Page 54 of In Her Path

She crossed to it in three long strides, pulling the screen aside. The fireplace held the remains of a recent fire—not logs, but the remains of some burnt branches and something else that was unidentifiable. And there, half-buried in those ashes, small metallic circles glinted in the light from the window.

Jenna knelt, careful not to disturb the scene. “Jake,” she called. “Photos. Evidence bag.”

He was beside her in a moment, a small plastic bag extended. She took it and waited while he raised his cellphone camera and took shots from several angles. Then, using the tip of her pen, Jenna nudged one of the metal objects from the ash into the evidence bag. She stood up to view it in a better light.

The thing from the fireplace was tarnished and a little warped, but unmistakable—one of those distinctive buttons she had seen on Claire Simmons’s suit at City Hall. And then seen again at the scene of a murder.

“The surveillance footage,” she said. “The woman in the Mayor’s outfit—it wasn’t Claire. It was Meredith. She had the clothes and she has tried to destroy them.”

Frank’s expression was pained he stepped had stepped closer and stared into the fireplace. “Meredith took the Mayor’s clothes?” he muttered. “You’re saying she wore them, then burned them?”

“That’s right,” Jake said. “She kills Paige, kills Holt, and makes it look like the Mayor did it. Then she needed to get rid of the clothes. She wasn’t very careful about it, but I guess she didn’t think that anyone would be looking into her fireplace.”

“But why would Meredith do that?” Frank asked. “She’s worked for Claire for years. They’re close.”

“There has to be something between them that we don’t know about,” Jenna replied. “Maybe something in their relationship, or in their past.” She thought for a moment, then added, “If Meredith no longer needs the clothes, then maybe she doesn’t intend to kill again. At least not in that disguise.”

Jake knelt and put his hand over the ashes. “Still warm,” he reported. “But not hot. She must have burned the clothes early this morning.”

“She’s in grave danger,” Piper murmured, and they all turned to her.

“Who’s in danger?” Jenna asked. “Are you talking about Meredith? In she in danger from someone else?”

“No, not her.” Piper’s voice had taken on that distant quality again. “The Mayor. Claire Simmons. They’re saying, ‘She’ll vanish soon into silence.’ Just like they said to me last night.”

Jenna’s mind rapidly reassembled the pieces of the case with this new information. Meredith Soll—quiet, efficient Meredith—had killed two people, framed her boss, and now the Mayor was missing.

Claire Simmons was the one in serious danger, and the words “vanish into silence” seemed to threaten another post-mortem mutilation.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Meredith Soll stood watching Claire Simmons struggle on the dirt floor. The Mayor lay on her side, wrists bound behind her with rope, ankles secured together, a rag stuffed in her mouth and sealed with duct tape. A coarse fabric hood covered her head, blinding her to the scene around her.

The old storm cellar smelled of earth, of the stone walls that had stood for so many years. Meredith’s family had built it near their country home for shelter during tornado season, but since nobody lived out there now, it had been decades since anyone had used it for its intended purpose. Now the underground room held only a few pieces of old furniture, along with the Mayor and her captor. The only light was from a small battery-powered portable lamp. A small wooden stool waited beneath a noose that hung from an overhead beam.

Meredith pulled out her phone and checked the time: 10:03 a.m.

It’s time to get started, she realized.

She took a folding knife from her pocket and sawed through the rope binding Claire’s ankles, then gripped her prisoner’s arm and hauled her upright. Claire stumbled, disoriented, trying to find her balance. Meredith pushed her a few steps ahead until she contacted the stool, then commanded her, "Step up."

Claire froze at hearing the first words Meredith had said to her during her captivity. She turned her hooded head toward the sound, a muffled groan escaping past the gag.

She recognized my voice, Meredith thought.

Meredith had struck the Mayor unconscious when they were alone together after last night’s meeting. She’d removed the woman’s blue pantsuit and had donned it herself. Claire was now clad in a loose-fitting jogging suit belonging to Meredith.

The Mayor had still been unconscious when Meredith bound her hands and feet and covered her head, then drove her here and dragged her into this cellar.

Meredith had then left her alone to drive back to Trentville on her grim errand—to murder Diane Holt, plant the most damning evidence imaginable in Claire’s office, and finally to dispose of Claire’s outfit.

She’d turned up for work at City Hall and had stayed long enough to misdirect the Sheriff. When she’d returned here, she’d found Claire moaning and conscious. But even then, Meredith hadn’t said a word to her. She’d felt that Claire deserved to spend hours upon hours agonizing and worrying about her fate, weakening the whole while with hunger, thirst, and sleeplessness.

She had it coming, Meredith thought.

“Up,” Meredith said again, holding the knifepoint to her throat this time, just hard enough that Claire could feel the sharp edge.

Claire lifted one foot shakily and found the top of the stool. Diane commanded her to step up on it, holding her arm to make sure she didn’t fall. This had to go smoothly if she was to achieve her purpose.