A Summer to Remember

By Amy M Bennett

The time has come for a serial killer to strike—and they’re aiming for the Black Horse Campground—in the series from the author of At the Crossroad.
 
With the campground already a crime-scene curiosity, Corrie takes a weekend break from the business just as J. D. Wilder makes his return to the village of Bonney from his home turf of Houston. With Corrie on vacation, he turns his attention to the cold cases they thought were long-solved. Something isn’t adding up.
 
Even though his corrupt former partner is suspected to have killed three local women over the past fifteen years, J. D. can account for the man’s whereabouts during the third murder. And with a fourth grave already dug, he’s convinced that the real serial killer is still at large. A deep dive into Corrie’s and her friends pasts uncovers clues that point to a horrifying possibility: the danger isn’t coming from outside of Bonney, but straight from inside its dark and twisted heart . . .
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: Feb 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9781504091053

Amy M Bennett

Amy M. Bennett was born and raised in El Paso, Texas. End of the Road started as a project for National Novel Writing Month in 2009 but it went on to win Oak Tree Press’s 2012 Dark Oak Mystery contest. Her first and second books in the series, End of the Road and No Lifeguard on Duty, were both awarded the Catholic Writers Guild Seal of Approval. She and her husband Paul currently reside in Bent, New Mexico, with their son, Paul Michael.  

Book preview

Prologue

J. D. Wilder shoved the mini-fridge door shut harder than he normally had to and, muttering something that was halfway between a prayer and a curse, waited a second to make sure it didn’t pop open again. The tiny guest cabin had been home to him for the last few months and this was the first time he had ever wished for a bigger living space. Or at least a full-size refrigerator and freezer.

Tonight was the night he’d been anticipating for a long time. Despite the pain from the wound in his arm, the chaos of the last few days, and the specter of a difficult investigation looming ahead, he’d decided he was done putting off asking Corrie to dinner. He was leaving for Houston in the morning and didn’t know how long he’d be there, helping his former narcotics division at the Houston P.D. unravel the mess that his sister, Stephanie, had uncovered—cops, including his longtime partner, dealing drugs—but he didn’t want to wait any longer. The memory of a bullet tearing through his bicep in Corrie’s apartment was enough to persuade him that time was too precious to waste.

He carried the small table from the cabin out to the porch, his good arm doing most of the lifting, and covered it with a white table cloth he had purchased earlier that day. A gust of wind blew one end of it askew and he hurriedly plunked down two real plates—also recently purchased—on opposite sides of the table to weigh it down. He cast an anxious glance at the sky. A slight chance of rain and light winds were in the forecast for the evening, which cooled the otherwise hot summer nights that had come to define July in Bonney, New Mexico, and J. D. hoped that the ever-fickle weather wouldn’t suddenly decide to drop a flood of monsoonal rain and hurricane-worthy wind gusts on this particular night.

He glanced toward the Black Horse Campground store and saw that the stream of daily guests stopping in to buy last-minute or forgotten camping supplies, food items, and gifts had dwindled as the store entered its last hour of business for the day. Corrie had told him that she had scheduled Jackie and Jerry Page and Dana and Red Myers to work the closing shift on this particular Wednesday evening and that any time after seven would be a good time for her to join him for dinner. Corrie had a hard time leaving the store and campground in anyone else’s hands for too long a time, so the fact that it was the slowest business day of the week made this evening perfect for them to finally get a chance to get to know each other, one on one, without the distraction of any kind of crime or other emergency or crisis taking place.

He rapped on the wooden table with his knuckles three times. Please.

He finished setting the table with silverware and glassware, a small vase of flowers, and a candle set inside a tall glass holder which would keep the wind from blowing it out. He stood back and surveyed the scene. Certainly not the elegant dining room at a nearby expensive four-star resort, but definitely charming and—dare he say it?—romantic. He was sure Corrie would be pleased.

He stepped back into the cabin and nodded at the sight of two bottles of white wine chilling in a bucket near his makeshift wine rack which held two bottles of red wine. He’d chosen the least dry of the wines he’d purchased at Noisy Water Winery some time earlier, making sure that Corrie’s favorite, the winery’s signature Jo Mamma’s White sweet table wine, was available, but also some less sweet ones he hoped would broaden her tastes and horizons. Just like he hoped this evening would do for her in other ways.

The sound of a door shutting carried across the campground over the sound of the wind in the trees and he glanced toward the store. Corrie was making her way toward his cabin, the breeze blowing her long, dark hair around her shoulders and causing the skirt of her red sundress to swirl around her legs. For a moment, he drank in the sight of her and willed his pounding heart to calm down lest he grow so lightheaded that he’d pass out and miss an evening he’d been looking forward to for a long time.

