Page 16 of Killer Knows Best

“Gwen Alderson”—Nikki pulls up a second document—“also from Winston Grand. Majoring in sociology. No job on record, but she was probably helping support her family. Came from a single mom and had two younger siblings. No official employment, but according to some student forums, she was known to beresourcefulwhen it came to making ends meet.”

I grimace. “Resourceful. That’s code forin over her head.”

“Yeah,” Nikki says with her voice a little softer now. “It looks like both of them got mixed up in this because they thought itwas a way to get ahead. Fast cash, no strings attached—except in reality, it comes with all the wrong strings.”

Jack nods. “And a lifetime of nightmares and maybe chlamydia.”

He’s not wrong.

Buddy lets out a low whine from under the table as if even he can sense the grave desperation hanging in the air. I reach down and give his head a quick pat.

“They had potential,” I say just above a whisper. “They could have done anything else that night. But here they ended up at the morgue.”

Jack nods and his expression hardens. “They didn’t deserve this. Let’s make sure the person who did this gets what’s coming to them.”

“Right.” Nikki straightens up in her chair. “And speaking of getting what’s coming to them… I’m still working on that surveillance footage from the Grand Meadows Hotel.” She taps her keyboard and brings up the video feed.

Soon, we watch as a dark figure moves across the screen. They’re wearing a long coat with a ski mask—no mouth—just eerie slits for eyes. It’s impossible to tell their gender, but the skin peeking out from under the mask looks pale. Creepy as hell, but not much to go on.

“I’m going to piece this together,” she says, studying the image frame by frame. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“And I have a feeling time is not on our side.” Jack leans back in his chair with his arms crossed. “How the hell did someone dressed that way manage to slip past the public without anyone noticing.”

“Eh,” Nikki grunts. “Nobody sees anything anymore. Everyone is too busy staring at their phones. It really bodes well for serial killers these days.”

I shake my head. “Maybe they’re a ghost.”

Jack studies the screen. “We’re not dealing with a ghost. We’re dealing with a living, breathing monster.”

“Speaking of monsters.” I point to Jack’s phone and he cues up that screenshot of the number Rush gave us. I quickly give Nikki a rundown of how the meet and greet went with our newfound band manager.

“Kiki,” Nikki says, inputting the number and the name into the database and the screen goes dark before it lights up again with hopefully just the information we’re looking for.

“Did you crack it?” Jack asks, pinning his eyes to the screen.

Nikki twists in her chair, one hand still resting on Buddy’s head, the other hovering over her mouse. “Oh honey, you know I always crack it.” She flashes us a grin and then taps the keyboard again, with that phone number that we just got for Kiki lighting up the screen like a beacon. “Here it is, boys and girls… that number is not tied to some mystery woman named Kiki. It’s linked to a woman named Karen Holt. I bet Kiki is her stage name.”

“Please no more strip joints,” I lament just as Buddy gives a soft bark—most likely in protest—and the three of us laugh.

Thanks to the depravity of my last few cases, Buddy has been in his fair share of strip joints.

“He does like to be entertained,” Jack says, giving him a hearty scratch. “Let’s track down Karen and see what she can tell us.”

“If she’s some kind of madame, I doubt she’ll be offering up too much info to a couple of feds,” I say.

“We’ll go undercover,” Jack says, scrolling through his notes. “Nikki, why don’t you dig up all you can on our girl Karen while Fallon and I head to the library.”

“Why? Is it story time?” Nikki teases as she types Karen’s name into another database.

“It’s time to learn a little about Delaney from some of hercoworkers,” he says. “It saves us from having to run clearance with school administrators before we hit the campus.”

“I’m all for a trip to the library,” I say. “I might even pick up a spicy book or two.” I rise from my seat and head for the door with Buddy on my heels.

“Hey, you don’t need a spicy book,” Jack calls out. “That’s what you’ve got me for.”

“Remember”—Nikki calls after him—“she’s a privilege, not a right. And I’m buying tickets to the main event!”

Jack, Buddy, and I hop back into the truck and head for literary pastures.

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