by T. R. Ragan
Guilt seeped through Sawyer. Despite Gramma telling her to leave River Rock, she should have been there for her. “Thank you for watching over her.”
“I did it more for me than for her. She frightened easily, and it always made me feel better knowing she was okay.”
“What was Gramma afraid of?”
“She said she heard your mom and dad talking, and she thought they might do her harm.”
“What?”
“Your gramma worried about a lot of things, and most days she mumbled incoherently. To be honest, everything scared her.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, gosh. It was over a year ago. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Old Lady McGrady reached over and rested a blue-veined hand on Sawyer’s forearm. Sawyer didn’t pull away.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Old Lady McGrady said. “You did the right thing, leaving this town. I would have left myself if I’d had any place to go.”
Sawyer knew Old Lady McGrady had a loose tongue and a fondness for gossip, but imagining Gramma spending days and nights alone and afraid sent chills up her spine. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
She pulled her hand back to her side. “Not at all.”
“It’s about the unsolved murders. Did you know either of the victims?”
“Harold and I knew everyone in River Rock. I still do. Peggy used to spend a lot of time with her siblings, panning for gold. She was so smart. Such a tragedy.”
“Do you recall if there were any suspects at the time?”
“None that I know of. But Danny Hart was the first person to come forward and tell the police that he saw a young woman with long brown hair running from the woods that day.”
“Mind if I take notes?”
“Not at all. It’s about time someone around here started asking questions.”
Sawyer finished writing and then looked at her. “I’m glad you feel that way.”
“Killing someone and then taking a piece of hair as some sort of gruesome trophy. That kept me up at night. I still think of it.”
“Why Peggy?” Sawyer asked.
“The only thing I could think of was jealousy. She was a sweet, young, pretty girl.”
“Do you think Danny Hart was telling the truth?”
“I don’t know,” Old Lady McGrady said. “He passed away years ago, so you won’t be able to talk to him, but for a week or two, it seemed like everyone had a theory about who and what they had seen. I think Chief Schneider got frustrated and sort of gave up.”
“It was probably easier for him to blame it on an outsider,” Sawyer said.
“Definitely.” Old Lady McGrady looked at her and frowned suddenly. “You and your sisters had a rough go of it, didn’t you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“After hearing about your uncle’s release, I have to admit I was surprised to see you back in town.”
Sawyer had always wondered who, if anyone, in town was aware of what Uncle Theo had done to her and Aria. “You knew?”
“After your sisters ran off, I suspected. But it wasn’t until your uncle was thrown in jail for sexually assaulting a coworker that it all came together for me.” She narrowed her eyes. “If I’d known what he was up to, I would have brought in the cavalry. Hell, I would have grabbed Harold’s rifle and taken care of him myself.”
Sawyer would have liked to have seen that. She finished her maple bar and chased it down with coffee.
Old Lady McGrady began collecting her things. “I better get going. I’ve got errands to run before I go home to get ready for the funeral.” She patted Sawyer’s arm for the second time. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Thanks for talking with me,” Sawyer said. After waving through the window at the old woman, Sawyer got up to refill her coffee. No sooner had she returned to her seat than a feeling of being watched swept over her. She gazed out at the line of cars parked on the street. They all appeared to be empty. Beyond the cars was the edge of a wooded area, a vast expanse of woods she knew well. A place where she used to read as eagles soared overhead, a serene place where birds sang and young coyotes played. Even within the darkest parts of the woods, she’d always felt safe, hidden from the most dangerous predators of them all . . . humans.
Her gaze traveled to the fishing store across the street. Nobody was coming or going.
Stop being paranoid.
She pulled out her phone and saw she had two missed calls. One from Derek Coleman, her ex-boss, and the other from Aria.
She decided to start with Coleman. She hit “Call back,” and when he answered, she said, “Hi. It’s Sawyer. You called?”
“I did. Do you mind holding on for two seconds?”
Before she could answer, the other end of the line was muffled. She could hear voices on his end and what sounded like a door closing.
“There. We’re good,” he said. “I can talk now.”
She said nothing. Simply waited.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“First off, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I also wanted to thank you for putting one hundred percent into the story about the birthday party gone horribly wrong and let you know I appreciate your hard work.”
Her chest puffed just a little bit. “You’re welcome.”
“It’s a tragic story that you told in a respectful and meaningful way. Your words will bring awareness to what should have been just another party.”
She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t recall Derek Coleman ever calling her in the past to hand out praise, or for any reason at all. It felt somehow unnerving, and yet she wasn’t sure why. It took her a moment to think of what to say next, and by the time she started speaking, he spoke too. They laughed. “Go ahead,” she said.
“No. You.”
“Sean Palmer told me he talked to you about the job offer,” she said.
“That’s right. He did.”
“He told me there was no need for me to give you notice.”
“Correct.”
Okay, she thought, so he isn’t calling about that. She felt a tickle, a fluttering in her belly at the thought of not working with him any longer. “You’ve been a good boss,” she said, then rolled her eyes.
