The Isolated Widow (The Widow Taker Book 2)

by Kennedy Layne

  She’d sworn to Linc and the other law enforcement officers that she hadn’t given her number to anyone. She hadn’t, not even to Roger that particular day when she’d stopped by the paper. It was one of the reasons Oliver Stevens had been so attractive to the police. He’d been the one to help her at the phone store that morning.

  The only place she’d been that day beside the phone store had been the pub and the paper. Had she left the booth for a similar reason like today? Had she given someone the opportunity to reach into her bag and check her number? She hadn’t really had time to set up a password or fingerprint until later that evening.

  Quinn had often heard of the phrase regarding the hairs standing on the back of one’s neck. As a journalist, she’d always just thought of it as an additional narrative to a story to heighten a reader’s senses. The mind was a very powerful thing, and she would have loved to chalk up her sudden trepidation to the realization that she might have made it a bit too easy for The Widow Taker to manipulate her.

  She continued to close the distance from the middle of the pub to her regular booth, noting that her bag didn’t look disturbed. She slowly slid into her seat, picking up her earbuds in case anyone was watching her. The police and feds had been focused on Bright at one point, even suggesting that the pub had been The Widow Taker’s hunting ground.

  They’d gotten the first part of that assumption wrong, but what if they’d been right about the second?

  Bright had claimed to be dropping off some invoices at Kenna Burke’s house the night that Brenda Reinhardt had been murdered. He’d even been arrested and taken to the station. It was physically impossible to be in two places at the same time.

  “Hey, thanks for the help.”

  Speak of the devil.

  Bright was one of those individuals who was very comfortable with himself. He didn’t think twice about sliding into the seat opposite of her. He must have taken off his jacket after dropping the dart boards off in the back. His face was currently covered in scruff, though not the kind that was neatly trimmed. He’d let it go a little extreme lately.

  “No problem. How have you been, Bright?”

  Quinn had gotten one earbud in, and she left it that way. She wasn’t in a talkative mood, and he understood that she usually worked through her meal. It wasn’t that she was being rude, but the two of them had never been close friends. Sure, they’d gone to high school together, but he’d already been ruled out as The Widow Taker.

  Bright hadn’t even been at Lisa’s party that fateful night.

  “Better now that my name has been cleared,” Bright replied, gesturing toward her laptop. “I appreciate the kind words you wrote after everything that happened.”

  “I stick to the truth, Bright. You were wronged in many ways, and the public needed to hear it. People are hungry for information about The Widow Taker, but it needs to be accurate information.” Quinn hated the doubt that had crept back in, causing her to question everything and everyone. “Besides, your business shouldn’t suffer due to a mistake. Rhonda seems happy with her overtime.”

  “Money always makes Rhonda happy,” Bright joked, his gaze contradicting the light tone. He gestured toward her laptop. “Any updates on The Widow Taker?”

  Quinn got that question a lot when she was out and about. Being from such a small town, everyone was aware of her podcast and the articles she wrote for the local paper. For some reason, she didn’t like the idea of the inquiry coming from Bright.

  “I’m focusing my podcast around the fact that the killer used Mrs. Walcott’s residence to scope out Pamala Griffith’s house.” There was no reason for Quinn to lie. Most likely, Katie would give a sound bite for the noon news. “The lead agent on the case hasn’t given a press release on the latest findings, but I’m sure he’ll do so before two o’clock.”

  “Katie was in here for drinks last night.” Bright picked up the white crumbled ball that had been the covering of her straw. He fiddled with it while he continued to talk about his chat with Katie. “She mentioned that you had an offer to work at one of the national news stations in New York.”

  “Honestly, offers like that come in quite often. There’s no real meat behind them.” Quinn wondered what else Katie had to say about her, but she refrained from asking. Sometimes, it was better to be left in the dark. “Besides, Winter Heights is my home. I might travel from time to time, depending on the case. It’s just really sad that The Widow Taker is here playing his demented games in our stomping ground.”

  “Aaron would have been proud of you.”

  Quinn literally stopped breathing.

  No one, outside of her conversation with Linc and Aaron’s parents yesterday, had brought up his name in such a casual discussion. She wasn’t sure how to react, but her first instinct was that she’d been wrong all along.

  Was Bright involved in the killings?

  He had lost his brother. Bright was now the father figure in his niece’s life, helping out his sister-in-law as much as he could.

  Had Linc ever considered the possibility that two individuals were working together?

  It seemed far-fetched, but she never thought she’d be the public conduit of a serial killer, either.

  “I haven’t thought of Aaron in a long time,” Quinn said, forcing the words to fall off her lips. Her statement was a bald-faced lie. “You’re a few years older than me, Bright. I’m surprised you remembered that Aaron and I even dated.”

  “I used to hang out with Nick back in the day. Granted, he was two years younger than me, but we both played football. The team was pretty tight back then, remember? We won two championships in a row.” Bright shook his head while giving her a sad smile. “Those were the days. Anyway, Nick and I kept in touch on and off again over the years. I was deployed overseas at the time of his funeral, so I didn’t get to pay my respects in person.”

