Page 60 of Sangre
As she walked toward the stand, she saw a police car pull in front of her house, and her heart sank. The last person she wanted to see or talk to was Deputy Jeffers. The guy was a creep and assumed an awful lot of untrue things about her. She’d noticed that he’d been driving by her house, stopping to buy lemonade and watching her.
“Let me know if you need me to make any more,” she said to the girls as she rushed up her driveway, hoping to avoid bumping into Jeffers.
“Ms. Rose?” a deep voice called out.
She turned around and saw Sheriff Wexler, and a sense of calm washed over her.
“I need to talk with you.”
The calmness was short-lived as dread crept through her. “Is everything all right?”
“Let’s go inside.”
Did something happen to Sangre? Wait… if that were true why the hell would the sheriff be telling you about it? He’d go to his parents. Benz? Oh no. Please let everyone be okay.She opened the door, and Wexler followed her inside.
Gesturing for him to sit on the couch, she sat on the edge of one of the cushy chairs. “What’s going on? Did something happen to one of my band members?”
A small smile whispered across his lips. “I’m not here about that. I wanted to talk to you about Sharla Davidson, Taylor Prentice, and Lizbeth Kelly.”
Her muscles twitched, and she brought her hand to the base of her throat, fiddling with the silver necklace she’d bought in a small, eclectic shop on Melrose Avenue in West Hollywood. “Aren’t those the women who were killed?”
“Yes. I understand they went to Jefferson High School.”
“Yeah. They were all in the same grade as me. We used to be in a lot of the plays and musicals together.”
“Do you know Carrie Nolan?”
“Let me see.” She tapped her lips with her finger, mulling the name over and over in her head.If I hadn’t killed some of my brain cells with coke, my head would be a lot clearer.She laughed dryly then looked up at him. “Sorta. Can you refresh my memory?”
“She was in your class too. My understanding is that she was in the school choir.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to remember her. Then again, I wasn’t in choir, and she might not have been in any of my classes. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t in any of the musicals or any of the other theater productions I was in.”
“Did anyone in particular have a problem with you or the other women because you were in the plays?”
She tilted her head back. “Just the usual petty jealousy that’s present in high school. Some of the girls were mad that I kept getting the leads in the musicals.” Lexi’s face popped into her mind. “I can’t believe that all these years later one of them would do this because we were in the school plays. I mean how sick wouldthatbe?”
“Believe me, I’ve seen all kinds of sickos, and what doesn’t make sense to the average adjusted person, makes perfect sense to them. Have you noticed anyone watching you? I know you have security. Some of your neighbors have called me about strange cars parked in front of your house all night and day. I checked it out and found you employed Precision Security.”
“I did. I’d been getting crazy fan mail from someone, and it was persistent. It creeped me out, and I did feel like someone was watching me. I haven’t received any more of the letters since the bodyguards came on board.” Icy fear weaved through her. “Do you think the wacko who killed those women is the same one who’s been sending me the fan letters?” Goosebumps broke out over her skin, and she trembled in spite of the heat.
“I’m investigating any leads. Right now it seems that the common denominator with all the murders is Jefferson High. I’m warning you to be very careful. Do you still have the fan mail?”
“Yes. I’ll get them.” She rose up and went to the small built-in desk in the kitchen. She opened the bottom drawer and took out a shoebox. “Do you want something to drink? Water, lemonade, or iced tea maybe?”
“Water would be great. Thanks.”
She came back into the living room and handed Wexler the shoebox and a cold bottle of water.
He flashed a quick smile at her, took a gulp of water, and then opened the box. “I’d like to keep these.”
“Go ahead. Hopefully you can get some DNA off of the envelope.” She was going to tell him about the incident a few days before when her car broke down, but she didn’t actually see anyone; shesensedsomeone was watching and following her. She got the idea the person meant to harm her, but the sheriff would probably think she was a loon, so she kept quiet.
“When did you start getting these letters?” he asked, flipping through them.
“About a three weeks ago. I received some similar ones when I was in LA, but I didn’t get them as much as I have here. When I first got here, I stayed inside most of the time except to go to the grocery store. I sometimes even called and had my groceries delivered to me. I was totally incognito, but I’d emerged from my cave when my bandmates came to Alina. The letters started around then. The information that I’d returned to my hometown was shared on Instagram, so I was no longer invisible.”
“Do your bandmates know about the letters?”
