COLD CASE AT CAMDEN CROSSING Read Free Page A

nuts and bolts and screws were piled in one corner, dirty clothes had been dumped on the faded-plaid sofa, several pairs of tattered shoes were strewn about and discarded take-out containers lay haphazardly around the kitchen and den.
    The sound of mice skittering somewhere in the kitchen sent a shudder through her. If the main area looked like this, she dreaded seeing the other rooms.
    The stench of stale beer and liquor mingled with moldy towels and smoke.
    Tawny-Lynn heaved a frustrated breath, half tempted to light a match, toss it into the pile and burn the whole place down.
    But knowing her luck, she’d end up in prison for arson and the town would throw a party to celebrate her incarceration.
    She refused to give them the pleasure.
    But she was going to need cleaning supplies. A lot of them. Then she’d handle what repairs she could on her own, but she’d have to hire someone to take care of the major problems.
    She left her suitcase in the den while she walked to the master bedroom on the main floor, glanced inside and shook her head. Her father’s room was as messy as the other two rooms. More liquor bottles, papers, clothes, towels that had soured and would need to be thrown away.
    Had he lived like this?
    He was probably so inebriated that he didn’t care.
    Deciding she’d check out the upstairs before she headed into town to pick up supplies, she stepped over a muddy pair of work boots and made it to the stairwell. Cool air drifted through the eaves of the old house as she clenched the bannister. At one time her mother had kept a runner on the wooden steps, but apparently her father had ripped it out so the floors were bare now, scarred and crusted with dirt.
    Bracing herself for a blast from the past, she paused at the first bedroom on the right. Peyton’s room. The frilly, once bright pink, ruffled curtains still hung on the windows although they’d faded to a dull shade. But everything else in the room remained untouched. Posters from rock bands, a team banner and photographs of the team and Peyton and Ruth were still thumbtacked on the bulletin board above the white, four-poster bed. The stuffed animals and dolls she’d played with as a child stood like a shrine on the corner bookcase.
    Memories of her sister pummeled her, making it difficult to breathe. She could still see the two of them playing dolls on the floor. Peyton braiding her hair in front of the antique mirror, using one of their mother’s fancy pearl combs at the crown to dress up the look.
    Peyton slamming the door and shutting her out, when she and Ruth wanted to be alone.
    Cleaning this room would be the hardest, but it would have to be done. Although she’d feared the worst had happened to her sister over the years, that she was dead or being held hostage by some crazed maniac rapist, it still seemed wrong to discard her things, almost as if she were erasing Peyton from her life.
    Or accepting that she was gone and never coming back.
    Dragging herself back to the task at hand, she walked next door to her room. Her breath caught when she looked inside.
    Her room had not been preserved, as Peyton’s had.
    In fact, someone had tossed the drawers and dresser. And on the mirror, hate words had been written in red.
    Blood or lipstick, she wasn’t sure.
    But the message was clear just the same.

    The girls’ blood is on your head .
    * * *
    C HAZ COULDN ’ T ERASE the image of Tawny-Lynn from his mind as he made rounds in the small town. He hadn’t paid much attention to her when she’d tagged after his sister years ago. Had thought she had a crush on him and hadn’t wanted to encourage it.
    He’d been in love with Sonya Wilkerson and, that last year when Ruth had been a senior, he’d played baseball for the junior college on a scholarship that he’d planned to use to earn a forestry degree.
    Then Ruth and Peyton went missing and he’d decided to pursue law enforcement and get the answers his family wanted.
    Only so far he’d