by Ella Goode
“I live on Secret Lane if you want to visit. No blindfold is necessary.”
I give her a nod of my chin before climbing into my car and driving away. I hope I’ve baited the hook well enough. A stranger in her safe town seems like an irresistible lure.
Chapter Four
Glory
“Are you trying to get Mr. Williams killed?” Amethyst asks. She blows a giant bubble with the gum she’s been chewing. It pops loudly. She sits on the side of my desk and swings her legs back and forth.
Going out with Amethyst sometimes feels like being out with a celebrity. At least people think she’s one. She’s so beautiful and elegant that people turn to look her way thinking she must be famous. She’s got the prettiest blond hair and the biggest blue eyes that leave a lot of men speechless. It is actually pretty funny to watch grown men turn into babbling idiots when they are in her presence.
Amethyst moved from Syn City to Kissme Bay where I’d met her working at the Frenchie's Ferris wheel. Kissme Bay is the next town over from Cherry Falls. She moved there to get away from her overbearing father—only to fall in love with an overbearing man who is her total opposite. Where he is dark, she is light. He’s also almost twice her age, but they love one another. I wouldn't be her best friend if I didn't poke her about how there might be some daddy issues there.
“If anyone can get him to talk, it’s you.” Mr. Williams sold the house on Secret Lane. I need the name of the person he sold it to. If I can get that piece of information, then I’ll be able to dig into Mr. Handsome a little bit more. I have to admit that he’s gotten my attention, but I’m not ready to let him in on that yet. So, I’ll do what I do best: snoop around.
Amethyst picks up my camera that she actually got me for my birthday. She knows anything and everything about photography. Most people think she should be in front of the camera, but she prefers to be behind it. She’s taken a handful of pictures for me. She’s killer behind the lens.
I do what I can, but I’m better at getting the stories than snapping the photos to go with them. Even the one I snapped of my mystery man was blurry. I have to admit that I was a bit disappointed when I realized I hadn’t gotten a good pic of him. I guess the one in my memory will have to suffice for now.
“Fine, but if he ends up dead you better not come snooping around my Big.” I snort a laugh. It never gets old hearing her call Brigger Douglas that. The man is three times her size and covered in ink. He works at a bar as a bouncer. I’d bet a hundred bucks that he lives around here because he’s trying to lay low. He looks as though he’s had an interesting past.
“Deal,” I agree.
I check the time before grabbing my stuff. “Let’s roll before they close.” I power off my computer. The thing is older than I am. I only use it when I’m here. I give Daisy a wave, letting her know I’m heading out. She is the other reporter here.
“Where is your man?” I ask once we hit the sidewalk and begin to head down the street to the real estate office.
“Said he has stuff to handle.” She shrugs. I glance over at her. I have no doubt that man of hers is full of all kinds of news stories, but I never go there. I love Amethyst and would never do anything to mess with our friendship. She spits her gum out as we pass a trash can.
“So I’m going to say that I’m looking to buy a house?”
“Yep. That you saw the one on Secret Lane for sale a while back and wondered if it might still be on the market.”
“Why don’t you just knock on his door?” she asks. I’d given her a rundown of what happened with the handsome stranger.
“I want to be prepared before I do that. Catch him off guard.” The same way he did to me the other day.
“Why do you need to catch him off guard?”
“There might be a story there. If he thinks I’m snooping around then I might not get it.” I huff. At least I hope there’s a story there. A girl can only do so many fluff pieces in her lifetime. I need some meat between them every now and then. I’m dying for a story that has some substance.
“If you say so.” She laughs as I pull open the door to Williams Real Estate. Martha isn't behind her desk, as I knew she wouldn't be at this time. She’s over at Bela's Bakery getting her afternoon fix of sugary goodness.
The door to Williams’ office opens a second later. His eyes land right on Amethyst, going wide for a moment. She gives him a bright smile, showing off her dimples. It’s like I’m not even here.
“Hi!” she chirps. “I’m in the market for a new place.”
Williams opens his mouth and closes it. This is going even better than I thought it would. He’s going to sing like a canary if Amethyst keeps smiling at him.
“She’s interested in the place over on Secret Lane,” I throw out there to get the conversation moving. I don’t need Amethyst’s man popping up on us and carrying her out of here. He’s known to do that.
“It’s already been sold. I’m so sorry.” Williams' face drops for a moment before he recovers. “I have other places in that price range. Are you a supermodel?” he asks. I’m guessing the house on Secret Lane was not cheap by any means. It only makes me more curious about its new owner.
“Oh. I really wanted that one. Who bought it?” Amethyst actually does a little pout. I wonder if I could pull that off. My lips are already too big as it is.
“Some writer.” My ears perk up instantly. “I’m not supposed to say.” What the hell? Williams looks around the office to make sure no one else is in earshot. I almost start laughing because we’re the only ones here besides him. I elbow Amethyst in the side.
“Oh, come on. You can tell us,” she encourages him. Williams flicks his eyes over toward me. I look down at my phone in my hand, pretending I’m not paying attention.
