It was not time for that yet, though. He couldn't afford to do that until the first step of his mission was complete. Until then, violence alone must rule him. Violence and cunning. That was all he had on his list for now.

  But he was planning. Frantically. He was stocking up, doing what he needed to do. He, and he alone, could stand against the apocalypse to come. And he was going to prevail.

  He wheeled his cart out to his car.

  Grimly, he unloaded the groceries into the trunk, running the list through his mind of what else he would need. His mind was already racing, already calculating what he needed to do next. Thinking ahead was a talent he had that had served him well.

  There was already a stockpile in his secret bunker and underground quarters. He'd chosen a place where he knew he could keep his assets secure, even if someone should pass close by. But that was unlikely.

  The survivalist had surveyed the area months ago when he first thought that he might need the space. He'd chosen the most remote place he could and then taken action, building something unique that he hoped would withstand the annihilation that was in all of their future.

  And now, he was glad he had.

  He had a secret place deep in the woods. A place that only he knew about. It was the only spot he felt safe leaving his precious assets. It was still a work in progress, but it would be strong, solid, and sealed when the worst happened.

  It was going to be his final stronghold, and he would stand to save the human race from extinction there.

  The survivalist smiled grimly, imagining what it would be like to be the one to claim the earth. To be the one to stand at the top with the ultimate power. To be the one to decide who would live and who would die.

  A shiver of excitement went through him.

  The parking lot was busy now, and he knew the inside of the store would be filled with the happy people of this town, buying last minute items. Eating meat pies and sweets and laughing.

  They were ignorant and unaware. He started his car and pulled away from the store, driving carefully.

  He was not ignorant. He was fully aware. His mission would be for the good of the human race, even though he knew it would be hard and brutal. It was his destiny.

  Thinking of the future, violence flaring in his mind, he drove.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  May felt her heart speed up as if they were on the verge of a breakthrough while sitting in the small lounge and speaking to this grieving parent. Mrs. Sandler might hold the key that would allow them to give a name and a face to this violent criminal.

  "Who do Giselle and Chloe have in common?" she asked.

  "I really don't know if this is going to be helpful," Mrs. Sandler said, and May could see she was now feeling hesitant and doubtful. This was understandable. It was a big step for someone in a small community to point a finger at someone else and, basically, send the police their way to question them about a murder.

  Especially seeing the parents had thought until now that this was a jewelry robbery gone wrong, it must be difficult for Mrs. Sandler to think otherwise. And to actually acknowledge that someone her daughter knew might have killed her.

  May reached out, gently touching the distressed mother's hand.

  "I am so sorry for what you're going through. But I need you to help me," she said. "It's okay to give a name. Remember, it doesn't automatically mean this person is guilty. It simply gives us a new direction to go in our questioning."

  Owen cleared his throat and May saw, gratefully, that he was going to help reassure her.

  "It's sometimes friends or associates of individuals that do such a thing," he explained. "Sometimes, all that a name will do is help us follow the links until we reach the right person. You’re not doing anything wrong. Whoever you’re thinking of might be glad to speak to us if they’ve been feeling the need to say something."

  Still, May could see that Mrs. Sandler was battling, feeling overwhelmed by the shocking turn this situation had taken.

  And then she glanced at a photo of Giselle on the mantelpiece. Looking at the smiling, dark-haired portrait seemed to give her the courage she needed.

  "Giselle was a good shooter at school. She was champion in her final year," the mother explained. "And because of that, my older brother suggested that she should try hunting and see if she liked it. So, she did. She got herself some gear, and found a group who did it, and she went out in the woods a few times."

  "Go on?" May said, feeling curious about where this was going to lead. A champion shooter. Was this related to why she’d been taken?

  "She tried it, but she didn't really like hunting. She enjoyed her comforts too much. She said hunting meant being out for long hours in the cold, mud, and rain and that she preferred shooting at a target and ended up feeling sorry for the animals."

  "Understandable," May sympathized. She knew that even the best hunters had a huge affinity and respect for the prey they tracked.

  "Then she found out about some local shooting events where there were targets and prizes for accuracy and grouping, and she thought that sounded more fun. So, she started doing that, and she’d done quite well. She’s been in the medals and was hoping to be on the county target shooting team next year," Mrs. Sandler explained. "But it was as a result of the hunting that she got to know a man called Maurice Fardy. He lives far out in the woods. He has an RV, and he is part of a small community. They're big-time hunters, obviously, and Giselle got to know him a year or two ago when she started doing it. They became friends and stayed friends even after she quit hunting. And it was never really a friendship I approved of." She sighed.

  "Why is that?" May asked, wondering if the mother would be ready to give details.

  "Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this because I don’t want to slander him, but I was pretty sure that he was a serious pot smoker. You could tell, at a glance. And I didn't know what else that little community got up to, but it didn't feel savory to me. But then again, what could I do? I couldn't ban Giselle from going there or try to control her. I couldn't come across as . . . as a prudish, overbearing parent. I have always wanted to avoid that."

