by Sarah Fox
Brett pulled me close to him. “Good.” He kissed me, but then had to lunge for the stove to stop the pot of water from boiling over.
It wasn’t much longer before we were seated at the kitchen table, enjoying the incredible meal Brett had prepared. Once I’d finished off my last bite, I leaned back in my chair with a contented sigh.
“Delicious,” I said.
Brett swirled the last of his pasta around his fork. “I should have brought some dessert.”
“I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer. Not licorice,” I said, knowing that was Brett’s favorite flavor, “but it’s double chocolate.”
“I’ll never say no to double chocolate ice cream.”
I dished out two bowls of ice cream and we ate it while relaxing on the couch, Flapjack curled up between us and Bentley lying at our feet.
“Have you ever seen the original version of The Perishing?” I asked between spoonfuls.
“Years ago.”
“I’m told it’s a classic.”
“A cult classic. It had a very loyal fan base, if not a huge one.”
“I know Ivan and Lisa are fans. What about you?”
“It was a fun movie to watch, but I’ve only seen it the one time.”
I told him about the plan to watch the original version at my place. “You’ll come, right?”
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”
“What’s it about?” I asked. “Am I going to fall asleep in the middle of it or have nightmares for a week?”
“Hopefully neither. The main character’s a successful novelist with a bad case of writer’s block. He moves to an isolated old house, hoping the change of scenery will spark some inspiration. But it turns out the house is haunted by a long-dead serial killer bent on claiming more victims from beyond the grave. I remember it as being more fun than scary.”
I raised my eyebrows. “A ghost of a serial killer and props that include severed heads. Movies don’t scare me easily, but that sounds like it could be creepy.”
He took my hand and leaned over Flapjack to kiss me below my ear. “If it’s creepy, you’re more than welcome to sit close and hold my hand.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer no matter what the movie’s like,” I said with a smile.
We set our empty bowls on the coffee table, and I shifted Flapjack to my lap so I could scoot closer to Brett. He’d just settled his arm around me when my cellphone rang. I grabbed it from the coffee table and checked the screen.
“It’s Max Fabel.”
“The journalist?”
I nodded and accepted the call, hoping Max had some valuable information to share.
“Christine’s knack for remembering faces is what set everything in motion,” Max said as soon as we’d exchanged greetings. “I know what the story is that she wanted me to cover, and it’s a good one.” His excitement practically bubbled out through my phone.
“So there was something on Jamal’s laptop?”
“Yes. I hit the jackpot with the Internet search history.”
“So what’s the story?” I asked, not wanting to wait in suspense any longer.
“Can we meet? That way I can show you what tipped Christine off.”
“How about you come by my place?” I suggested. “I’m three properties down from the B&B.”
“Sure. I’m in town, so I can be there in a few minutes.”
I gave him my address to be sure he’d find the right house.
“See you soon,” he said before hanging up.
“He found something,” Brett surmised.
“Apparently, but he wants to tell me about it in person.” I squeezed Brett’s hand. “I hope it’s okay that I invited him over.”
“Of course. I’m interested to hear what he has to say, too.”
While we waited for Max to arrive, we cleaned up our dessert dishes and I made sure the light was on over the front porch. When Max hadn’t appeared after ten minutes, we returned to the couch. After a few minutes of chatting and relaxing, I checked my phone. Another ten minutes had passed.
“I thought he’d be here by now,” I said, wondering if I should be worried.
“Maybe he got delayed.”
I tried calling Max but got his voicemail. With a shrug, I settled in to continue waiting, leaning against Brett. Our conversation died off a few minutes later and my eyelids grew heavy. I stifled a yawn and forced myself to sit up so I wouldn’t nod off. When I checked my phone again, I frowned at it with concern. Three-quarters of an hour had gone by since Max had called.
I tried phoning him again, but with the same result.
“Strange,” I said, unable to quell my rising unease.
I called the Driftwood Bed-and-Breakfast, but when I spoke to Patricia, she told me Max hadn’t yet returned for the night and she hadn’t heard from him recently. I thanked her and hung up, more concerned than before.
“What if something bad happened to him?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Brett said calmly.
“There’s a murderer on the loose,” I reminded him.
I moved Flapjack from my lap and got to my feet, unable to sit still any longer. Bentley jumped up and wagged his tail as I gave him a pat on the head.
“I’ll tell you what,” Brett said, getting up and resting his hands on my shoulders. “I’ll drive into town and see if I can spot him.”
“Would you?” I said with relief. “That would be great. But I’ll come with you.”
“It’s probably better for you to stay here in case he shows up.”
“Good point.” I gave him a quick description of the journalist since he’d never met him.
“Back soon,” Brett said, giving me a kiss before disappearing out the front door.
I stayed in the foyer with the door open—holding Bentley back so he couldn’t chase after his favorite human—until I could no longer see the taillights of Brett’s truck. After shutting the door, I paced around, unable to settle, peering out through the front windows every minute or so. When I spotted a vehicle coming along the driveway, I hurried to open the door.
“Any luck?” I asked as soon as Brett had climbed out of his truck.