“Corby O'Neal.” He finally gives. I can’t stop the gasp that comes from my lips.
“Glory, you better keep that between all of us. I’ll call your mama.”
“We have to go.” I ignore him, making no promises. I grab my best friend's arm, pulling her out the door with me. “Wait, take my card!” he calls after us, wanting to give her his number.
“She’s taken!” I inform him. “I might be fishing for a story but it’s not going to be your murder.” The door falls closed in his face, likely saving his life.
“Who is Corby O'Neal?” Amethyst asks.
“That’s something most of the world wants to know,” I answer. And I’m the one that’s going to find out for them.
Chapter Five
Corby
The buzz I developed after sparring with the newspaper reporter wears off before I even hit my driveway. The long tree-lined path gives off an eerie vibe as the sun sets. I don’t bother to turn on any lights when I enter the house. I’m familiar enough with it by now, and I can maneuver in the dark. Besides, lights would remind me that I have come to Cherry Falls for a purpose. Since my arrival, I have done nothing purposeful. I haven’t unpacked my boxes. I’ve been rotating about three pairs of jeans and three hoodies. I’m still using paper plates and plastic forks and spoons. Most of my meals are ramen, spaghetti, or microwavable dinners. No matter what the commercials say, those meals taste like ass.
I grab a beer from the fridge and wander into my study. My writing space is actually immaculate, a sign of how unproductive I am. If I was deep into a manuscript, this place would look like a tornado. In fact, it would be approaching Mark’s backseat’s level of garbage with empty Red Bull cans and empty, crumpled bags of chips. There’s not even a speck of dust on the table.
I flick on the laptop and collapse into my chair. The screen brightens the blank page, and its flickering cursor blinks mockingly in front of my eyes. I press my finger against the T key and watch it with disinterest as the character repeats itself one row after the other until it looks more like abstract art than the start of a story.
I drain my beer and exchange the empty can for a set of neon sticky balls that I ordered off the Internet two days ago. So
meone on my TikTok “for you” page had said that they were good for stress relief. If my “for you” recommendations say anything about me it’s that I like dog tricks and stress relievers. I’m too irresponsible to take care of a dog, so I bought the rubber balls instead.
I toss one up and count the seconds that pass before the ball disengages from the ceiling and starts to fall. I play catch with myself for five minutes before letting the balls fall on my face. The impact is enough to make me wince but not so painful that I’m enticed to get off my ass and stare at my monitor screen.
It took me three weeks to write my first book. I edited it for twice as long before sending it off to an agent. In the nine months that it took for the agent to get back to me, I wrote two more books. Those three stories went on to be the foundation of my career. I sold millions of copies in over 120 countries. The books went into the fifth printing and then the thirty-fifth printing in a blink of an eye. Hollywood called, and movies were made. I wrote more and more until I had 12 books under my belt in less than 10 years. My bank account became so fat my accountant would send me gifts every Christmas.
He still does because the checks haven’t stopped rolling in, but I haven’t written a word in nearly two years. My editor has told the press that I am working on my next novel. That may have been true eighteen months ago. At that time, I still had hope that some creative embers existed in the corners of my brain that I just hadn’t explored yet. Now I need to face the truth that I’m empty. The cursor on the blank page that used to excite me is the source of my greatest fear.
I left my penthouse in the city, my favorite coffee shop, and the best takeout in the country to move to this tiny town. One night I closed my eyes and typed a few numbers into Google Maps. That entry ended up being Cherry Falls. I packed clothes, books, and my laptop, threw everything in the back of my car, and drove. I found the realtor, bought this hideaway, and have proceeded to write nothing. I am the same Corby that I was in the city—unproductive and uninspired.
But today, standing on the side of the highway, with the water roaring at my back and the wind blowing my shirttails up, I felt a stir of something, and I’m not talking about my dick. I felt a spark of something spiral through me. That spark was lit by the reporter. I can’t tell if it’s her eyes or her plush lips or the blush that tinted her cheeks pink, but there was something in me that responded to something in her. Just standing near her was thrilling, but I want more. Okay, to be honest, my dick is stirring. It’s growing harder as I imagine her on my desk with her legs parted and her other pair of plump lips exposed to my greedy touch. It’s possible I would never write another word if she were here. I’d be too busy mapping out the pleasure points on her body, figuring out what turned her on, what made her come. That seems to be a worthy way to finish out this life—at least better than throwing sticky neon orbs at the ceiling.
An enterprising reporter will find me. I’m confident of that. I just need to wait. Patience never used to be my strong point, but times have changed, and waiting is about all that I’m good at these days.
If she is to come though...my eyes stray toward the doorway where I can see the haphazard pile of boxes I carried in and abandoned months ago. I should clean up and make this place look normal so she doesn’t think the recluse on the hill is actually a serial killer chopping up bodies in the basement. I only do shit like that in books. Honestly, maybe that’s my problem. I’ve lived all these lives in the pages of my stories, but I haven’t experienced anything real for the last decade.
