Page 40 of Beautiful, Violent

I grow ice cold. “Evidence? What … what evidence?”

Rigger looks at me, lowering a menu card.

“A long red hair. Initial tests indicate it’s a synthetic, so maybe a wig.”

“A wig?” I repeat, in a whispered voice.

“That’s the theory.”

I grab a pair of leggings from the bed, reminding myself that I don’t need to worry. They can’t trace his death back to me. I left his car clean. Except for the goddamn wig hair. “Do the police have any leads?”

“Not any one specific lead. But they do have some hunches about who it could have been.” He clicks his tongue. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this. Officer Shuttee swore me to secrecy so please don’t repeat this, darling. Not even to Rigger.”

“I won’t.” I sit on the bed, stick my foot in the leg of my pants. “Who are their hunches?”

“They think it could be a former victim who escaped. A woman, if you can believe that.”

“A woman …?” Dizzy, I press my fingers to my forehead.

“That’s right. And the M.O., it’s the same for all the other men who’ve died since your mother was killed. This could be the work of a female serial killer.”

My mouth falls open as I process. I take a few shaky breaths, trying to calm my nerves as they attempt to unravel one by one.

“Wow. Well, it’s not like they weren’t, you know, really bad men. They had it coming.” My voice sounds disconnected, like my words are floating out of my mouth without my knowledge or consent. “And fingers crossed, this serial killer will find King and do the world a fucking favor.”

Daddy clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Language, Tove.”

Rigger leans against the table in my room, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches me.

“Sorry.”

“I’m sorry I even brought this up. You’re supposed to be on vacation, relaxing and enjoying a carefree, long weekend.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Having a carefree, long weekend seems like a distant dream at this point. “Let me know if you hear anything. Please.”

“I will. I love you, my kitten.”

“Love you too.”

I throw the phone behind me and fall back on the bed, leggings still around my ankles.

“What the hell was that all about?”

I relay my conversation to Rigger as I finish getting dressed. I feel guilty because Daddy swore me to secrecy but he has no idea the kind of relationship Rigger and I have.

“And you want to know what really gets my goat?” I grit out.

“What.” Rigger chuckles, despite the unfunniness about all this.

“I paid three grand for a human hair wig. Not some synthetic bullshit. I got gypped. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”

He’s quiet after I’m done, filling up the coffee pot and putting two packets in. And all I’m thinking is this isn’t something that doubly strong coffee can fix.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Making liquid drugs so we can be functional adults as we talk about goats being gotten.”

“I’m going out for breakfast. Remember? In fact, I need to hurry up and get out of here in case Ben shows and I’m not there.”

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