He shook his head, and when he came closer I could tell that he was worried now, too. “I only saw one person out and about, and that was a woman.”
“What could have happened to him?”
Brett gave Bentley a pat before putting an arm around my shoulders. “Hopefully we’ll find out in the morning, and hopefully it won’t be anything bad.”
“Do you think we should call anyone?”
“He’s not really missing. Not yet, anyway. Patricia will know first thing tomorrow if he returned to the bed-and-breakfast sometime during the night.”
“True.” I picked up Flapjack and held him close. “So you think we should get some sleep and look into it in the morning?”
“That’s probably the best idea.”
“Are you staying?” I asked.
“If you’d like me to.”
I turned the lock on the front door and gave him the best smile I could under the circumstances. “Then you are.”
As we got ready for bed, I tried not to worry about Max, but I was unsuccessful. Later that night, as I lay snuggled up against Brett, my thoughts remained with the journalist. Maybe Max had been so excited about what he’d found out that he’d decided to skip our meeting and start writing the story, silencing his phone so he wouldn’t be disturbed. But then why not at least call me first so I wouldn’t wait around for him? Not all people were courteous, and the fact was that I barely knew the man, but even so, I didn’t think he would have left me hanging like that.
Still, I knew Brett was right—there wasn’t much we could do about Max that night—so I tried to get some sleep. But even when I did finally manage to drift off, my worries infiltrated my dreams, robbing me of any peace.
—
As soon as I’d showered and dressed the next morning, I tried calling
Max again, but I had no more luck than I’d had the night before. I hadn’t received any messages or missed any calls, either. I wanted to phone Patricia, to check if Max had ever shown up at her place, but though I knew she was an early riser, I figured I should probably hold off until a more reasonable hour.
“Let me know if you hear anything about Max,” Brett said when he pulled his truck into The Flip Side’s parking lot half an hour later.
“I will,” I assured him.
After giving Bentley a goodbye pat, I hopped out of the truck and waved as Brett drove off.
Inside the pancake house, everything was comfortingly familiar, but I still couldn’t cast aside my concerns. I went through my usual morning routine and once the clock had ticked past six thirty, I decided to try calling Patricia. To my surprise, there was no answer at the bed-and-breakfast. I left a brief message, and then tried to stay focused on getting the restaurant ready to open at seven.
With five minutes to spare before opening, Leigh arrived.
“Sorry for cutting it a bit fine this morning,” she said as she hurried toward the break room to store her jacket and purse in her locker.
“No worries,” I called after her. “We’ve still got a couple of minutes,” I said when she reappeared a moment later, tying a red apron around her waist.
“Did you hear the news?” Leigh asked as she finished fastening her apron and moved on to twisting her bleached-blond hair into a messy bun.
I set a freshly refilled pepper shaker on a nearby table. “What news?”
“A man was attacked in town last night.”
I took a step back and stumbled over a chair, grabbing the edge of the nearest table to stop myself from falling.
“Marley? Are you all right?” Leigh said with concern. “You’ve gone pale.”
I sank into the chair I’d hit, weak with dread. “Who was attacked?”
“He’s not a local. I don’t know his name, but someone mentioned that he’s been staying at the Driftwood Bed-and-Breakfast.”
That confirmed my fears. “Max,” I said, my voice sounding hollow.
“You know him?” Leigh sounded surprised. “I’m so sorry, Marley. I wouldn’t have delivered the news so casually if I’d known.”
“I met him the other day.” I swallowed, not sure if I wanted to know the answer to my next question. “Is he okay?”
“He’s alive. Someone from the film crew found him early this morning, lying unconscious near that tent by the trailers. He was taken to the hospital in Port Angeles, but that’s all I know.”
“Is the sheriff sure he was attacked?”
“Sorry, I don’t know. I heard all this from one of the parents at the daycare when I dropped my girls off.”
I forced myself into motion and opened the pancake house for business, but the first spare moment I had, I sat myself in the office and phoned Patricia again, this time with more success.
“I heard that Max is in the hospital,” I said once Patricia had answered the phone.
“Isn’t it awful? No wonder he didn’t show up at your place last night.”
“Do you know if he’s okay? And what happened, exactly?”
“The sheriff came by first thing this morning to ask some questions and to have a look at Max’s belongings. He said it looks like Max was hit from behind. He’s alive, but at that point he hadn’t regained consciousness.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Isn’t it? And who would have wanted to attack the poor man? The only reason I can think of is that someone was trying to rob him.”
With Patricia’s words, a fresh wave of dread hit me. “Do you know if he had a laptop with him when he was found?”
“I have no idea,” Patricia said. “But if he did, I guess that might rule out robbery.”
“Thanks, Patricia,” I said. “I’d better get back to work. Could you please let me know if you hear anything more about Max?”
“Of course.”
