The Butcher by Jennifer Hillier Page A

thing on your mind.” The older woman twirled a lock of auburn hair around her finger, and it appeared she was thinking very hard about something. Finally she said carefully, “So tell me, does Matt’s grandfather know what you think? About Sarah and the Butcher?”
    Sam nodded. “We’ve discussed it. A lot. And of course he thinks I’m full of shit, but he tolerates my questions, thank God. However, if I had a name to give him that he could check out . . .”
    Bonnie took a deep breath and sat back. “Actually, Sam, I don’t think I can tell you. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
    â€œYou’re joking,” Sam said in disbelief. “But I thought you came here to—”
    â€œI think I’ve told you too much already. Dammit, had I known . . .” Bonnie stood up, looking flustered. “You know what, I should go. AndI think you should let this go, Sam. Maybe write about something else.” She looked around. “Now where did I leave my purse . . .”
    â€œWhat in the hell are you talking about?” Sam knew her tone was rude, but she couldn’t conceal either her confusion or her frustration. Why was Bonnie freezing up all of the sudden? They were just about to get to the important part of the conversation, which was the Butcher’s real identity. “You’ve told me everything else already, so why not tell me the Butcher’s name? I thought you wanted justice. I can do something about it, you know. It’s not just Edward. I have personal contacts at Seattle PD. I can call Detective Sanchez right now—”
    â€œI changed my mind.”
    â€œYou changed your mind?” Sam was on her feet now too, incredulous. She glared at the older woman. “Are you serious? That’s incredibly unfair, Bonnie. You can’t come here, to my house, and give me all this information about my mom, and then decide you’ve changed your goddamned mind. I need answers. I need to know who the Butcher is. It’s not fair for you to keep that information from me.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest. She was shouting, but at this point, she didn’t care. “You don’t have the right.”
    â€œI’m scared, okay?” Bonnie’s face was white, a mask of anguish. It was obvious the woman was totally spooked. “I’m scared. Please, Samantha. Just let it go. I’m not ready.”
    â€œI don’t care if you’re scared, and I don’t care if you’re not ready.” Sam’s voice was tight. “This isn’t about you. The information you have isn’t yours to withhold. I need to know.”
    â€œThe only thing you need to know is that your mother loved you.” The older woman’s voice broke. “With all her heart, she loved you, and she would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
    â€œThat’s sweet of you, but goddammit, who killed her?”
    Bonnie ignored the question. Plucking her purse from the floor where she’d dropped it, she headed for the front door. “When I get back to Sacramento, I’ll send you those pictures, okay? You should have them.”
    â€œBonnie, who killed her, goddammit?”
    The older woman shook her head and reached for the doorknob.
    â€œBonnie, don’t go. Please.” Not knowing what else to do, Sam burst into tears, more out of sheer helplessness than anything else.
    The older woman turned back and grabbed her in a tight hug. “It’s better this way, Dumpling. You need to trust me. Whatever I do next, I don’t want you involved. Sarah wouldn’t want that, either. You have to trust me.”
    â€œI don’t understand any of this.” Sam’s voice was shaking. “Why now? Why’d you even want to meet with me if you weren’t prepared to tell the truth?”
    â€œLike I said, I changed my mind.” Bonnie’s eyes