  “It was a beautiful service,” Quinn replied softly, shifting slightly in her seat. She was grateful when she spotted Paul walking toward them with her bowl of soup. “It was tough to watch Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell lose their second son, though.”

  Quinn finished speaking right when Paul reached them, carefully setting down her chicken noodle soup. She’d actually lost her appetite again, but she didn’t want Bright to notice.

  She smiled up at Paul.

  “Thank you,” Quinn said, pulling the bowl closer to her so that Paul had room to set down a few packets of crackers. “I’m glad you stayed to help Rhonda. She was ready to pull her hair out.”

  “I could use the overtime with the baby coming next month,” Paul said, slapping Bright on the shoulder. “Right, boss?”

  “True, which is why I was hoping that you might give the pub a bit of a plug on your podcast this week,” Bright asked, steering the conversation to what he really wanted with her. She would have loved to be relieved over such a statement, but why had he brought up Aaron and Nick? “The place is thriving, but I want to draw in folks from out of town, too. We’ve set up two private rooms in the back for rentals, such as bachelor parties and fantasy football leagues. With football ending in a few weeks, I want to keep the foot traffic up. I’d pay you just like I would Roger at the paper for some advertising space.”

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” Paul replied, giving her an almost apologetic look at the way Bright had all but ambushed her with such a request. “I’ll leave you two to discuss business.”

  She had advertising space on the website, where her readers could go and pull up old recordings. She pulled in a pretty penny, too, but she went out of her way not to verbally promote anything. Was it an honest request, or was there something hidden inside his appeal?

  “I usually don’t do endorsements, but let me think about it,” Quinn responded, needing time to decide on whether or not to take Bright up on his offer. She knew the value of her show, and she knew what she could charge for such advertising. Who was she kidding? She wanted to find out if Nick had spilled his guts to an old fri
end, and she had to become a bit more friendly with Bright for that to happen. “I’ll touch base with you on Monday, if that’s okay?”

  “Perfect,” Bright exclaimed, slapping one hand on the table in satisfaction. “I appreciate it, Quinn. I’ve had to hire some additional staff for the kitchen. The lunch crowd is growing, and it would be great to keep it up through spring.”

  She hadn’t said yes, but he’d certainly taken it that way.

  It was clear that he was about to leave her to her meal, but she wanted a little more clarification on Nick so that she could figure out what questions to ask on Monday. An investigative journalist always needed a bit of time to prepare his or her attack.

  “Did you see Nick often when you came back to visit your parents?” Quinn asked, not sure if she caught Bright off guard.

  “Not as much as I would have liked,” Bright replied grudgingly and with a slight shrug. “Some of our old teammates would get together right here in this bar when Connor Pryor owned it, but I don’t think Nick ever joined us. I know he spent a lot of years fighting off the cancer, so I just assumed he wasn’t up to having a beer with the guys. I should have made a better effort to stop by his house.”

  It sounded as if Bright didn’t know that Nick had stopped drinking back in his first year of college. Technically, Bright had already joined the service. He wouldn’t have known such a thing.

  As for Quinn, she hadn’t gone to another high school party after losing Aaron. It was a wonder she’d made it through the rest of her senior year with all the memories hiding in every corner of the school. Leaving town had been a huge relief in many ways.

  “Enjoy your lunch, and we’ll talk on Monday,” Bright said, shifting so that he could slide out of the booth. “I’ve got some dart boards to unpack and hang.”

  Quinn nodded, observing Bright as he walked away. He stopped at the bar to speak with Rhonda, who immediately glanced Quinn’s way. Bright must have shared with her the possibility of Quinn advertising for the pub. Rhonda was giving the thumbs up signal in approval.

  Had Quinn read more into the brief interaction?

  Had Bright merely mentioned Aaron and Nick to garner an opening with her?

  She rubbed her right temple when another headache began to settle in, her anxiety at an all-time high. She didn’t like suspecting people who she’d known all her life.

  The ringing of her cell phone had her pushing away the bowl of soup, which wasn’t appealing anymore, anyway. She fished her cell phone from the outer pocket of her backpack. Katie’s name was on the display, but there was also a notification of a text from an unknown number.

  Quinn wasn’t sure what caused her to do it, but she lifted her gaze to the booth that Linc had occupied for the last couple of weeks.

  He wasn’t there.

  She chastised herself that their little chat last night was nothing more than him needing information for his case. It hadn’t been personal.

  She returned her attention to her phone, but she couldn’t bring herself to answer Katie’s call when there was a possibility that The Widow Taker was once again reaching out to her. For the second time in ten minutes, she found herself holding her breath. She declined the call and pressed the text notification with a trembling thumb.

  You’ll be pleased to know that I’ve chosen another widow, Ms. Simmons. She’ll be at peace soon. Isn’t that wonderful?

  Chapter Twelve

  “Deputy John Denney? I’m Special Agent Linc Roche with the BAU. I was hoping to speak with you about an old case.”

  Linc turned his back against a gust of wind that had come out of nowhere. He’d heard someone at the station say another stormfront was moving through, but that could mean anything from four inches of snow to a foot. He should have been prepared for the squalls rolling in off the bay to be stronger than usual.