She smiled at him as she brushed her hair, usually kept in a practical braid that reached all the way down to her waist, out of her face. Have you been waiting a long time? she asked as she neared the cabin’s porch steps.

You have no idea. J. D. returned the smile. Not at all. I just got everything set up and I’ll start the grill in a few minutes. But first, how about a glass of wine?

She nodded. Sounds good. And I think I could really use one tonight, she added as she stepped onto the porch and made her way to the swing. He handed her a glass of Noisy Water Riesling, without telling her what it was, and joined her on the swing with his own glass of cabernet. He touched the rim of his glass to hers and waited while she took a sip. She raised her brows with a slight grimace. What’s this? It’s not Jo Mamma’s White.

He grinned. No, it’s Riesling. A semi-sweet German varietal, which happens to be one of the three varietals that make up Jo Mamma’s White, he said. He gestured toward her glass and she took another tentative sip. Give it a chance. I think you’ll find it’ll go nicely with tonight’s dinner.

She glanced at his glass. You’re drinking something red and probably a lot drier than this, she said. She hadn’t grimaced after her second sip. What have you planned for dinner that goes with two such different wines? She took a third sip and held up her glass. This is actually pretty good.

J. D. stood up. I’m not a wine snob or expert by any stretch of the imagination, he said, setting his own glass on the table. But according to Shelli, the old rules about red wine with red meat and white wine with white meat don’t matter as long as you like what you’re drinking with what you’re eating.

He stepped into the cabin and opened the mini-fridge, catching the grape and cheese platter he’d prepared earlier as it slid off the top of the salad container on the crowded shelf. He carried it out onto the porch and was pleased to see that Corrie was enjoying her wine. He set the platter down on the table within easy reach and picked up his own glass. Help yourself, he said. Don’t be shy.

I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of that. She took a bite of cheese and sighed. You have no idea how much I needed this.

Rough day? he asked as he seated himself on the swing again.

Not in the usual sense. She shrugged. I should be used to people asking questions about the village’s history, but the questions they’ve been asking about those cases you solved or any other murders that have taken place around here recently… She let her voice trail away and shook her head.

J. D. grimaced. I understand. Bad news travels fast. Some people love a good scary story, though. The, uh, recent events haven’t hurt business much, have they? He was referring to the cold cases he had investigated, going all the way back to fifteen years earlier when Carla Sandoval, a high school student in Bonney, had gone missing after a party at which his former partner, Red McCullen, and a few other young men had tried to sell drugs to the teenagers. Carla’s remains, along with those of two other young women who had disappeared at five-year intervals after she had vanished, had been discovered near the Black Horse Campground shortly after J. D. had been hired by the village police department a few weeks earlier and he had discovered the files about the incidents. Had it only been less than a week since McCullen had been gunned down in Corrie’s apartment? J. D. dragged his thoughts back to the present.

Corrie let out a hollow laugh. No, but I’d rather my campground be known and talked about because of the beautiful location and the great accommodations, not because some people have a morbid interest in where and how people were killed and want to see the place where a criminal operated.

J. D. was unable to suppress a grin. Seems to work for Lincoln County, he said.

Corrie made a face and poked him with her elbow. Yes, and we do get some visitors to Bonney County simply because they assume that because it’s named after Billy the Kid, that this must have been his stomping grounds and there are some sights to see that pertain to his life and legend. She gave a slight shiver. Maybe a hundred years from now, all this attention wouldn’t seem like such a big deal for me, and I wouldn’t feel … guilty, I guess, about it affecting my business in a positive way. It’s just that it’s all been so recent…

And you’ve been personally involved. He got up and replenished their glasses. I shouldn’t joke about it. It’s been hard on you and everyone you know and work with. I’m glad you haven’t lost any guests over the latest event. He knew she still felt a great responsibility to her late father, Billy Chee Black Horse, about taking care of the business he had entrusted to her. For what it’s worth, I think you’ve handled it very well. I think your dad would be pleased.

Thanks, she said.

He wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for what he’d said or the fact that her wine glass was full again.

There have been a few guests I’d rather not have had come talk about it, she added.

Just tell them the investigation is closed and they can read about it in the paper. He really wanted to talk about other things, but the way her brow furrowed told him that there was something bothering her. What is it?

She sighed. I had a visit today from some people I haven’t seen in a while. Omar and Juanita Rojas. Benita Rojas’s parents.

