Free The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 by Christy Barritt Page B

plus degree weather didn’t help the miserable state of being outside. It was summer at its finest. Mosquitoes were out early in their quest to be annoying and flies had decided to dive bomb the potato salad and baked beans on the table.
    Meanwhile, the rookie cop was nearby. Apparently, Adams had assigned him to remain stationed either outside of my apartment or at the crime scenes I was cleaning. The order was twofold: both for my safety and for the possibility that Jones might appear, allowing the police to catch him. Thank goodness he wouldn’t have the officer following me everywhere. A girl needed some privacy, especially when she was snooping.
    I’d found out the officer’s name was Bobby Newell, he’d been on the force for a year, and he had a very anxious girlfriend who worried about him doing police work. He had closely cropped hair, a shiny complexion, and a Roman nose. We’d offered him a burger. He’d accepted, but he’d sat in his car with the AC on to eat. Smart man.
    As everyone got lost in his or her conversations (or their computers), I turned to Riley, realizing we might have a moment alone to talk. “So, how did the task force meeting go?” I’d been dying to know.
    Riley flipped another burger. “I’m not sure I learned anything new, per se. We’re on a deadline . We have a ticking time bomb, if you will.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Jones always gave his victims six days to live. That was more than enough time to . . .” Riley shook his head, as if realizing he didn’t need to spell it out. “Anyway, Nichole was taken yesterday. We have to find her before he kills her.”
    “You sound pretty confident it was Jones.”
    “We’re operating on the assumption that it was, that somehow he got to Virginia. The details of how he got here aren’t as important at this point as finding Nichole is.”
    “How was she abducted?”
    He closed the grill. Sweat sprinkled across his forehead and wet the back of his T-shirt. “In her bedroom. He somehow unlocked the door, snuck into the house, and grabbed her.”
    “No one heard anything?”
    “Not a sound.”
    I lifted up a prayer for the woman and her family. What an awful man to encounter. What an awful situation to live through . . . or die because of.
    I shuddered.
    I remembered talking to Jones on the porch of that house.
    I remembered his voice on the radio.
    I remembered the articles that had detailed what he’d done to his victims.
    I wasn’t one to get easily creeped out, but I was feeling a little freaked right now.
    “Anyone know how Jones managed to make it across country?” I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. “I mean, I know you said those details aren’t as important as finding Nichole, but could he have really done that without help?”
    “ They’re trying to follow his trail now. Apparently, and I know this sounds cliché, but he somehow jumped on a train. From what authorities can tell, he got off in Colorado and stole a car. He drove all night. Stole someone’s wallet and cell phone in Missouri. He kept driving until he got here.”
    “As soon as he escaped, he came right for you.” Another shudder trickled down my spine. “It sounds like ya got trouble in Norfolk City.”
    “A Music Man reference? Now?” His eyes sparkled with amusement.
    I shrugged. “I know. But musicals always trump reality.”
    Riley took the burgers and dogs off the grill, placed them in an aluminum tray, and dinner began. We all settled down at the picnic table, trying our best not to get splinters, and piled our plates high with food.
    Rose seemed to take her role as host very seriously. She told us about how she’d moved here from Florida and that she’d lived in this area as a child. She rambled on about her collection of spoons. Then she talked about building her own snorkel so she could dive into Lake Drummond as a child. Apparently, her family spent time boating there and she’d been bored out of her mind.
    I knew about