  Upon walking up the small sidewalk that had been salted thoroughly, Linc had caught sight of John Denny putting the lid back on the container of small blue pellets. He was bundled up in his winter gear, the black ski-cap high enough on his forehead to show the deep lines of displeasure.

  “I already told your partner and the new sheriff about Benjamin Henry,” John grumbled as he leaned down to set the small container on the porch step. The fact that he’d salted his sidewalk before any snow had fallen told Linc that John Denney liked to be prepared. Having another federal agent show up on his doorstep without notice didn’t make the man very happy. “Besides, everything is in my reports.”

  “I’m actually here about another matter altogether.” Linc had hoped they could have this conversation inside, but the former deputy didn’t seem too inclined to follow etiquette. He took a step closer, hoping the house would shield him against the strong winds. “It’s regarding the Rockwells.”

  It seemed that the surname was enough to catch Deputy Denney off guard. He studied Linc for a moment, clearly debating on whether or not to invite him inside the house. It was doubtful that he wanted to speak about some family friends and their tragedy out in the open, not that anyone was around to hear them.

  “Come on inside,” John directed with a frown deeper than with the one he’d greeted Linc with a few moments ago. “My wife ran to the grocery store before the snow hits, and I’d rather be done talking to you by the time she comes back.”

  The Denneys were still good friends with the Rockwells, at least according to Joanne. Linc had his theories on why John Denney had written the report to downplay the events of that night, because any experienced law enforcement officer would have known that the party on the cliffs hadn’t been a simple get-together with some friends.

  Linc wisely remained silent as he followed the former deputy into his home. He kicked off his shoes near the front door out of respect, as well as handed over his winter jacket to be hung up in the front closet. It had taken John a little extra time to rid himself of his winter apparel, but it wasn’t long before Linc was led to a kitchen that had seen some recent renovations.

  “You have a beautiful home,” Linc commented with the standard opening, though it was doubtful that Denney would want to make small talk.

  “It’s all my wife’s doing,” John replied, a hint of affection underneath all the gruff.

  John Denney was in his late sixties, married to his high school sweetheart, and seemed to be the typical retired cop. He took care of his home and watched out for his neighbors. Linc had noticed the camera doorbell, similar to the one he’d helped Quinn install last night. It had been useful to know that the former deputy was now head of the homeowner’s association. Going into full retirement mode wasn’t that easy for someone who had spent his life protecting others.

  “What do the Rockwells have to do with your investigation?” John asked, motioning for Linc to have a seat at the kitchen table. It was one of those smaller round ones, and it was easy to see who sat wear. On one side of the table was a crossword puzzle and a set of men’s reading glasses. On the other was a pink set of reading glasses on top of an iPad case of the same color. “They’re good people. Been through a lot, but then I’m guessing you already knew that.”

  “I have no doubt that you’ve been following the investigation.” Linc had taken Mrs. Denney’s seat, wanting a clear vantage point in order to gauge John Denney’s reaction. He was in the process of pouring them both a cup of coffee that had been sitting in the carafe. It wasn’t long before he’d taken his own seat, staring at Linc over the rim of his mug with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Our unsub has been in touch with Quinn Simmons, and we’re covering every possible angle on why he would choose her to get his message across to the public.”

  John Denney wasn’t as lax as some of the deputies at the station had led Linc to believe. The former deputy had been described as laid-back. Some had even mentioned that he was too easy on some of the residents who committed crimes, such as drunk and disorderly or minor damage to property.

  The man preferred to be the big brother instead of the judge, and
the slightest narrowing of his eyes was enough to tell Linc that the former deputy was a listener. He kept quiet, learned everything he could in any given situation, and kept his thoughts to himself. It was those types of individuals who had insight that could break open a case such as this one.

  “You knew that Nick Rockwell was at that party on the cliff’s the night his brother died,” Linc said, confident in his ability to read the situation. “You also knew that he was drunk, and most likely had something to do with Aaron’s accident. Quinn’s name wasn’t even mentioned in the report, when you and I both know that she’d gone to the party with Aaron. Why leave those details out of your report?”

  Linc had already put together the reasons for John Denney’s decision, but that meant he might actually know other details, such as the fictitious wedding that took place between Quinn and Aaron. He wrapped his hand around the warm mug, surveying the former deputy as closely as Denney was eyeing him.

  “Aaron Rockwell’s death was an accident, cut and dried.” John wasn’t going to admit to leaving pertinent details out of his written summary. “There’s nothing else to tell. I stand by my report.”

  “I’m not here to point fingers or bring up a tragic moment that clearly affected a lot of residents in this town.” Linc paused, taking a drink of his coffee. It was a hell of a lot better than he would have guessed, given that John had worked his entire career in a police station. “I’m only here to see if you recall anyone mentioning anything out of the ordinary about that night. You know as well as I do that the unsub was either born in Winter Heights or moved here as a young boy. The list of men who moved here when they were young are harder to procure, because back then homeschooling didn’t have the reporting standards they do nowadays. This unsub is targeting Quinn, and I don’t believe it’s only due to her profession. Do you remember anything from that night that might be able to give me some insight?”