CHAPTER TWO

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 the phone, mulling over the possibility of getting together in person. But Wendy lived far away in Des Moines, Iowa, and they hadn’t been able to work out the details. So they’d finally agreed on this time for a video chat.

To prepare herself, Riley looked at a framed picture that was sitting on her desk. She had found it among her father’s belongings after his death. It showed Riley, Wendy, and their mother. Riley looked like she was about four, and Wendy must have been in her teens.

Both girls and their mother looked happy.

Riley couldn’t remember when or where the picture had been taken.

And she certainly couldn’t remember her family ever being happy.

Her hands cold and shaking, she typed Wendy’s video address on her keyboard.

The woman who appeared on the screen might as well have been a perfect stranger.

“Hi, Wendy,” Riley said shyly.

“Hi,” Wendy replied.

They sat staring at each other dumbly for a few awkward moments.

Riley knew that Wendy was about fifty, some ten years older than her. She seemed to wear her years pretty well. She was a bit heavyset and looked thoroughly conventional. Her hair didn’t appear to be graying like Riley’s. But Riley doubted that it was her natural color.

Riley glanced back and forth between the picture and Wendy’s face. She noticed that Wendy looked a little like their mother. Riley knew that she looked more like their father. She wasn’t especially proud of the resemblance.

“Well,” Wendy finally said to break the silence. “What have you been up to … during the last few decades?”

Riley and Wendy both laughed a little. Even their laughter felt strained and awkward.

Wendy asked, “Are you married?”

Riley sighed aloud. How could she explain what was going on between her and Ryan when she didn’t even know herself?

She said, “Well, as the kids say these days, ‘It’s complicated.’ And I do mean

really

complicated.”

There was a bit more nervous laughter.

“And you?” Riley asked.

Wendy seemed to be starting to relax a little.

“Loren and I are coming up on our twenty-fifth anniversary. We’re both pharmacists, and we own our own drugstore. Loren inherited it from his father. We’ve got three kids. The youngest, Barton, is away at college. Thora and Parish are both married and on their own. I guess that makes Loren and me your classic empty-nesters.”

Riley felt a strange pang of melancholy.

Wendy’s life had been nothing at all like hers. In fact, Wendy’s life had apparently been completely normal.

Just as she had with April over dinner, she again had the feeling of looking in the mirror.

Except this mirror wasn’t of her past.

It was of a future self—someone she once might have become, but now would never, ever be.

“What about you?” Wendy asked. “Any kids?”

Again, Riley felt tempted to say …

“It’s complicated.”

Instead, she said, “Two. I’ve got a fifteen-year-old, April. And I’m in the process of adopting another—Jilly, who’s thirteen.”

“Adoption! More people should do that. Good for you.”

Riley didn’t feel like she deserved to be congratulated at the moment. She might feel better if she could be sure that Jilly would grow up in a two-parent family. Right now, that issue was in doubt. But Riley decided not to go into all that with Wendy.

Instead, there was some business she needed to discuss with her sister.

And she was afraid it might be awkward.

“Wendy, you know that Daddy left me his cabin in his will,” she said.

Wendy nodded.

“I know,” she said. “You sent me some pictures. It looks like a nice place.”

The words were a bit jarring …

“… a nice place.”

Riley had been there a few times—most recently after her father died. But her memories of it were far from pleasant. Her father had bought it when he retired as a US Marine colonel. Riley remembered it as the home of a lonely, mean old man who hated just about everybody—and a man that just about everybody hated in return. The last time Riley had seen him alive, they had actually come to blows.

“I think it was a mistake,” she said.

“What was?”

“Leaving the cabin to me. It was wrong for him to do that. It should have gone to you.”

Wendy looked genuinely surprised.

“Why?” she asked.

Riley felt all kinds of ugly emotions welling up inside her. She cleared her throat.

“Because you were with him at the end, when he was in hospice. You took care of him. You even took care of everything afterwards—his funeral and all the legal stuff. I wasn’t there. I—”

She almost choked on her next words.

“I don’t think I could have done that. Things weren’t good between us.”

Wendy smiled sadly.

“Things weren’t good between him and me either.”

Riley knew it was true. Poor Wendy—Daddy had beaten her regularly until at last she ran away for good at the age of fifteen. And yet Wendy had shown the decency to take care of Daddy at the end.

Riley had done no such thing, and she couldn’t help feeling guilty about it.

Riley said, “I don’t know what the cabin is worth. It must be worth something. I want you to have it.”

Wendy’s eyes widened. She looked alarmed.

“No,” she said.

The bluntness of her reply startled Riley.

“Why not?” Riley asked.

“I just can’t. I don’t want it. I want to forget all about him.”

Riley knew just how she felt. She felt the same way.

Wendy added, “You should just sell it. Keep the money. I want you to.”

Riley didn’t know what to say.

Fortunately, Wendy changed the subject.

“Before he died, Dad told me you were a BAU agent. How long have you been doing that kind of work?”

“About twenty years,” Riley said.

“Well. I think Dad was proud of you.”

A bitter chuckle rose up in Riley’s throat.

“No, he wasn’t,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Oh, he let me know. He had his own way of communicating things like that.”

Wendy sighed.

“I suppose he did,” Wendy said.

An awkward silence fell. Riley wondered what they should talk about. After all, they’d barely spoken for many years. Should they try again to figure out how to get together in person? Riley couldn’t imagine traveling to Des Moines just to see this stranger named Wendy. And she was sure Wendy felt the same way about coming to Fredericksburg.

After all, what could they possibly have in common?

At that moment, Riley’s desk phone rang. She was grateful for the interruption.

“I’d better get that,” Riley said.

“I understand,” Wendy said. “Thanks for getting in touch.”

“Thank

you

,” Riley said.

They ended the call and Riley answered her phone. Riley said hello, then heard a confused-sounding woman’s voice.

“Hello … who’s speaking?”

“Who’s calling?” Riley asked.

A silence fell.

“Is … is Ryan at home?” the woman asked.

Her words sounded slurred now. Riley felt pretty sure the woman was drunk.

“No,” Riley said. She hesitated for a moment. After all, she told herself, it could be a client of Ryan’s. But she knew it wasn’t. The situation was all too familiar.

Riley said, “Don’t call this number again.”

She hung up.

She bristled with anger.

It’s starting all over again,

she thought.

She dialed up Ryan’s home phone number.