Part 26 (1/2)

”Yeah, it was a lark, all right. But there's one John O'Hara living there, so I called anyway and spoke to Cooper Millwood, the chief of police. Turns out they haven't had a murder in that town for seventeen years. But then he said it was funny that I called.”

”Funny?”

”Not the ha-ha kind,” said Hummel. ”Chief Millwood told me that he'd just spoken with his cousin, who's the sheriff over in Candle Lake, a nearby town. They haven't had a murder there for over twenty-one years. Just this morning, though? They got a report of a missing person.”

Sarah straightened up in her chair. ”You're kidding me.”

”What are the odds, right? Candle Lake resident John O'Hara hasn't been seen for over twenty-four hours.”

Hummel was right. Sarah was only pa.s.sing through. The first rule of catching a serial killer? Always go where the warmest body is.

Good-bye, Park City. h.e.l.lo, Candle Lake.

All courtesy of the second rule of catching a serial killer.

If at all possible, get lucky.

Chapter 40

GATE B20, TUCKED into the corner of the Delta terminal at Kennedy Airport, was stuffed to the gills with would-be tourists, all of them waiting-and waiting and waiting-to board their flight to Rome, which had been delayed at first for two hours and then again for an additional hour that Sunday afternoon.

Tempers were running a bit high.

Meanwhile, batteries were running low. No wonder every outlet at the free charging station in the corner was spaghetti-jammed with cords for a slew of phones and MP3 players.

Some kilowatt-slurping fool had even brought his own power strip to provide some additional outlets for five iPads, one for each member of his family.

Perhaps the only two pa.s.sengers not the least bit bothered by the delay were newlyweds Scott and Annabelle Pierce, who were camped out all lovey-dovey at one of the small tables in front of the Starbucks located a stone's throw from the gate.

The two caffeine junkies had actually first met at a Starbucks. It was the one on East 57th Street between Lexington and Park Avenues in Manhattan-not to be confused with the Starbucks diagonally across the street, on the north side.

Annabelle had picked up what she thought was her grande chai latte with double foam only to realize that she had mistakenly grabbed Scott's grande nonfat cappuccino, served extra hot.

”I'll try yours if you try mine,” Scott said.

Annabelle smiled, even blushed a little. ”Deal.”

It was love at first sip, and within minutes they had exchanged phone numbers. Almost two years later to the day, they exchanged wedding vows.

Now here they were, young and blissfully in love, about to start their honeymoon in Rome. Who cares if the flight's delayed? What's a few more hours?

”Let's look at them again!” gushed Annabelle, still glowing from the ceremony and reception, held at the New York Botanical Garden. ”Start from the beginning.”

They'd received a gazillion gifts, many of them ridiculously expensive, thanks to the friends of their well-to-do parents, but so far the very best gift of all had been a small digital camera. A used one, no less.