A Secondhand Life (The Killer Thriller Series Book 2)

by Pamela Crane

  “I’m realizing that now,” Brad grumbled as he rose from the sofa to leave.

  I walked him to the door, and when he turned to say good-bye, I kissed him on the cheek. “I do still love you, Brad. But I don’t trust you. I’m not sure if our future can survive if neither of us trusts one another.”

  In the recesses of my soul I knew it would take a miracle to rebuild what we had together broken.

  **

  “Daddy, please help me.”

  My father’s headstone jutted up from a bed of freshly cut grass, a striking contrast between the green of life and the gray of death. The cemetery’s vast emerald lawn was dotted with marble slabs as far as the eye could see. Packed dirt paths meandered throughout the grounds, lazily winding their way back to the entrance. Despite the morbidity associated with it, the cemetery felt serene. A calm rest area before venturing off to heaven.

  Even though death surrounded me, I never felt afraid when visiting. After all, my father was here to protect me.

  It had been months since I last stopped by, but my mother never missed a week. Freshly cut lilac adorned his marker—my mother’s favorite flower, which I adopted as well, and one that my father had planted every variety of at my childhood home. My father was the kind of man who did anything for the woman he loved. Why couldn’t Brad?

  If he truly loved me, he wouldn’t have followed me. If he truly loved me, he would have stuck by me during my compulsion to help Alexis—no matter how unfounded my reasons were.

  I wiped remnants of the mower’s spray off the face of the stone, revealing the shiny surface dedicated to my dad:

  Eric Germaine

  July 10, 1951–April 11, 1992

  Beloved husband and father,

  until we meet again in heaven

  Sadly, these words were all that remained of his life, along with distant memories of his laughter and charm. I remembered as a kid being able to turn to him for advice on anything and everything; he always had an answer to every problem. Not always did I take his advice or like his answers, but he respected me enough—even as a child—to let me decide for myself.

  Today I needed his wisdom.

  Not just about Brad, but about everything. About my job. About my relationships. About the risks I was taking pursuing this investigation. About the dreams and Alexis. Was I messing everything up? All along I thought I had been given a gift—my heart, and Alexis’s memories—to use to save lives. Now this gift was becoming a curse, costing me everything I loved. It was breaking up relationships and tearing people apart, making villains out of the innocent.

  No longer could I look at a man and see him as a human being. They were monsters, all of them potential suspects. Since when had my view of humanity become so gloomy?

  “Oh, Daddy, I’ve made such a mess of my life. I don’t know where to turn or who to have faith in anymore. I need your advice on what to do about Brad. I love him, but I don’t know if I can forgive him. And this whole issue with bringing Alexis’s killer to justice—it’s taking everything out of me.”

  I dropped to my knees as I poured out my soul to the only one who made me feel safe.

  “How am I supposed to help her when I think everyone’s the killer? I don’t trust Evan because he rubs me the wrong way. I’m suspicious of Jeremy because he has a sordid past. And I’m ready to convict Derek because he’s an addict. I’m so confused that I can’t see the reality around me. What has happened to me? Who am I? I don’t recognize myself anymore. I mean, where is my grace and understanding? I’m not much better than those men, am I?”

  The confession felt freeing, exonerating me from a burden I had carried far too long. Somewhere along the way I had lost faith in humanity. Every time I added a new suspect, regardless of missing facts or lacking evidence, I villainized them all, with prejudice. It was time to restore my hope, my love, and my convictions.

  It was time to forgive Brad.

  Time to embrace love.

  Time to embrace myself for who I was, scars and all.

  But first I needed to put Alexis’s retribution against her killer to rest.

  “I thought I could figure out the killer, but I’m finding out he’s ‘a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.’” I smiled as I said it. My father often quoted Winston Churchill.

  Then the rest of the quote formulated in my head as I said it aloud: “‘But perhaps there is a key.’”

  Was this my father’s message to me all those years ago? There was a key to solving every problem, even this one, but I needed to figure it out. If there was one thing my dad had taught me, it was that there’s an answer for everything, a detour around every roadblock. The resolution may not always be black and white, but it was there, somewhere in the gray.

  I possessed something that no one else alive had—a firsthand glimpse of the murderer and a heart that was guiding me. If I took a moment to stop running and instead start observing, I’d find him and I’d bring him down. The answer loomed right in front of my face. I simply needed to listen to my heart and stop directing it. My heart was the “key” to solving the problem.

  My heart had a lot to say, after all.

  It was still in love with Brad Thomas, and it always would be.

  Chapter 32

  After leaving the cemetery, I arrived home to an unmarked police car parked outside my apartment building.

  My nerves sparked as I pulled into a spot and headed to my entrance. Once inside, I could overhear a man’s voice echoing down the hall into the lobby. He sounded awfully close to my apartment …

  As I headed up the flight of stairs and rounded the corner to my front door, sure enough, Detective Evan Williams stood there, in a cheap grey suit, holding a manila envelope and talking into his cell phone.

  “Hey, I’ll call you back,” he said, abruptly ending the conversation.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, bewildered at what could possibly bring him to my doorstep.

