What Janie Saw. Pamela Tracy
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off if given a chance. As the shadows of evening fell, people were leaving. At this time of night, people didn’t linger.
Except for Katie.
Pulling out her cell phone, Janie started to call her big sister, but changed her mind. Katie was eight months pregnant and didn’t need the worry. Besides, this could be nothing. Just the crazy rant of a student wanting attention.
Right?
Patricia would still be in her office. Janie was supposed to take her the art books when she finished checking them anyway.
Holding the art book pressed to her chest, Janie hustled out the main doors and headed for the building that housed the faculty offices. Patricia didn’t leave until every class had ended and every light was turned out. Which was why in a hallway that housed more than a dozen faculty offices, hers was the only door open and the only beckoning light.
The cold finger of doubt tapped Janie on the shoulder. What if she was overreacting? What if Derek was just trying to scare her because she was young and new to her job?
She needed this opportunity, needed to do well at it and get a glowing recommendation so she’d have a shot at her dream: an artist residency in Africa.
Yet tonight, her feet didn’t falter; her mind didn’t change.
After all, she might have just read an art book detailing a murder.
When she finally got to the professor’s office, though, she wasn’t sure how to begin, so she simply stood in the doorway, trying to find her voice.
There were stacks of art supplies on every surface of the room, including chairs. Textbooks were stacked in towering rows. When Janie’d come in last August for her interview, she’d had to stand and answer Patricia’s questions.
Finally, she managed to clear her throat. Patricia turned around, all smiles.
While her office was a study in organized chaos, Patricia wasn’t. She wore a blue pantsuit with a red blouse underneath. Her hair was short and she had a thing for red high heels, almost stilettos. An angel pin was clipped just above her heart. It was her most cherished possession. Her father had given it to her before he died. It was solid white gold with a natural diamond.
Taking one tiny step into the room, Janie handed Patricia the art book. “I just read something, written by a student, and I think you need to take a look.”
“Personal issues? Is a student in trouble?”
Janie paused. Personal issues might be one way to sum up Derek’s art book. “It’s Derek, and I’m not sure.”
Patricia frowned. “What’s in it that concerns you?”
“Does the name Brittney Travis mean anything to you?”
Patricia leaned forward, her expression so stern that Janie almost took a step back. “Why are you asking?”
“Her name’s in his art book, and it’s worrying me. He wrote and drew pictures of her murder.”
Janie didn’t quite catch the interjection Patty muttered under her breath, but she could guess what it might have been. Patty scooted her chair to the left, lifted a manila folder and took a page from it. She scanned the words before handing it to Janie.
It was a campus email alerting faculty and staff that over the winter holiday an Adobe Hills Community College student had gone missing.
Brittney Lynn Travis.
* * *
SHERIFF RAFAEL SALAZAR didn’t need another thing to do this morning. He already had a full slate. He was due at the courthouse in a little over an hour and still had three phone calls to make before he could leave. None of them involved good news. His afternoon included a long drive to Phoenix and an overdue visit to a correctional facility.
So when his phone rang, Rafe wished he could ignore it.
“Salazar!” he barked into the phone. Maybe his tone would let the caller know what an inopportune time this was.
“Morning, Rafe.”
Suddenly, court dates, phone calls and the visit to the correctional facility seemed irrelevant.
Nathan Williamson was a detective and the director of the drug task force in nearby Adobe Hills, Arizona, located right outside of Tucson. Adobe Hills was not part of Laramie County, the area Rafe was in charge of. But occasionally their paths crossed, and usually the two departments worked well together.
Right now, Rafe and Nathan only had one case in common, and it was cold.
The Brittney Lynn Travis case.
She was from Rafe’s town, Scorpion Ridge, but she’d gone missing from Nathan’s town, Adobe Hills.
Nathan’s voice sounded terse, and in the background, Rafe could hear the sounds of other people, probably cops, doing their job.
“What’s going on?” Rafe asked, cop’s intuition telling him this wouldn’t be good news.
Nathan didn’t even pause. “What do you know about Janie Vincent?”
“Why do you want...?” Rafe started to answer but stopped when the door to his office flew open.
The woman in question stood in the doorway, looking tense. At her side was her big sister, Katie Rittenhouse, eight months pregnant and with an expression that said she was ready to take on the world.
“You have to talk to him,” Katie was telling Janie. “You can trust him. I promise.”
Janie didn’t appear convinced.
Behind them, his front-desk officer, Candy Riorden, hurried up. “I tried to tell—”
He halted Candy’s admonition, dismissed her with a wave of the hand, and motioned Janie and Katie toward the chairs facing his desk. Without missing a beat, he continued, “They’re here right now. But, to answer your question, Janie’s from Texas. Her sister and brother-in-law run BAA, Bridget’s Animal Adventure.”
“I need her to come here sometime today so we can question her.” Nathan didn’t sound interested in Janie’s connection to wildlife. “I’ve spent the last hour at Adobe Hills Community College, and I’ve got more questions than I have answers.”
“Questions about what? You haven’t exactly said why you want to speak with her.”
Janie was looking at the door as if she were ready to bolt.
“The kind that will help me solve a case!” Nathan snapped, bringing Rafe’s full attention back to the phone.
“Is it about—” Rafe started, but Nathan butted in.
“You’re aware she teaches at Adobe Hills Community College?” Nathan said quietly. “Well, Miss Vincent apparently read something in a kid’s art book last night, a kid by the name of Derek Chaney. I’ve spoken with the chair of the art department, Patricia Reynolds, but apparently your Miss Vincent is who I really need to speak with. Whatever she read might have been a murder confession about our missing coed.”
“Brittney Travis,” Rafe said slowly.
Across from him, Janie pressed her lips together and nodded.
Rafe gripped the phone, hard. He prayed—prayed that it was some kind of mistake, some kind of joke, that Brittney wasn’t dead, hadn’t suffered. He prayed that he could still save her.
This wasn’t the kind of closure Rafe had been hoping for.
“Yes.” Nathan’s voice was terse, guarded.
“Have you had time to—”
“We can’t do anything until we speak with Miss Vincent in person.”
“I’ll escort her myself,” Rafe promised. “I can free up my late afternoon.”
Katie