paige’s stride.

      Clearly, as detached as Agent Paige tried to seem, this cold case still was tormenting her.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Over dinner that evening, Riley Paige couldn’t get the “Matchbook Killer” out of her mind. She had used that cold case as an example for her class because she knew she’d be hearing about it again soon.

      Riley tried to concentrate on the delicious Guatemalan stew that Gabriela had prepared for them. Their live-in housekeeper and general helper was a wonderful cook. Riley hoped that Gabriela wouldn’t notice that she was having trouble enjoying dinner tonight. But of course, the girls did notice.

      “What’s the matter, Mom?” asked April, Riley’s fifteen-year-old daughter.

      “Is something wrong?” asked Jilly, the thirteen-year-old girl that Riley was hoping to adopt.

      From her seat on the other side of the table, Gabriela also gazed at Riley with concern.

      Riley didn’t know what to say. The truth was, she knew that she was going to get a fresh reminder of the Matchbook Killer tomorrow – a phone call that she got every year. There was no point in trying to put it out of her mind.

      But she didn’t like bringing her work home to the family. Sometimes, despite all her best efforts, she had even put her loved ones in terrible danger.

      “It’s nothing,” she said.

      The four of them ate quietly for a few moments.

      Finally April said, “It’s Dad, isn’t it? It bothers you that he’s not home again this evening.”

      The question took Riley a bit by surprise. Her husband’s recent absences from the household had been troubling her lately. She and Ryan had gone to a lot of effort to reconcile, even after a painful divorce. Now their progress seemed to be crumbling, and Ryan had been spending more and more time at his own house.

      But Ryan hadn’t been on her mind at all right now.

      What did that say about her?

      Was she getting numb to her failing relationship?

      Had she just given up?

      Her three dinner companions were still looking at her, waiting for her to say something.

      “It’s a case,” Riley said. “It always nags at me this time of year.”

      Jilly’s eyes widened with excitement.

      “Tell us about it!” she said.

      Riley wondered how much she should tell the kids. She didn’t want to describe the murder details to her family.

      “It’s a cold case,” she said. “A series of murders that neither the local police nor the FBI were able to solve. I’ve been trying to crack it for years.”

      Jilly was bouncing in her chair.

      “How are you going to solve it?”

      The question stung Riley a little.

      Of course, Jilly didn’t mean to be hurtful – quite the opposite. The younger girl was proud to have a law enforcement agent for a parent. And she still had the idea that Riley was some kind of superhero who couldn’t ever fail.

      Riley held back a sigh.

      Maybe it’s time to tell her that I don’t always catch the bad guys, she thought.

      But Riley just said, “I don’t know.”

      It was the simple, honest truth.

      But there was one thing Riley did know.

      The twenty-fifth anniversary of Tilda Steen’s death was coming up tomorrow, and she wouldn’t be able to get it out of her mind any time soon.

      To Riley’s relief, the conversation at the table turned to Gabriela’s delicious dinner. The stout Guatemalan woman and the girls all started speaking in Spanish, and Riley had trouble following all that was said.

      But that was OK. April and Jilly were both studying Spanish, and April was getting to be quite fluent. Jilly was still struggling with the language, but Gabriela and April were helping her to learn it.

      Riley smiled as she watched and listened.

      Jilly looks well, she thought.

      She was a dark-skinned, skinny girl – but hardly the desperate waif Riley had rescued from the streets of Phoenix a few months ago. She was hearty and healthy, and she seemed to be adjusting well to her new life with Riley and her family.

      And April was proving to be a perfect big sister. She was recovering well from the traumas she had been through.

      Sometimes when she looked at April, Riley felt that she was looking in a mirror – a mirror that showed her own teenage self from many years ago. April had Riley’s hazel eyes and dark hair, though none of Riley’s touches of gray.

      Riley felt a warm glow of reassurance.

      Maybe I’m doing a pretty good job as a parent, she thought.

      But the glow faded quickly.

      The mysterious Matchbook Killer was still lurking around the edges of her mind.

*

      After dinner, Riley went up to her bedroom and office. She sat down at her computer and took a few deep breaths, trying to relax. But the task that awaited her was somehow unnerving.

      It seemed ridiculous for her to feel this way. After all, she had hunted and fought dozens of dangerous killers over the years. Her own life had been threatened more times than she could count.

      Just talking to my sister shouldn’t get to me like this, she thought.

      But she hadn’t seen Wendy in … how many years had it been?

      Not since Riley had been a little girl, anyway. Wendy had gotten back in touch after their father had died. They had talked on

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