  “I come bearing bad news,” he replied obscurely. “May I come in for a second?”

  Bad news?

  My first thought was if Brad was okay. My second thought was that the killer had taken another female victim. My third thought was that this was a setup to get me alone so Evan could kill me.

  The third thought stuck.

  The last thing I wanted was this man in my home, but if some greater force was controlling these events to help me catch the killer—Dad, is this you helping me? I wondered to myself—I needed to go along with it.

  “Um, okay. Come on in.”

  I unlocked the door and held it open for Evan to lead the way to the living room, then left the door open a crack behind me. No way was I closing myself in, in case I ran into trouble and needed a hasty escape.

  As I followed Evan into the belly of the apartment, I eyed my computer—which I’d left open out of long habit—on the dining room table and an idea struck me. My webcam. I had often used it to video chat with Brad as we talked ourselves to sleep at night. If only I could discreetly turn it to face the living room and send a live video feed to Brad so he could witness anything that happened.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” I offered, forcing myself to be as hospitably charming as possible.

  “No thanks.”

  “Well, then excuse me while I grab a water.”

  On my way to the kitchen I “bumped” the computer, spinning it around to face us. “Oops, clumsy me,” I muttered to myself while I swiped a key to turn on the camera. With a quick stroke I dimmed the screen so that Evan would be none the wiser. When it was set up, I trotted to the kitchen and returned with my bottled water.

  “So, what’s this all about?”

  “Perhaps you should sit,” he suggested.

  “No, I’d rather stand,” I insisted.

  “Your choice.” Evan handed me the envelope he was carrying. “I wanted to give you a heads-up before the sheriff’s deputy shows up. I got wind that you’re being sued, Mia.”

  I
pushed the envelope back at him.

  “What?”

  “Amy Watson’s parents are suing you for emotional damages because of your visit with Amy the night of her death. They feel you’re responsible for her death in some way, mainly because of the timing. They’re in the process of pressing charges as well.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should believe him or not, but the sympathy etched in his frown lines told me all I needed to know. This was no act. He was for real.

  “Are you kidding me? I was trying to help Amy and protect her! That’s all I’ve been trying to do. How can they accuse me of hurting her? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I know, Mia. Unfortunately, we live in a world of frivolous lawsuits. When I saw this complaint come in, I wanted to warn you about the charges and help you, if I can. I don’t think they have much of a case, but it’s being presented to the prosecutor’s office to see if it’ll stick. I’m guessing not. They have no evidence. But as for the lawsuit details, here they are. The deputy’s on his way to officially serve you.”

  This time I regretfully accepted the document.

  “I’m so sorry,” Evan added.

  Could things get any worse? I doubted it.

  Evan rose to leave, but as I walked him to the door, I knew this would probably be my only chance to ask the question that had burned in my mind since my vision.

  “Evan, can I ask you something?”

  “Maybe,” he said, turning to face me.

  It took a deep breath to muster the courage to voice the words that resonated in my mind. Evan’s shifting toward the door spurred me to speak. “The night of Alexis’s death, you were the first one on the scene, even before the EMTs, right?”

  “Yeeesss,” he answered cautiously.

  “You were just an officer back then, right?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

  “Why weren’t you wearing a uniform when you showed up at the crime scene?”

  Cocking his head and eyeing me warily, Evan’s mouth dropped open. Deafening silence reigned for a long moment, then, “How did you know that?”

  I wanted to backpedal, to take it back, in case I just pushed him too far. But then again, lives were at stake. Shoving him over the edge was a risk I had to take. “I just do. Please answer the question.” I hoped the webcam was picking up the audio on this, since it was missing his body language.

  “I don’t owe you an explanation, and I thought I warned you to stay out of that case!” he bellowed. “Isn’t this lawsuit enough to prove you don’t belong in this investigation? Stay out of it, or you’ll be dealing with more than a lawsuit.”

  The door slammed shut behind him before I got a chance to wipe his spittle off my cheek.

  Murderer or not, whatever Evan was hiding was crucial to solving the case. From day one with me, he’d been elusive about the details of that night, but I was determined to uncover his secrets. Evan was my key to everything. I just needed to find the right door to unlock.

  Chapter 33

  My eyes panned up from my mind-dulling computer screen to the panorama of lush foliage beyond the windowpane. Squirrels scampered one story below me, frolicking in a mating dance that involved bouncing from tree to tree. My office window revealed the perfect spring day outside, yet a darkness loomed over me that I couldn’t break free from.

  Another victim—Lilly Sanderson. Thirteen-year-old daughter of Melody Sanderson. Attacked but barely made it through, currently in critical condition and recovering in an undisclosed hospital.

  The numbers of victims were climbing, and no one was stopping it. It seemed like the more involved I got, the more lives he took.

  Should I give up? Should I press on? There was no correct answer, and I was losing everything to the pursuit. And yet, for some reason I was okay with that because I didn’t deserve what I wanted anyway.

  All day I was stuck at my desk playing catch-up. It had been days since I last stepped foot inside my office, and at least a cameo appearance was long overdue. I was lucky to still have a job. But today I couldn’t pull my brain out of the rut it’d been trapped in all morning—how to get information out of Detective Williams and Derek Worthington.