  She sighed, staring again at the photo as if she was drawing strength from it.

  "What did you do?" Owen asked her.

  "Well, I just told her that I was a little worried about the friendship they had, and that she should be careful. I said she must just be . . . be cautious, as I wasn't sure what went on there."

  "And did she listen? How did she react when you warned her?"

  "She didn't blow up about it or get mad at me. But she did tell me that she would use her judgment and that he was basically a harmless guy who was fun and entertaining to be around. Which he was, definitely. And I also thought he was harmless—as in, I didn’t think he was violent. But the problem is, I know how people can change when they’re high and drunk."

  She frowned as if now worrying that she'd been wrong, and that she should have told the police earlier. May could see that self-blame was about to descend and that she'd now be mad at herself for not having spoken about her suspicions.

  "Did she see him often?"

  "No. But she said that they were friends, and that from time to time she was going to go around there, and I must just deal with it. And she promised she wouldn't smoke pot. I don't know if I believed her, but I thought, at that age, she would experiment regardless of what I say. So, I just said that was very wise."

  "Did you get the feeling he might have been dealing drugs?" May asked, wondering if Maurice was already showing criminal tendencies.

  "I wondered about that. I was worried about it, actually. Because I didn't know how the people in that RV community earned a living, including him. But I didn't know for sure."

  "What about Giselle? Was she worried about him?"

  May was wondering if Giselle had ever suspected he might be the kind of person to break into her cottage, grab some items of jewelry, hit her on the head, and drag her away.

  Was he, in fact, that person?

  "No," Mrs. Sandler shook her head. "She liked him and always wanted to defend him. She said he was a laugh to be around and that he was a good friend. I didn’t see him that way at all. I thought of him as someone who might easily resort to violence."

  “Why was that?”

  “Just in the way he talked. The things he said. The words he used. It was definitely an instinct I had. I would have been more worried if Giselle had gotten romantically involved with him, but she swore to me that he was just a friend, and she enjoyed hanging out with him. I believed her but never knew if he felt the same. Perhaps he wanted more.”

  "And the link with Chloe?" May asked.

  "Well, that was the interesting thing," Mrs. Sandler remembered. "When I told her that Maurice was an unsavory character and she needed to be careful, she told me that I was wrong, and that he was also friends with Chloe. Apparently, he was helping her with some of her botany experiments. Chloe was passionate about growing superfoods that would work for slimming and nutrition. She was very focused on better health and how herbs could help. So, they were working together or collaborating on that somehow. That’s what she told me, anyway."

  May felt a flare of excitement. This was a definite link. Without a doubt, both women had recently been in Maurice's orbit. And the RV community sounded exactly like the kind of fringe setup that lived by its own rules and threw society's conventions out the window.

  She wondered if Maurice was looking to bring more people into the community. Was that what this was about? Was he violently capturing women in order to start some kind of a cult?

  Her mind raced as she considered the possible options. There sure were a few of them and May knew her next, urgent step was to go out to that community and see for herself what was happening there. She felt very glad that they had decided to revisit this mother. This was taking them further, for sure.

  She could see Owen was thinking the same thing. They now had a new and intriguing direction to go in. And even though it was now starting to get dark, they had to find Maurice immediately.

  "Do you know where Maurice lives?" she asked.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The gray evening was darkening into a dull night as May headed out with Owen, following the hand drawn map that Mrs. Sandler had provided. It led them down a muddy track into the woods. The track wound its way through the trees, seeming to go on for miles, deeper and deeper into the forest.

  She had no idea what they would find when they arrived. But she knew they needed to locate this RV community and Maurice Fardy as soon as they could.

  She felt, again, that the silence between herself and Owen was filled with unspoken issues. Perhaps now, on this drive, would be a good chance to air them. But yet again, May found herself battling to know where to start.

  How could she explain to him how complex and disturbing this issue with her sister's disappearance had become? And that now, there were more people involved, disappeared, presumed dead. She didn't know what all of this meant, or how big it was, or whether any answers would ever be possible.

  She was feeling deeply traumatized by this. She hadn't told anyone the latest updates apart from Kerry. Not her parents. Not Sheriff Jack, and not Owen. May had started visiting her parents for Sunday night dinners, often with Owen. It had become a regular calendar date when she wasn’t busy with a case. In fact, to her surprise, May found she was looking forward to family time and her mother’s excellent cooking.

  But she thought that all of them had realized the success of those dinners depended on keeping the conversation light and general. They had all made a real effort to do that. There was plenty to talk about without needing to touch on sensitive subjects. That included May flunking the FBI academy exams, and it also included any talk of Lauren’s disappearance. Her mother mentioned Lauren fondly from time to time but didn’t dwell on the sad parts.

  May was grateful that she’d been able to avoid the issues that triggered painful memories, or any feelings that she wasn’t good enough. It definitely made for better harmony in those dinners.

