Hard Press: The Evie Black Files

by Adam Nicholls

  He’s sweet, Evie thought, throwing on some clean clothes and rubbing her hair dry inside a towel. When she stepped out of the bathroom, he sat neatly in an armchair, legs crossed, hands together. He’d cleaned up his face at a rest stop, but the blood remained on his shirt, and a cut decorated his swollen upper l

  “Let me make you some coffee.”

  Conan nodded, and the room was uncomfortably quiet until she slipped in across from him and placed two steaming mugs on the table between them. They looked at each other, a new sense of camaraderie undeniably present. But there was something else, too—an unresolved issue, which they were both avoiding.

  Evie locked eyes with him for only a second and then averted her gaze. “I owe you an apology. Storming off like that, I… You pay me to do a job, and I should have just done as I was told. So… I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Black. It’s me who should be apologizing. You were uncomfortable with what I asked, and you stood up for yourself. You should be proud.” Conan propped his arm up on the chair, and leaned his head into his fist. “At least we know the truth about Cara Fey now.”

  Evie nodded, slowly and silently. “They won’t get away with this.”

  “No. There was enough evidence on site to tie up a whole load of unsolved murders. Three or four missing-person cases are gradually being put to bed, too. I have to say, you sure picked a fine crowd to travel with.”

  “But I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” Evie managed a smile… somehow. “And I’ll write that article. A sweet farewell to our beloved journalist Cara Fey. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to omit some of the more unsavory details.”

  “You read my mind.” Conan sipped at his coffee, made a sucking sound with his lips and, deciding he liked it, downed the rest in a single gulp. He stood, straightening out his crumpled shirt. “I really need to press on. Feel free to return to work anytime you like. Just be sure to let me know before you do.”

  Evie watched him head for the door. She wanted to offer her undying gratitude. Not just for saving her life but for being so understanding when she had acted like a brat. She owed him more than she’d thought, but how could she say that? Was there even a way? “Wait.”

  Stopping by the door, Conan turned and looked her in the eye. “Yes?”

  “No more of this ‘Miss Black’ stuff, okay? Call me Evie from now on.”

  Conan smiled softly. “Okay, Evie. See you soon.”

  The door clicked shut behind him, and Evie sat alone in the dark apartment. The sun shone brightly outside, but it didn’t quite reach her windows. It was okay, though—kind of fitting really. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wait for her emotions to take their toll. And after that? Well, she could finally return to work.

  Chapter Forty

  On a beautifully hot Friday afternoon, Evie strolled through the market by the docks. The smell of hot dogs and grilling meat fused with the air, causing her stomach to moan. She would eat, but first there was something else she had to do.

  Evie purchased a new iPhone at a bargain price. After the previous week’s events, she thought that it was finally time to replace her broken cell. After all, she was going back to work the following week and liked to be prepared.

  Now, then… She found a quiet corner and took a seat, munching on an apple as she sat in the shade. The cell phone came out straightaway, and before the limited precharge expired, she wanted to plumb in the numbers she knew offhand.

  There were only four: the office, Captain Moore of the NYPD, Amy (Evie’s niece and the voice of reason), and then her brother, