Free Cold feet by Brenda Novak Page A

challenging enough to make him believe they were going to end up in another of their famous rows. She was probably going to start in on the miscarriage. She always used that as some sort of trump card, as if he hadn't felt the loss of their baby just as deeply.
    Instead, she covered her eyes and shook her head, obviously backing down. "Look at the picture, okay?"
    Caleb felt the anger drain out of him. No one made him as crazy as Holly did. But this wasn't about their marriages or their divorces. This was about Susan, he reminded himself, gazing down at the picture. "I don't recognize any of these people," he said.
    "That's because you've probably never seen them before. That's Jennifer and her two roommates. They're celebrating because the guy on the left just won an art grant."
    "So what does this have to do with Susan?"
    "Look behind them, in the background."
    Caleb held the picture closer to the light, trying to make out the slightly blurred figure beyond the open door of the pizza place. It could have been any woman of Susan's general size, shape and coloring. But then he saw a slice of leopard print halter beneath a short black jacket and knew it was her.
    "She's wearing just what I thought she was wearing," he said in amazement.
    "Notice anything else?"
    Caleb's blood ran cold. Next to Susan, parked at the curb, was a blue Ford pickup with a white camper shell. He cut his gaze to Holly. "Purcell's truck?"
    "Or one just like it."
    Another connection. At this stage, Caleb saw no benefit in keeping his reason for renting the cottage a secret. With the appearance of Purcell's truck in this picture with Susan, Holly's fears were already confirmed. "You wanted to know why I rented this place," he said.
    "You're finally going to tell me?"
    "Madison Lieberman lives next door. She's my landlady."
    Holly's brows drew together as if she couldn't quite identify the name. "Madison Lieberman..."
    "Ellis Purcell's daughter."
    "Of course! I heard about her over and over when you were researching the Sandpoint Strangler. But she'd never talk to you. Has she changed her mind?"
    "Not exactly. She doesn't even know that Caleb Trovato and Thomas L. Wagner are the same man. She was looking for a renter, and I happened to get here first. That's it." He tapped the picture against his palm. "Tell me how Jennifer came across one of our flyers."
    "She's a graduate student at the university and saw it posted at the library."
    Holly had insisted on putting her phone number on the flyer, which made sense because hers was local and not long distance. Also, Caleb knew a woman's name and number would seem less threatening. But Holly and this Jennifer woman had both been stupid to meet on campus so late at night--not that there was any point in arguing about it now. "What I don't understand is why she noticed something so obscure in one of her pictures," he said.
    "Susan was involved in an argument that drew everyone's attention. When Jennifer saw the flyer, she looked through the pictures she'd taken that night and, voil, there was Susan."
    With a truck like Ellis Purcell's in the same vicinity. Was it another strange coincidence? Or did the police have a copycat killer on their hands?
    "Did Jennifer say what the argument was about?" he asked.
    "She wasn't sure. She thinks Susan bumped someone's fender while trying to park or something like that. Jennifer and her friends weren't really aware of anyone else until Susan screamed a curse. Then they all craned their heads to see what was going on. A male voice answered by calling her a stupid bitch. Then Susan got in her car and peeled off."
    "What did the guy who called her a bitch look like?"
    "He was beyond their view. After Susan left, Jennifer and her friends went back to their fun. She said if she hadn't seen the flyer, she probably wouldn't have thought about the incident again."
    Caleb returned his attention to the picture, trying to figure out what it meant.
    Holly watched him closely, fiddling