After we’d ended the call, I sat back in the desk chair and stared across the room. I didn’t know anything for certain, but I thought it was highly likely that Max’s attacker was the same person who’d killed Christine. And the fact that the person had targeted the journalist meant that he or she was probably afraid that Max was getting too close to the truth. The story that had prompted Christine to call Max to Wildwood Cove had to be at the center of everything. The killer murdered Christine before she could tell anyone else the story, and now the same person had likely attempted to kill Max to prevent him from sharing the information.
The clues that would lead to uncovering the killer’s identity were on Jamal’s laptop. But where was that laptop now?
Had the killer taken it or had it still been with Max when he was found?
I wanted to call Sheriff Georgeson and ask him that question, but I wasn’t sure if he’d be willing to share that information with me. I’d have to wait to find out, anyway. By then the breakfast rush was underway and Leigh needed my help at the front of the house. But as I served meals, cleaned tables, and refilled coffee mugs, my thoughts never strayed far from Max and the laptop.
Chapter 21
Nearly three hours passed before I had a chance for another break. Back in the office, I sent a text to Brett, letting him know what had happened to Max. Then I tried calling Sheriff Georgeson, but the call went to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I hung up, deciding to try again later. I was about to return to work when a shadow moved out in the hall and the man I’d attempted to call came into view, pausing in the open doorway.
“Morning, Marley,” Ray said as he removed his hat.
“Morning.” I got to my feet. “I just tried phoning you. Do you have any news about Max Fabel?”
“I was in touch with the hospital a few minutes ago. He hasn’t regained consciousness.”
I sank back down into the desk chair, saddened by that news. “I heard he was hit from behind.”
Ray stepped into the office. “That’s right. A blow to the back of the head. The attacker most likely took him by surprise.”
“Whoever it was, I think they meant to kill him.”
Ray shut the office door. “What makes you say that?”
“Before I explain, was a laptop found with Max?”
“No. He didn’t have a phone, either, and his wallet was emptied of cash and left on the ground. At the moment, we’re treating the case as a violent robbery.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
I offered Ray a seat and he took it.
“Patricia Murray told me that Mr. Fabel was supposed to meet you last night and didn’t show up,” he said once he was seated.
“That’s right. He wanted to tell me what he’d found on Jamal’s laptop. Jamal Harris, from the movie crew. Have you spoken to him?”
“Jamal and his father came to see me yesterday.”
“He told you about the person behind the sabotage and what Alyssa was doing at the time of the murder?”
“He did,” Ray confirmed. “The production assistant is facing charges, and I heard that he’s been fired.”
“That’s not surprising.” I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for Dennis.
“Why was Mr. Fabel going to meet you last night? And why do you think the attack was an attempted murder?”
I forced my spinning thoughts to slow down and back up. I started by telling Ray how I’d met Max, and then I moved on to the reason why he had Jamal’s laptop. “He told me on the phone that he’d found a clue in the Internet browsing history.”
“But he didn’t tell you what that clue was?”
“No. He wanted to show me. All he said was that it was Christine’s ability to remember faces that was at the heart of everything. My guess is that she’d recognized someone, someone who didn’t want to be recognized.”
“That sounds like a possibility,” Ray agreed. “What time did you speak to Mr. Fabel last night?”
“A little after eight
thirty. Brett drove into town and back to see if he could spot him when he didn’t show up, but there was no sign of him.”
“His body wouldn’t have been visible from the road. He was found behind the craft services tent around five this morning.”
“So he was there all night,” I said, feeling terrible.
“At least it didn’t rain, and it wasn’t as cold as other nights have been recently; otherwise he might well have died from exposure.”
My stomach twisted. “I wish we’d searched again, more thoroughly.”
“You likely still wouldn’t have found him, considering the location of his body.”
That didn’t erase my guilt, but I tried to remain focused. “I don’t suppose there was anything found on Max that would provide a clue about what he’d found? A notebook or something?”
“Nothing like that, although I’ll have another look at his belongings in light of this new information.”
“What about Alyssa?” I asked. “Was the alibi Jamal gave her enough to clear her name?”
“It was, especially since he had photo files with the date and times they were created. She was released about an hour ago.”
That news brought me a sense of relief, although that had more to do with knowing that an innocent person was no longer in custody than with any concern I had for Alyssa specifically.
Ray got up from his seat. “If you think of anything more that might shed light on what happened to Mr. Fabel, please let me know.”
“I will.”
“But, Marley, that doesn’t mean I want you going on a hunt for his attacker.”
“I know,” I said.
Ray set his hat on his head and went on his way. I returned to the dining area to find that it was growing busy again, the lunch rush getting underway.
“Everything okay?” Leigh asked the first chance she had to pull me aside.
“You mean because the sheriff was here? Yes, he just wanted to ask me a few questions about Max.” I told her about how we were supposed to meet the night before.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you earlier that I talked to my friend Caroline, the one who’s working as an extra on the movie.”
“What did she have to say?”
“I asked her if there were any rumors flying around the set about who killed Christine. Apparently there are several. Some people think it was Alyssa because of jealousy over Christine’s relationship with Haze Moody. Other people think it was Christine’s ex-husband, for the same reason. Some believe it might have been Christine’s assistant, and another theory is that it was a random psycho.”