J. D. raised a brow. She was the third woman who went missing. She was engaged to a cousin of yours. It shouldn’t be surprising they came to see you, now that they know what happened to her.

Well, it wasn’t to receive sympathy or condolences, much less offer them, Corrie said. They wanted to know what happened to the rest of the money that had been set aside for the building of her campground.

J. D. stared at her. Are you serious?

They know Benita’s former fiancé, my cousin, Randall Wolfe, is a bit of a shady character and that he emptied the joint account he and Benita shared just after she had deposited twenty grand of the money that had been put up by Stratham Enterprises for the project. That was right before she disappeared and, of course, it looked suspicious. Add to that the fact that her campground, if she’d ever opened it, would have been in direct competition with the Black Horse and I can’t say that I’m surprised that they’re wondering about such things. But if they knew Randall and my dad at all, they’d know that my cousin isn’t the type to share any kind of wealth with anyone, family or not, and that my father wasn’t the type to turn a blind eye to anything remotely illegal or unethical, family or not. She shook her head and took another sip of wine. They kept insisting that Billy and I had to have known where the money went when it disappeared five years ago.

Sounds like they were really concerned about their daughter being murdered, J. D. said dryly. When was the last time you saw your cousin?

He didn’t even come to Billy’s funeral last year. When I say ‘distant’ cousin, I mean ‘distant’ in every sense of the word. She pursed her lips. I probably wouldn’t even recognize Randall if I saw him now, J. D. I know the business he started up after Benita disappeared is still going strong. I don’t normally have inquiries from my guests about hunting guides and, when I do, I tell them to ask the guys at the hardware store or the general store, or to inquire in Ruidoso. Word-of-mouth indicates that Randall is doing very well and rumor has it that he’s expanded his business and upgraded his style of living. Whether that’s all due to his success as a guide or if he’s got another side business that he’s covering up …

J. D. nodded. Jackie said there was talk that he was involved in dealing drugs. Do you think that Benita was aware of it?

I wouldn’t be surprised, Corrie said. I got the impression that Benita Rojas liked money and it probably didn’t matter to her how she got it. I suppose Randall could have put her up to proposing building a campground in order to get start-up funds that he could get his hands on, but…

But … J. D. echoed when she didn’t continue.

That might explain how your former friend, Red McCullen, got involved, she said slowly. But I just have a hard time accepting that a relative of mine, no matter how distant, could have gotten himself involved in murdering, not one, but three women over a fifteen year period.

He didn’t have to be involved in the first two, J. D. said, feeling a prickle of uneasiness. But there had to be a connection between my partner and your cousin. They were both dealing drugs …

And maybe that’s all it was—Red McCullen found another source or market for drugs and felt that Benita was a liability if she ever found out. And my cousin, her fiancé, never batted an eye when she went missing. Corrie wrapped her arms around herself, as if she felt a sudden chill, though it probably wasn’t from the sudden brisk breeze. They glanced up as the evening light faded under increasing cloud cover. Looks like it might rain tonight, she said, apparently eager to change the subject.

Dinner’s almost ready, J. D. said, turning the grill on and retreating into the cabin. He went to the mini-fridge and removed a covered dish with halibut steaks and skewers of marinated shrimp and scallops. That, along with a salad, was as complicated as he wanted to make this meal. As long as he didn’t burn the main course, everything would be perfect.

He stepped out on the porch and eyed the table. So far, the plates and silverware were keeping the cloth and napkins from blowing away. He quickly put the food on the grill, praying fervently that the approaching rain would hold off for at least another hour or two.

Anything I can do to help? Corrie asked, pulling her hair back off her shoulders and twisting it into a loose braid to keep it from blowing in her face.

Nope, I got this! Have a seat! He hurried back into the cabin and grabbed the two salad plates from the fridge. He set them on the table and turned to the grill and expertly flipped the steaks and skewers. He flashed her a grin. I’m a man of hidden talents!

Not so hidden anymore! Corrie said with a laugh as she sat at the table. She sniffed the air. I like how you coordinated the seafood theme with the smell of rain.

Yeah, well, J. D. mumbled as he brushed some marinade on the skewers, "That wasn’t planned, but I’m hoping it stays to a light drizzle and the wind dies down. I’ve been looking forward to this for some time and I don’t want anything to… A flash of lightning lit up the campground and a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. Damn."

Corrie stood up. It’s getting dark awful quick, she said. She went to the edge of the porch and looked at the gathering clouds. I think we’re in for a real storm tonight.