“I could have been better. You and I were sort of thrown together at one of the worst times of my life. I definitely could have done better.”
“Oh, no,” she offered lamely. “That’s not true.”
He laughed.
She felt like an idiot, but that didn’t stop her from stumbling onward, tripping over her words, probably making a fool of herself. She was good at that. In that moment she realized this was the first time in the three years since his wife’s death that he’d so much as hinted at the tragedy. “I’m sorry about the loss of your wife. I should have told you that years ago, but there are simply no words when someone so young is taken too soon. Or maybe there are words, but I certainly was and still am at a loss as to how to express my sorrow for what you’ve been through.”
“It’s okay, Sawyer. There was and is no need.”
Her nerves had quickly gotten the best of her, and when that happened she tended to talk too much. “Sean Palmer told me about the nice things you said about my work . . . about me. From the sounds of it, your generous praise made me look so good he had no choice but to give me a shot at it.”
He laughed again.
She couldn’t recall if she’d ever heard him laugh before. Hell, he hardly smiled. This conversation was getting weird. Stop, Sawyer. Say nothing else.
Coleman said, “Sean told me you plan to return on Wednesday.”
“Correct.”
“I realize this might sound as if it’s coming from left field, but now that you’re not working directly under me, I was hoping you would have dinner with me sometime.”
She’d taken another swallow of coffee and n
early spit it out.
“Are you there?” he asked for the second time.
“I’m here. You caught me off guard. Sorry.”
“No. Don’t be. You’ve traveled back home for a funeral, and here I am, out of the blue, asking you out on a date. I only called to let you know I appreciated you getting the story to me with all you had going on.”
A date. Connor had never taken her on a date. They’d met at the coffee shop where Aria worked part-time. She and Connor had kept running into each other, and the next thing she knew, she was moving in with him.
But this was Derek Coleman—the man who’d been calling the shots for the past three years, the sad, grieving widower who kept to himself.
This was definitely the Twilight Zone. She’d traveled to another dimension. Which is where her brain was at the moment—in another world. “I don’t know what to say. I’m . . .”
“No need to give me an answer. We’ll talk when you return to the office next week.”
Before she could think of what to say next, he said, “Again. My condolences. We’ll talk soon. Goodbye, Sawyer.”
“Bye,” she said absently, still in a daze. Derek Coleman had asked her on a date? She rarely discussed her life outside work, so it made sense that he wouldn’t know about Connor . . . And now that Connor was out of the picture, that was a nonissue. But the thing that niggled at her was that she hadn’t seen it coming.
Not even close.
She finished her coffee, shouldered her bag, and exited the coffee shop, still feeling blindsided by her conversation with Coleman as she walked along the sidewalk. Over the years, she and Coleman had talked about story projects and her work performance. But it never went beyond that. Even so, did she want to go on a date with him? He was six years older than she was. He was serious about his work. He was over six feet tall. He had nice eyes. God, it felt weird, thinking about him this way. She’d always thought of him as the sad, grieving widower. The man of few words.
She wove around a couple. Somebody had once told her about Coleman’s large, supportive family. She couldn’t remember why they had told her or why she remembered that tidbit at all, except that maybe such a loving image didn’t compute—a big family gathered around the table at Thanksgiving, everyone happy to see one another. Weird.
Dinner with Coleman? Alone? Just the two of them?
No. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t want someone like Derek Coleman to get too close and see all the broken bits and pieces. She liked and respected him too much. Besides, he’d been married once, which told her he was the settling-down sort who probably wanted to have kids someday. Settling down with one person for too long wasn’t her thing. And the thought of ever having children didn’t appeal to her. She loved her niece and nephew. Would do anything for them. But she could hardly take care of herself, let alone a child. No way.
Sawyer noticed the bookstore next door to the coffee shop. Since she was here, she thought she might as well say hello to the owners, Mr. and Mrs. Russell, and ask them what they remembered about the murders, if anything.
Peering through the window, she saw a woman standing behind the counter. Is that Oliver Quinn?
A bell jingled as Sawyer pushed through the door.
Oliver looked different. A lot different.
He’d always worn his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, but today he wore it loose in highlighted waves that swept over his shoulders. The beard was gone. His skin flawless. He looked thinner, almost fragile looking.
Oliver and Sawyer had been in the same class growing up. They were the same age, born on the same day. Like a lot of kids in River Rock, Oliver had been through some shit in his life. Teachers and parents thought of him as a troublemaker—the rebellious kid who smoked cigarettes between class and did as he pleased. Other kids were afraid of him, and they called him a warlock because he threatened to put a curse on them if they didn’t leave him alone.
Like Sawyer, Oliver loved to read. Back then he’d gravitated toward dark fantasy with elements of horror and dread, while Sawyer tended toward mystery, anything involving a murder that needed to be solved. They both spent whole weekends in the bookstore, sitting on the floor or on the beat-up couch in the back room, never talking much, simply reading for hours on end. Mr. and Mrs. Russell never kicked them out. The kindly couple simply worked around the misfits in their store as if they belonged there.
