The Body Finder by Kimberly Derting Page A

bound her wrists and ankles.
    Bitch, he silently cursed her. Stupid little bitch!
    He slammed the trunk hard, glad to be done with her. He was tired of looking at her. He didn’t care if she was afraid or if she suffered.
    He knew one thing for certain…the next time he saw her, she wouldn’t be fighting.

CHAPTER 9
    â€œ OOH, I LIKE THOSE ONES,” CLAIRE EVERTON gushed as Violet lifted the hems of her jeans to show off another pair of shoes.
    Chelsea rolled her eyes, her lush black lashes giving the gesture dramatic effect. “Claire, you’ve liked every single pair you’ve seen so far. Show me the ones you don’t like.”
    Claire’s shoulder slumped as she pouted. “All I said was I liked them. I didn’t say she should get them.”
    Chelsea shot Violet a frustrated look before turning back to Claire to take pity on the girl’s fragile ego. It seemed like a near-monumental act for Chelsea, who rarely checked what she said before saying it aloud.
    For the most part, it was one of the things Violet liked about Chelsea, but sometimes, like now for example, Chelsea had to do a little damage control.
    â€œI know, Claire-bear,” Chelsea cooed in a patronizing baby-talk voice. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
    Claire didn’t seem to feel patronized at all and cheered up immediately. She turned away and plucked up another pair of shoes and gazed at them longingly, and they heard her saying, “I like these too…” as she wandered deeper into the Nordstrom shoe department.
    Chelsea glanced back to Violet and wrinkled her nose as she looked at the shoes Violet had on. “I don’t like them,” she stated in her matter-of-fact tone, all traces of the baby talk long gone.
    Violet shook her head. “Me neither.”
    The shopping trip had been meant to distract Violet from thinking about the recently discovered dead bodies. There was something about the two dead girls, something besides concerns over her own safety, that kept her feeling on edge.
    She assumed that was natural considering that she’d been responsible for finding the girl in the lake. But she was struggling to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks, even one as easy as shopping.
    Jules appeared then, practically from out of nowhere, carrying an armload of shoe boxes. “Here,” she insisted, handing Violet two boxes. “I found you the perfect pair. I wasn’t sure how the sizes ran, so I got you a seven and a seven and half.” Then she turned to Chelsea. “These are for you.” Onebox. Apparently she was pretty certain about the size. “Hey, A-D-D,” she called out to Claire, “come over and try these on.” She set two identical-looking boxes on a chair that she’d obviously designated for Claire.
    And then she sat down in an empty seat and waited impatiently.
    â€œWhat about you? Aren’t you going to pick out a pair for yourself?” Chelsea asked Jules.
    â€œI’m done. In the time you guys wasted looking for the ‘perfect’ shoe, I found mine and all of yours. I even paid already…. They’re holding them up at the counter for me.” She leaned forward in her chair, balancing her elbows on her knees, which were spread apart, making her look extremely out of place in the upscale ladies’ shoe department.
    There wasn’t a feminine bone in Jules Oquist’s body, although you wouldn’t necessarily know it from her outward appearance. It wasn’t until she moved, or spoke, or pretty much even breathed, that you couldn’t help but notice what a tomboy the athletic girl really was. Outwardly, however, she was kind of pretty. But unlike Chelsea or the other girls, Jules didn’t try to be. Hers was an understated prettiness that didn’t need makeup or hair dryers. She had great coloring, soft honey-colored hair, and generously full lips. But that was where any