Fabulous, J. D. said sourly. He flipped the steaks and skewers. Two more minutes, he calculated, and dinner would be served.

Crash! A gust of wind caught the tablecloth and sent the wineglasses, candle, and vase to the wooden floor of the porch, shattering the thin glass. Corrie jumped and grabbed the dinner and salad plates, but not before the salad greens themselves had scattered like autumn leaves. Silverware skittered across the table top and she gasped as lightning flashed again. J. D. managed to get the food off the grill and onto a platter. He slammed down the grill lid and shouted at Corrie over the wind, Get inside!

She grabbed the platter from him, juggling the remaining plates, and scurried into the cabin, shoving them onto a low bench near the front door. He grabbed the wine bottles and what was left of the table linens and threw them onto the bottom bunk bed, then dashed back out into the storm and, with Corrie’s help, managed to corral the chairs and drag the table in as the first sheets of rain slapped against the porch, drenching them from head to foot. J. D. slammed the door shut and the resulting vibration sent the rest of the dinnerware crashing onto the cabin floor.

Great. Just great.

He looked across the tiny room, to where Corrie stood by the back window, with the table and two chairs filling up the floor space. She was gasping for breath and wrapping her arms around herself, shivering slightly. Her dark, wet hair was plastered to her face and shoulders and he cringed. Are you all right?

I’m fine, she said. I guess the storm didn’t want to wait.

J. D. looked around the cabin. He had turned on the lights to dispel the gloominess of the dark interior, but now he wished he’d kept them off. The once-pristine table linens had been tossed unceremoniously onto the lower bunk bed. The vase, candle holder, and wine glasses had been broken to smithereens on the front porch, but the plates had survived long enough to end up in large pieces on the floor, along with the remains of their dinner. Puddles of rain water gathered around the table and chair legs. He knew he looked like a wild man with his hair and clothes drenched and wind-blown, but he couldn’t stop staring at Corrie. Because despite the fact that she was soaked to the skin, her hair and clothes completely disheveled, and their romantic dinner ruined, she looked absolutely beautiful. And she was smiling. Not a rueful smile, not a polite smile, but a smile that more like a prelude.

What the hell are you smiling about? J. D. demanded, unable to keep an incredulous smile off his own face.

Corrie covered her face with her hands, but she was laughing so hard that tears began to run down her cheeks, mingling with the raindrops. I’m sorry, J. D. she gasped, wiping the tears away. I don’t mean this to sound bad, but it’s just that I haven’t had this much fun on a date in a long, long time!

He blinked. Was she serious? She was serious. The glimmer of mischief in her eyes, the open, honest smile, the warmth in her voice, all of it was telling him that, as disastrous as this date had turned out, there was no place she’d rather be at this moment. His own grin widened.

A loud crack of thunder wiped the smile from her face and she let out a startled yelp. J. D. looked out the window and grimaced. It’s coming down in buckets. I hope your tent campers have sturdy structures or alternate accommodations.

Me, too, Corrie said, a worried frown replacing her earlier expression. I hope this storm blows over quickly. She started to pick her way through the jumble of furniture in the cabin when a sudden flash of lightning nearly blinded them both. A loud Boom! followed by another flash told them that a nearby transformer had been hit and the cabin, along with the entire campground, was plunged into darkness. Corrie gasped and J. D. heard her stumble into the table. He reached toward her as another crack of thunder shook the cabin to its foundations and she shrieked. He recalled that she hated thunderstorms, even though she’d once braved going out in one when his tent was flattened to give him access to the very cabin in which they were standing now.

It’s okay, Corrie, I’m here. I’ve got you, he said, catching her hand and drawing her toward him in the darkness. He felt her move next to him, her fingers twined in his and her other hand clutching at his shirt. His arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close. Another brief flicker of lightning illuminated her face, her eyes, her lips, and he felt the warmth of her breath and the shiver that traveled down her back. An electrical shock, as if the lightning had struck him directly, shot through his body and he found his lips brushing against hers.

I’ve got you.

Chapter 1

Early Friday morning, three weeks later

J. D. stifled a yawn and noted with relief the Welcome to Bonney County sign that loomed ahead in his headlights. The dashboard clock told him it was a few minutes after one in the morning. He sighed and rubbed his eyes; it would feel good to sleep in his own bed for a change.