I get to my feet. The reporter for Cherry Falls Gazette is about as real as they come. Once she arrives at my house, I’m not going to let her leave.
Chapter Six
Glory
“What are you doing?” I let out a scream, almost coming out of my skin.
“You scared the crap out of me!” My heart races. My mom steps into my bedroom picking up one of the books I have strewn all over my bed.
“No wonder.” She flips it over, scanning the back of the book. “Didn’t we already read this one a few years ago?” I take the book from her hand and put it back down. We did. Both of us are obsessed with the series.
“Yeah.” We’ve read every single book that Corby O’Neal has ever written.
“I could not read those and live alone.” Actually, now that I think about it, he hasn’t released a book in a while. The last one was before I moved out of my parents’ house to start my life. Not that I’ve really gone far. I now reside in the small apartment over their detached garage. It isn’t the grandest of accommodations, but it’s a start in the right direction.
“I wasn't reading them really. Just looking into some stuff.” To be honest, I’d fallen down a rabbit hole. There was a ton of information when it came to Corby O’Neal. Thousands of fan pages were out there. In particular there were so many conspiracy theory ones that caught my attention. So many people are wondering why the man hasn't popped out a new book in a while. I was surprised by the number of angry fans that were out there. But there were also some very invested ones.
“Are you hot on the trail of a story?”
“Something like that.” I’m really not sure what I’m looking for, but I know that there’s a story when it comes to Corby.
“Tell me. I brought food.” She turns, leaving my small bedroom to go back into the main living area of my place.
“You should really knock. What if I had a date up here?” My mom bursts into laughter. “Well, that’s mean. I could totally have had a date up here,” I mumble, sitting down at the small high top table I have set up in the kitchen. My mom starts to unload the bags she brought over. I must have really been into the article I was reading if I didn't hear her come in. It doesn’t surprise me; this is how I get when I’m on to something.
“I did knock,” she informs me. “So?” She hands me a Snapple from out of the bag. I take it. “The story. Let’s hear what you’re working on.” My mom is an English teacher over at the high school. I’m an only child and super close to both of my parents. I might be a little too close. I mean, look at me. I moved twenty feet from my childhood home.
“Corby O’Neal has moved to Cherry Falls.”
“What!”
I nod my head. “Don’t tell anyone! This is my story.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Fine, but that's a juicy piece of info. It’s probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened here.” It is. Maybe this wouldn’t be news for a bigger city, but this is Cherry Falls, which makes it huge!
When word got around a few years ago that Nicolas Cage passed through town, people wouldn't shut up about it. Then I debunked the story, and well, everyone was pissed at me for a month for ruining it. I tried to explain that I was only doing my job, but no one wanted to hear it. I’ve learned to never let other people's reactions to my work get in the way of the truth.
“He’s really handsome.”
My mom stops unpacking the food she brought over. “How old is he?”
“Early thirties,” I admit. “Dad is ten years older than you.” I sneak that in there.
“I was just asking a question.” She puts her hand on her hip. “Why are you getting so defensive and comparing your dad and me to him?” I can feel my whole face flush knowing I’m busted. Now she’s definitely going to know that I’m crushing on him. “Wait. Have you met him already?” For one second, I think about not telling her, but I know she’ll see right through me, so I might as well spill it.
“Maybe.” I look down at my Snapple, playing with the label.
“Did he ask you out?” she pushes. Shit. How the hell do I answer that one?
“He invited me over.”
“Well then.” She goes back to unpacking the rest of the food she brought over. I’m not sure what she means by that. Is she encouraging me to take him up on his offer? Or does she think it’s strange that he would ask me out?
“What does that mean?” I have no experience with this sort of thing. This whole cr
ush thing is new for me. There was no dating in my high school. Unless you wanted to date someone that already sucked face with someone you’re friends with. No, thanks.
“It doesn't mean anything, honey.” She gives me a smile. “Are you hungry?” She changes the subject.
“No, I have work to do,” I huff.
“Don’t stalk him.”
“Mom!” There might have been plans for a stakeout. “Stalking is my job.” I watch her fight a smile and realize she’s messing with me. “You’re the worst. I should probably mention some people on the interwebs think he might be a killer.”
That was one of the speculations as to why he up and left New York. They think he’s gone into hiding. They actually linked some unsolved crimes around the city that were eerily similar to some of his books. It’s what I’ve been reading up on for the past two hours. It’s how I fell down that rabbit hole.
“Sure he is, sweetheart. You should go on a date with him and find out.”
“I was going to go over and scope his place out.”
She runs her eyes up and down me. “Is that why you’re in all black? You should put some color on. Pull your hair down.” It doesn't matter what I say. Now she’s in set my daughter up mode. I hop down from my chair.
“Well, if I disappear tonight, you’ll know who murdered me.”
“Or whose bed to find you in.”
“Mom!” I shout as she makes me snacks to take for the road.
Chapter Seven