Page 62 of The Garden Girls

Her phone chimed, and she read the text and grinned. After she pocketed her device, she shifted in her seat. “Our killer believes he’s invincible, so I think it’s possible for him to work at a tattoo shop in Wilmington and keep the victims out here. He’d find it thrilling. But I’m not sure he’s doing that. How does one have two homes on a tattoo artist’s salary? He could be the owner, though. That’s a different story and would make his schedule flexible.”

“It’s our only connection either way. We have to chase it.” He turned right. “So, subject change. When is the big day? You set a date yet for the wedding?”

“January 25. Friends and family—his family. Nothing outrageous. I don’t want it and he’s already had it.”

“Ruby going to be your maid of honor?”

“Yes. Lula and Stella will be flower girls.”

Lula was her niece, and she and Stella were both around the same age. “I don’t know if I can ever hear ‘flower girl’ and not think of this case, but they’ll be cute. They gonna dump violets on the ground?”

“Maybe.” She half smiled.

“No one has brought up the fact that your name is a flower, Violet. And you’re close to me.”

“Only by proximity,” she deadpanned, and adjusted the air-conditioning vent away from her. “You think I haven’t already thought about that, Tiberius? He might make a go at me at some point. It’d be a mistake.”

Ty would have laughed if Violet was making a joke, but she wasn’t. Still, it was a possibility she could become a target for both her name and her connection with Ty.

Violet’s cell phone rang again. “It’s Selah.” She answered. “You’re on Speaker with me and Ty.”

“I got something on Patrick Swain. A photo in the iCloud with him and Ahnah Hemmingway at his beach house. You said Skipper told you she was one of the girls he ran to the fantasy island house, right?”

“Right.” Ty had hoped that Skipper had been lying. “That all?”

“No,” she drew out with an edge of excitement.

“I have enough suspense going on in real life, Selah. I don’t need any on your end,” he said. “Get there faster.”

“Dude,” she said. “Jenny Davis and Amy-Rose Rydell are also in that photo. And you’ve ruined the climactic moment for me. I’m over it now.” She ended the call.

Ty looked at Violet. “We got him.”

Manteo

Sheriff’s Office

Monday, September 3

2:43 p.m.

Patrick Swain still wore his fancy suit, but the smugness wasn’t quite as strong sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair in the Manteo Sheriff’s Office interview room. Finally, Ty was getting somewhere. He’d pulled his history, and Patrick traveled often due to his line of work in commercial property.

“Well, hey again, Mr. Swain. Or can I call you Patrick? Pat? Patty?”

Swain’s glare was enough to send Ty six feet under. Violet sat beside him silently, her arms folded on the table.

Swain’s chin lifted, and pride rolled in sheets from his skin. “I have nothing to say.”

“No worries. You don’t need to speak to us. We’ll let the photos do all the talking.” Ty laid out the printed photos Selah had snagged from the iCloud public domain and put them in a nice neat row. “You said you didn’t know any of these girls, but here’s Amy-Rose Rydell, Ahnah Hemmingway and Jenny Davis—she’s the one you had dumped. In case you’re getting dementia or selective amnesia. They’re right here with you, smiling, and if I’m not mistaken—and I rarely am—that’s your beach house.”

Finally, Swain’s entitled face fell.

Now to the gem Selah discovered. “Also I noticed that over the past several years, you’ve taken business trips to Virginia. Smithfield, Richmond, Fredericksburg. You know what’s in those places besides historic churches?”

“No.”

“Dead girls on their doorsteps.”