  To me, which one was the killer was a toss-up. Detective Williams came across as elusive and threatening, while Derek was a womanizing derelict—both reasonable choices. I even wondered if they were in on it together. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility since Evan was pulling strings to keep Derek out of trouble at every turn. Landon’s sights, however, were still set on Jeremy Mason, and since our run-in at the hospital, I couldn’t deny his logic.

  During an apologetic phone call to Landon the previous night, where I told him about the charges being pressed against me, he felt sorry enough for me to agree to a make-up dinner at Meelo’s, an authentic Italian and Greek joint that served the best gyros this side of town. We instantly reconciled, and I promised not to bring Derek’s name up again—though not before securing Landon’s word that he’d talk to his father about the day of the robbery and take one quick look into it.

  Landon spent the rest of the dinner conversation arguing his case that Jeremy Mason was our guy, while my gut told me otherwise. I knew Landon just wanted someone to blame, but my heart felt he was wrong. Something didn’t strike me as “murderous” about Jeremy. Vile, yes. And on paper he fit the profile, but I had no reaction to him. Alexis was leading this parade, so certainly I should have felt a reaction—sort of like I did upon meeting Derek. With Derek I felt disgust and fear; Jeremy, nothing. Plus, I couldn’t get my mind off Derek.

  Despite Landon’s protests, and Evan’s proof that Derek was incarcerated the night of Gina’s murder, Uncle Derek remained at the top of my suspect list. The timeline was too loose to certify that Derek hadn’t first committed the crime before getting picked up—by Evan, of all cops. Coincidence? I thought not. Why was he—a detective—bringing in a drunkard? A diabolical serial killer could have plotted it to happen that way to create the perfect alibi. It was ingenious for avoiding detection.

  Reaction or not, I kept Jeremy on the list anyway, since someone capable of inappropriately touching a child is certainly capable of God knows what else … including murder. Plus, he worked at the hospital where Amy was killed. So I promised Landon I’d look into it. I figured I could ask around the hospital to see what people knew about Jeremy.

  My eyelids drooped heavily as I returned my focus to my work computer. A beige ceramic clock in the shape of a horse—horses being a childhood passion of mine—promised I only had another hour until quitting time, so I decided to waste the rest of the workday browsing online. Jackie never acted like a stickler about how we spent our time, as long as the work got done. Gotta love her.

  I searched for popular, credible background check services and found one that was relatively cheap. After entering my credit card information, I provided the information I knew, which wasn’t much:

  Derek Worthington

  Durham, North Carolina

  It was barely a start, but it was enough to pull the right guy up from a virtual lineup. A page-long catalog of debts and criminal activities popped up under his name, mostly just petty theft, public drunkenness, and DUIs. Nothing involving assault or a sexual offense.

  As my eyes filtered down the list, beneath his name was a list of possible relations. No surprise, there I found “Dan Worthington,” along with a hefty dose of unpaid parking tickets, a heap of delinquent debt, and a handful of petty crimes. His latest convictions of burglary, theft, and attempted manslaughter, along with the subsequent sentencing, stood out in a bold font.

  As I continued scrolling down, another name caught my attention. Bewildered by this unwelcome surprise, I clicked on it and held my breath as another webpage popped up. First the name, date of birth, and address—all basic facts. But then, a little further down, I saw something I hadn’t expected, something that collided into me, physically rocking me back into my chair:

  Landon
Worthington

  Crime Details: Arrested for misdemeanor death by vehicle

  Disposition Date: 04/28/1992

  Disposition: Charges dropped

  The same year my father was killed … and the charges were dropped only two weeks afterward. Was it possible that it was the same accident? I couldn’t stomach the thought. The coincidence struck me like a blow to my head.

  No, this was no happenstance. It couldn’t be.

  Another guy I trusted turned out to be a liar, betraying my confidence. How could he have not mentioned this to me? I was fuming, and he had some explaining to do.

  **

  I stormed up the walkway to his front door, banging relentlessly while screaming his name. My anger burned so hot that I barely registered a familiar vehicle parked in front of the house when I peeled into the driveway. Too angry to give it another thought, I continued hammering.

  “Landon! I need to speak with you right now!”

  My heart pounded in my ears as the door trembled beneath each blow. Several thuds later, Jennifer calmly cracked the door open just enough for me to push past her into the living room.

  “Where’s Landon? It’s urgent I talk to him.”

  “He’s in the basement, honey. Are you okay? You seem really worked up.” She wrapped her manicured fingers around my forearm, halting my fervent stride. But I was too frenzied to explain.

  “I just need to speak with Landon,” I insisted curtly.

  Releasing me with a gentle pat on my shoulder, Jennifer walked me through the living room, past a man sitting on the sofa sipping from a mug. I did a double-take—Jeremy Mason. I suddenly remembered—the car outside belonged to him. For a brief moment I wondered what he was doing here … until I remembered what I had come for.

  My brain was too befuddled, careening in too many directions, to deal with his presence.

  With timid steps Jennifer led me to the basement door and swung it open.