His 5 a.m. flight from Houston to El Paso had been cancelled the previous day and he had ended up bouncing from Houston to Dallas to Denver to Los Angeles and finally to Albuquerque where he was able to rent a car and be back in Bonney only fifteen hours later than he should have arrived. The previous three weeks hadn’t seemed so long, as occupied as he had been with helping to clean up the narcotics division where he had formerly been a lieutenant, but now that he was free to think of other things, time seemed to stretch. He couldn’t wait to get back to the Black Horse Campground.

Home.

He swallowed hard and blinked the sudden blurriness out of his eyes. His physical and mental exhaustion, along with his solitude, allowed his emotions, usually kept under tight control, to overflow. Home was something he’d always felt he’d never find, something he’d never be worthy of. His early life had given him a taste of it, had shown him how fragile it could be, how quickly it could be taken away. His life as an adult, as a Marine then as a law enforcement officer, had given him a close-up look at the harsh reality of evil in the world and made him long for a place to call home more than ever—a place that couldn’t be touched by anything bad, a place where he could feel safe, a place where he felt he belonged.

In these last few months in Bonney County, he discovered that, although some bad things had touched the Black Horse Campground and sometimes it hadn’t been a safe place, it was where he felt he belonged. It was home. And he was determined to do all he could to keep the bad things away and make it safe. He just hoped and prayed that Corrie felt the same way.

The thought of her helped him come wide awake. It would be way too early to see her when he arrived at the campground, but he would be sure to be there as soon as she was up in the morning, even if it meant he only got a few hours of sleep. He had planned to call her from LAX to let her know he was on his way home and his flight was on time for a change, and apologize for not having kept her apprised of all the delays. But his cell phone battery had gone completely dead and calling from another phone was problematic since, he was ashamed to admit, he didn’t know her number by heart. The Black Horse Campground number was simply speed dial number one on his phone. He hadn’t talked to her in over a week.

He lowered the window to let in some fresh night air, even as he squirmed with prickles of embarrassment. He had left for Houston the day after their semi-disastrous dinner date and felt guilty because he hadn’t kept in touch with her after all that had happened that evening. In spite of himself, he let his mind go back to that morning after.

His flight to Houston was scheduled to leave at noon from El Paso and though he’d planned on getting an early start to give himself plenty of time to check in, he had to see Corrie before he left. Cleaning up his cabin and packing for a trip of undetermined length took longer than he expected and his rental car was being delivered as he rushed to the campground store, nearly running full-speed into long-time Black Horse Campground resident, Rosemary Westlake, as she was leaving through the side door.

"Well, Detective Wilder, aren’t you up bright and early? she said, stiffening and stepping back as he stopped short of the walkway. In one arm, she was clutching her black pug, Bonbon, who snorted and growled at J. D., and she held her complimentary cup of coffee away from her person with her other hand, lest she get coffee stains on her voluminous lavender and hot pink muumuu. Her similarly toned eyelids showed as her brows shot upward. She looked him up and down with distinct disapproval. I was just saying that I don’t know how you young people have so much, er, energy to be up so early after such a late night."

J. D. was struck dumb for a moment, his urgency forgotten. How on earth had the woman known anything about what had happened the night before? He remembered, with a rush of heat to his face, that Rosemary Westlake was a champion busybody and the most likely person to be looking out of her RV window at the most inopportune moment.

I have a flight to catch … that storm last night … I need to talk to Corrie before I go, he managed to stammer, not sure why he was embarrassed or why he felt he had to explain anything to Mrs. Westlake.

She pursed her lips. Well, she’s not in the store. I don’t think she’s come down from her apartment yet.

J. D. shot her a sharp glance, wondering who she had been talking to, when the door opened and Sheriff Rick Sutton stepped out behind Rosemary Westlake.

J. D. had no idea what Sutton saw in J. D.’s face, but the sheriff’s steel-blue eyes narrowed and his gaze both burned J. D. and froze him to the marrow. He stiffened and said, Excuse me, then stepped around Mrs. Westlake, the pounding of his boots conveying his thoughts loud and clear, as he made his way to his Tahoe, which J. D. had somehow managed to not notice parked in front of the store.

Turning his back on Rosemary Westlake with a mumbled excuse, J. D. followed the sheriff.

Sutton, he said, trying not to raise his voice too loudly. The sheriff kept walking. Sutton. He cleared his throat, his voice louder but shaky. Again, he was ignored. Anger welled up in J. D. and his chest was heaving as if he’d run a marathon when he strode up to Sutton and snapped, Hey! Don’t ignore me! I’m talking to you!

The sheriff stopped and turned to J. D., his eyes distant and hard. So talk. Sutton folded his arms across his chest, his previous urgency to leave now gone as he watched J. D. struggle to find words.

"It’s not what you