Her head turns to me. “Where are you going? Jace gave me strict instructions that you’re supposed to stay in bed.”
“Nature calls.” I hobble to the bathroom and close the door. I look like a Mack truck tried to run me over. After I use the facilities and wash my hands, I cup them under the faucet to get a drink. That’s not salty.
I still can’t believe Edmond was behind this. I’m dying to know what happened at the police station because there’s still one thing I don’t understand—his motive.
Is he deranged? Or is there another reason he stalked me? What did he stand to gain?
Because I didn’t get the impression he was infatuated with me. Isn’t that why weirdos stalk women? He was always polite, kind even. I never got stalker vibes from him.
Then again, I’ve never been stalked, so what do I know?
When I emerge, I grab my phone and join Susan on the couch. I check my messages, and there’s one from Jace.
Jace: Be back soon, babe. Gonna grab us some lunch. How are you feeling?
Me: Tired but hungry. Hurry back!
I’m ready to tell him how I really feel. I wanted to last night in the hospital, but my head was throbbing so hard, I thought I was going to throw up.
Setting my phone on my lap, I turn to face Susan. “Did Edmond ever give you strange vibes? I’m having a hard time adding up everything. Why would he stuff me in the trailer?”
It’s not like he could leave me there. He’d have to do something with me eventually.
I shiver at the thought. This could’ve been so much worse. But Jace found me. With a tornado sweeping through town a block away, he kept looking.
“Who knows why people go off their rockers?” she says as her knitting needles click click click.
“He didn’t seem the violent type.”
“Does anyone? Look at Ted Bundy. Women thought he was handsome, and he blended right in on campus. And he was a prolific killer.”
I wrap my arms around my knees. “Which one was he? I’ve never been into true crime. I spend too much time alone, and it creeps me out.”
She chuckles. “I love true crime. Ted Bundy was that serial killer in the seventies. He killed dozens of women across several states. He often pretended he had a broken arm or leg so some unsuspecting woman would help him.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Oh, did you ever seeThe Silence of the Lambs?”
“No.” That’s too much horror for my taste.
“In that movie, the serial killer—not Hannibal Lecter, but the other one, Buffalo Bill—he pretends to have a broken arm to get a girl to help him push a couch into the van, so he can kidnap her. That part was based on Ted Bundy.”
“Ugh, that’s sinister, but interesting, I suppose.”
She nods enthusiastically. “It really is. Whenever Frank’s on the road, that’s all I watch. It helps me stay on my toes when I’m by myself, you know?”
Not the approach I would take, but I understand wanting to be alert. “That makes sense.”
“The creepiest one was the Eyeball Killer, who took victims’ eyes as trophies.”
I really don’t need to know more about this. “You’re starting to freak me out.” Reaching behind me, I grab a blanket and pull it around my shoulders. Except it gets caught on my knee, and when I try to untangle myself, I accidentally knock over Susan’s craft bag.
Old candy, yarn, knitting needles, glue, scissors, pens, markers, and books of all sizes splay out across the carpet. It’s like a small clown car that squeezes in twenty people, but in this case, it’s crafting supplies and Werther’s Originals.
“I’m so sorry.” Groaning because my body aches, I force myself off the couch to help her pick up everything. The firstthing I grab is a book. It’s a true crime case history. This one has been well read. Pages are tabbed and highlighted. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were into serial killers,” I say slowly as I hand it to her.
She looks up at me from a foot away as she shoves it back into her bag. “The truth is so much more interesting than fiction, don’t you think? Plus, I need something to help me pass the time when Frank’s gone.”