Oliver didn’t look up until Sawyer stood right across the counter from him, their faces a foot apart. Oliver finally lifted his head. “Sawyer Brooks?”
Sawyer nodded. “It’s been forever. I can’t remember the last time I saw you.”
“Exactly one week before you left this miserable town for good. You were here at the bookstore, looking for a good read,” Oliver said. “And call me Melanie, or Mel if you’re in a hurry.” Oliver gestured with his hands across the upper part of his body, sort of like the woman on Wheel of Fortune might do before revealing a letter on the board. “Hormone replacement therapy alone didn’t cut it, so I had breast augmentation surgery to help alleviate gender dysphoria and improve my confidence and self-esteem.”
Oliver had always kept to himself. He used to come across as edgy and uptight, so his announcement made sense. Holding secrets and not being able to be yourself would take its toll on most people. Good for him for having the courage to be himself. “Some secrets are too great to keep trapped within yourself,” Sawyer said. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. TMI, I know,” Melanie said. “But life’s too short. For the first time I’m content with who I am. It’s freeing. What about you? What are you up to these days?”
“I’m a crime reporter.”
Melanie chuckled. “That’s why you really came back to River Rock, isn’t it?”
Sawyer was taken aback but quickly composed herself. “It’s definitely part of the reason. I don’t have much time, but if you don’t mind, I would love to ask you about the unsolved murders.”
Melanie crossed her arms over her new chest. The boobs, the voice, the hair and skin—it was hard to believe that this young woman was her old friend Oliver. “You came to the right place,” she said.
Sawyer pulled out her notebook.
“Just last week I heard rumors that Robert Stanley beats his wife on a regular basis.”
“Bob? The mechanic?” Sawyer asked. “That’s horrible, but what does that have to do with the murders?”
“He didn’t just beat her. He pinned her to the ground, chopped off a chunk of her hair, and threatened to kill her if she didn’t behave.”
“Just like the killer did to Peggy and Avery,” Sawyer said.
Melanie nodded. “Exactly.”
An old cuckoo clock on the wall began to chirp, reminding Sawyer it was time to go. “I want to hear more, but I have to go. Will you be around over the next few days to talk about this?”
“Come by anytime. I’ll be here.”
Sawyer stuffed her notebook away and then met her gaze. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
When Sawyer got as far as the door, Melanie said, “Be careful.”
Sawyer looked over her shoulder at her. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was nearing 11:00 a.m. by the time Malice, Cleo, and Psycho dragged the waiter downstairs and bound him to the leg of the pool table. Psycho fastened pillowcases over both men’s heads, taping the dark fabric around their necks. She’d left plenty of air holes at the sides and back of their heads, so they could breathe but couldn’t see.
Once the men’s faces were covered, all three women removed their wigs and masks. Then they waited for Bug, who worked for Antiva, an antivirus company, and Lily, who worked as a manager at an outdoor adventure shop, to take time off for lunch so the entire crew could discuss what to do next via video on their cells.
Psycho’s and Cleo’s phones were used to pull Lily and Bug up on FaceTime.
“I got in. Found the file of videos hidden under ‘Attributes!’” Cleo said excitedly.
They all cheered.
“Call the police and hand over the videos,” Bug said.
“Not so fast,” Cleo said. “It will take me a while to see what we’ve got. I’m skimming through them quickly, but I can already tell that some are blurry. It looks like Brad used low resolution when he first started out.”
“How many are there?” someone asked.
“Dozens. It’s going to take me some time to sort through these.”
“Keep going,” Malice said. “In the meantime, I vote that we stick with the plan and do everything we can to discredit Brad.”
“The plan was to disrupt his life by sharing his truth,” Lily said. “He’s a predator. He should be locked up, but how do we move forward without proof of what he’s done?”
“We can tell your story using an anonymous name,” Bug said. “Maybe others will come forward.”
Malice nodded her agreement. “Great idea. It’s up to us to reveal the true Brad to his friends and coworkers. Then it’s up to them to decide—”
Beneath the pillowcase, the tape over Brad’s mouth must have fallen off because he interrupted. “Your ridiculous masks and wigs won’t stop me from finding you,” he said. “Every single one of you. You have no idea what I’m capable of. I’ll do things to you that will make you wish you were dead.”
Malice looked at the screen, where she could see Lily’s face redden. She was the reason they were here, the one person in the group who had suffered Brad’s forty-eight-hour assault. She had been here, in this house, with that man. Now, listening to him make threats after all he’d done ended up being too much.
“We have dozens of videos, showing you torturing and raping women,” Lily shouted from the phone. “You will pay for what you’ve done!”
Brad cocked his head. “That voice. Who is that? Do I know you?”
Lily opened her mouth to speak, but Cleo cut in before Lily could say anything more. “If you don’t shut your mouth, Brad, I’m going to have to shove that pool stick up your ass.”