  But now, avoiding the issues was creating a tension between herself and her deputy that shouldn't have been there.

  In an effort to escape her troubled thoughts, May turned her mind back to the current case, telling herself sternly that that was where she should have been focusing all along.

  It was clear that they were en route to a very strong suspect.

  Maurice had known both Chloe and Giselle. The community itself was not far from where Chloe had been caught on camera, and it really was out in the middle of nowhere and seemed to run by its own rules. Drug use and drug dealing was a strong likelihood. Mrs. Sandler had definitely had an instinct about Maurice, that he was an unsavory person.

  She hadn't mentioned him at the time of Giselle's disappearance because they had thought the 'murder' was linked to the jewelry theft.

  Hoping to break the silence with some discussion, May thought aloud, causing Owen to jump slightly as she started speaking.

  "If the main reason was to take Giselle, then the jewelry could simply have been an added extra," she theorized as she wound the car carefully along the squishy, muddy track.

  "Surely no criminal is going to say no to some expensive items of jewelry if they're lying around," Owen agreed, sounding relieved to be discussing this case. "It's an easy thing to sell. But I was also thinking that Maurice could have taken it deliberately, to make it seem as if the main motive was robbery. Perhaps he also made sure to leave bloodstains on the bed, for the same reason.”

  "And that would lead the police in the wrong direction," May agreed.

  They were silent a while. Then Owen took a deep breath.

  "May, I—" he began.

  From the tone of his voice, she was absolutely sure that he was going to ask her what was going on and try to find out what was happening in her life. Immediately, her defenses sprang up. She didn't feel ready for this!

  And then, ahead, she saw a muted light.

  "That must be it," she said eagerly. "Look. We're nearly there."

  Owen let out his breath again, and she thought he looked disappointed as he stared forward, at what was undoubtedly the RV community.

  Now she could see more lights emerging. And, winding down her window, May could also hear the thump and boom of music. It seemed like there was a party on tonight. Or maybe every night was a party here. Maybe this was part of what had attracted Chloe and Giselle into Maurice's circles. Perhaps it was due to his lawless, bad boy charm.

  The community itself looked small, with about twelve battered looking caravans randomly dotted around a large clearing in the woods. Tents of various shapes and sizes were clustered among the trees.

  May climbed out of the car, breathing in the smell of cooking fires and another smell, one she recognized. The distinctive, acrid smell of pot. She narrowed her eyes.

  It seemed as if this drug, still illegal in Minnesota, was being freely used here, and May knew that said a lot. Also, it would have implications for them, because people who were using illegal drugs would shut down immediately if they knew the police were here. Guilty people, worried about being arrested for drug possession, would refuse to talk. That, she guessed was likely.

  She walked over to the nearest caravan, which long ago must have been painted in fairy pink and blue. Now, the colors were faded, just like the looks of the woman who sat on the doorstep of her caravan, with dull skin and bleached hair grown out at the roots and straggling over her shoulders.

  As she saw May and Owen approach, with a shuffle that was worthy of a stage magician, the item she'd been holding in her hand disappeared, and all that was left was the faint trace of smoke.

  "What do you want?" she said, looking at them with guilty, defensive, and slightly glazed eyes.

  May knew that in these pressured circumstances she would have to pick her battles. Now was not the time to ask what she’d been holding.

  "We're looking for Maurice Fardy," she said.

  To her surprise, the woman laughed. "Maurice? Why? Has he gotten into trouble?"

  "We need to ask him some questions," May said neutrally.

  The woman tossed her limp hair back. "I don't know. I'm not his keeper. If he's gotten into trouble, then you can find him."

  "Has he done that?" May said evenly. "Why don't you tell me what he's done?"

  She looked at May, eyeing her up and down. "I'm not telling you anything. I'm not getting involved."

  Getting involved? That prickled May's instincts.

  "Is there anyone here who is new to this community?" she asked the woman. "Have you seen Chloe Terry or Giselle Sandler here recently?"

  "Don't know who they are and never heard of the names," the woman said in a singsong, mocking tone that told May the words were an utter lie. "And I don't know where Maurice is."

  May glanced at Owen and saw that he was looking around the campsite. There were quite a few people there. Some were sitting around a central campfire and others were peering warily at them from out of their doors and windows.

  "Which RV is his?" May asked.

  The woman shrugged. May was about to ask her one more time when she gave a long, drawn-out yawn.

  "I'm tired," she said, with a wide, crazy smile. "I'm going to bed."

  With that, she got up and went into the caravan and closed the door behind her.

  May didn't feel like it was worth pursuing her. She had a strong sense that she was going to get no more sense from this woman, even if she hammered on the door and insisted that she come out again.

  She walked over to the next RV, where a bearded man tried hastily to get his head back inside the window. However, a lock of his curly hair got hooked on the latch, trapping him in place as May approached.

  Briefly, the memory of those locks of hair tied to the tree flitted into her mind again as she saw him struggling to free himself.

 

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