“Did he work at the lumber mill?”
“Yes.”
“And did he kill the other little girl, too?”
“Whitney Jones? He’s denying it, of course. But I’m sure he’s the one.”
“What makes you think so?”
Jasmine shuddered as if the experience of meeting him had been harrowing. “He’s just…twisted. I could sense it from standing in the same room with him. And—” her chest rose as she drew a deep breath “—I’m convinced these two girls aren’t his only victims.”
“There’s more?”
“Maybe. The police are putting out the word, asking other departments to go through their records.”
Skye studied her friend for several seconds, concerned by the drawn look on her face. “I hope they’re grateful for your help, Jas. These kinds of cases always take so much out of you.”
“It’s not just the case, Skye,” she said. “Not this time. I mean, you’d have to be inhuman not to react to such a heart-wrenching situation. The families of these little girls…well, it brings back so many terrible memories. But…”
“What?” Skye prodded. Jasmine usually wasn’t so reticent.
“I had a frightening dream last night. I can’t tell if it really means anything, but I had to see you.”
“A dream?” Skye sometimes teased Jasmine about her psychic abilities, but she believed in them, even if she didn’t understand how it all worked. She knew Jasmine had given the police important clues—such as telling the Ft. Bragg police their perp worked at the lumber mill. She’s alive and in some sort of warehouse. There are a lot of loud noises and traffic, a wrecking yard nearby…. She’s buried by some train tracks next to a rice paddy…. He held her nose and mouth, then pushed her face in the dirt while he tied her hands behind her back….
Skye had seen how often these pieces of information panned out. But something told her she’d rather not believe in Jasmine’s abilities now. “About what?”
“You.”
Feeling edgy, nervous, Skye shook her head. “But… that isn’t how it usually works, right? I mean, you’ve never had a dream about me before. You touch some object that belonged to someone who’s missing and you get feelings about where they might be or what might’ve happened to them.”
“This was different.” Agitated, Jasmine raked her fingers through her long black hair as she stepped farther into the room. “I’m not sure whether I should be worried. Maybe it was a dream just like everyone else’s dreams. But it was so vivid, Skye, so much like…like the visions I’ve had before. The ones that do come true. I’m afraid to discount it.”
After what had occurred on Friday night, Skye was afraid to hear it. “What happened in this dream?” she asked, folding her arms to hide the clenching of her hands.
“There was a woman who had short, choppy, bleached-blond hair. She was screaming that she wanted to kill you, that you’ve ruined her life.”
“I don’t know anyone with short, choppy, bleached-blond hair.”
“No?” Jasmine seemed relieved.
“You didn’t get her name, did you?” Skye asked, smiling weakly.
Jasmine was too preoccupied with her concerns to respond to this lame attempt at humor. “I have no idea who she was, but she stank of cigarettes. It was so strong it seemed as if I could still smell the smoke after I woke up.”
The scent of cigarette smoke had accompanied Lorenzo’s appearance in her house. Had Jasmine somehow gotten a mixed message? And how much of what she saw was real and how much could be attributed to the subconscious meanderings everyone experienced? Sometimes, even Jas couldn’t tell.
“We were fighting?”
“I think so. She kept crying and swearing and lashing out. There was a knife and blood. Every once in a while, she’d yell for someone named Kate.”
Kate. Skye’s heart jumped into her throat. She’d met Jasmine and Sheridan at a support group after Burke’s trial. They weren’t privy to everything that had gone on in that first year after the attack, only what Skye had told them, and their discussions had focused on the trauma caused by the actual violence, not the trial that followed. Sheridan had lived in Sacramento, but not long enough to know Burke or be aware of the trial. And Jasmine had just moved to town when they met. So was it a coincidence that Jasmine had named Oliver’s daughter? It had to be, didn’t it? Jane had long dark hair. And as far as Skye knew, she didn’t smoke.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “I don’t know anyone who fits that description.”
Jasmine’s eyes remained troubled. “Be careful, anyway, okay?”
Skye was always careful. That was one of her biggest problems. She was too wary to trust, to reach out to people. Sometimes it felt as if she lived in some kind of snow globe, with everyone else moving around outside it.
“I will,” Skye promised. Then she told herself not to take Jasmine’s dream too seriously. Kate was a common enough name; it was entirely possible that the Kate in her dream was an adult. Besides, even Jasmine wasn’t sure if her dream had any relevance to the real world.
“What do you think triggered this nightmare?” she asked.
Jasmine sank into the chair across from her. “Sheridan had just told me about the shooting at your house. Maybe it was that.”
“Probably,” Skye agreed. Then she tried to hide the sense of foreboding that had settled over her by launching into a recap of the fund-raiser, how they’d made twenty thousand more than they’d expected and landed a lunch with Senator Denatorre and the mayor.
“That’s great!” Jasmine finally smiled. “And did you enjoy Charlie? Did he stay sober?”
“I think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“I left before the party was over.”
“So, romantically speaking, it was pretty much a bust?”
“Pretty much,” Skye muttered, averting her gaze. She didn’t see any point in telling Jasmine about her rendezvous with David. That was such an intimate exchange, so all-consuming, at least for her, that she’d take the secret to her grave—unless a certain amount of weight gain about six weeks from now revealed that she’d been with someone.
David had known the call would come. But Lynnette took longer to contact him than he’d expected. He’d already taken Jeremy out to breakfast and over to the mall to buy him a new pair of basketball shoes before he heard from her.