Even though I knew exactly what I would find, I still flipped through the file until I came to some photos of Joanna, both before and after her murder. Young, blond, pretty—at least until she’d been beaten and strangled. No wonder Mosley had told Elissa that she reminded him of his granddaughter. Joanna could have been Elissa’s sister, along with the rest of the Dollmaker’s victims.

   “Finn,” I said. “Come take a look at this.”

   He and the others gathered around my desk, and I showed them the file.

   Owen let out a low whistle. “It really is a small world, isn’t it?”

   “When it comes to crime in Ashland?” Silvio sighed. “Unfortunately so.”

   Finn picked up a headshot of Joanna that showed her before she’d been murdered. “I remember when Mosley’s granddaughter died, since he took a leave of absence, but he kept it quiet, and I never heard exactly what happened to her. His wife passed away just a few months later, and he took another leave of absence then.”

   “You don’t really think that Mosley knows anything about Elissa, do you?” Bria asked. “Xavier and I have looked into him and all the other victims’ families. We didn’t find anything suspicious.”

   “No. He’s not the killer. His alibi checks out, and he was nowhere near Northern Aggression when Elissa was taken.” I looked at Finn. “But I still want to talk to him.”

   “What do you think Mosley will tell you that this file doesn’t?” Finn asked.

   “I don’t know. Mosley probably doesn’t know any more than any of the other victims’ families do, but it’s worth a shot,” I said. “It’s not even a real lead—it’s a coincidence, perhaps—but it’s all we have right now. And like Bria said, Elissa is running out of time.”

   For the third time, that somber silence swept over us.

   Finn nodded. “I’ll make the call.”

16

   Finn called Mosley and asked if we could come over. Mosley agreed, even though Finn didn’t tell him exactly what we wanted. Bria got a text from Xavier, saying that he’d found Lacey Lawrence’s parents and asking her to come help him do the death notification and follow-up interviews. So we all decided to take a break for a couple of hours, attend to our business, and come back and look at the files with fresh eyes.

   To my surprise, Ryan agreed to stay with Jade until I returned. Apparently, the two of them had bonded while the rest of us were going through the files. While the ­others grabbed their coats and left, I pulled Ryan aside and gave him my cell phone number.

   “You see or hear anything suspicious—anything at all—you call me immediately. No matter what it is. Got it?”

   Ryan nodded. “Got it. But you don’t really think that the killer will come here, do you? He’s never made contact with any of the victims’ families before. That we know of, anyway.”

   I thought of the odd noises and the open door in the kitchen last night, along with that creepy sensation of being watched. I’d done a thorough sweep of the backyard before breakfast, but I hadn’t found any evidence that anyone had been lurking outside the house. Still, I didn’t want to leave Jade here alone. Someone had drawn my spider runes on a dead girl, and I didn’t want Jade to be the next victim.

   “Better to be safe than sorry,” I said.

   Ryan nodded again and went into the kitchen to check on Jade, who was brewing a fresh pot of coffee. She might not like the strong chicory brew, but apparently, any coffee was better than no coffee at all.

   Thirty minutes later, I steered my car up a steep driveway only a couple of miles from Fletcher’s place. And just like there, the gravel driveway snaked up to a sprawling home perched on top of a rocky ridge. Unlike Fletcher’s old ramshackle house, which was an odd mishmash of tin, brick, and stone, Mosley’s abode was a brand-new construction of gleaming glass, dark wood, and gray river rock that gave it the look and feel of a rustic cabin. If a rustic cabin could be several thousand square feet and feature a pool, a hot tub, and a tennis court.

   Up ahead, Finn parked in the paved driveway in front of the house and got out of his car. I pulled in behind him and did the same. Together, the two of us approached the mansion. A breeze gusted over the ridge, bringing the smell of fresh sawdust along with it.

   “Not what I expected,” I said.

   “Mosley has to deal with people all day every day at the bank. He used to live in a luxury apartment in the city, but folks would drop by his place at all hours. He finally decided that he wanted to leave work at work. That’s why he built way out here in the middle of nowhere,” Finn said. “Plus, after his wife, Jane, passed away, I think that he wanted to get away from all the memories in their apartment. He’s only been moved in here a couple of weeks.”

   “Well, you’d certainly have to work to find this place,” I said.

   Finn grabbed hold of the metal knocker and let it thump against the front door. Several seconds later, the door opened, revealing a thoroughly miserable-looking individual.

   He was a dwarf, right at five feet tall, with a thick, stocky body, who was wearing a pair of dark blue plaid flannel pajamas and matching slippers. His wavy silver hair stuck up in crazy tufts, and a deep pillow crease ran along the left side of his head, from where he’d been napping. His hazel eyes were dull and watery, although his nose was a bright red spot in his face. He was carrying a half-empty box of tissues like it was a life preserver that would keep him from drowning in a sea of snot.

   I’d never seen Stuart Mosley look so disheveled, unkempt, and all-around sickly before. Whatever cold, flu, or sinus infection he had was really doing a number on him, further convincing me that he’d had nothing to do with Elissa’s disappearance. People who felt that miserable didn’t go around kidnapping other folks. They didn’t have the energy for it.

   “Hello, Finn,” Mosley rasped, congestion making his voice even deeper and throatier than normal. “And I see that you brought a guest. Ms. Blanco, welcome to my humble home.”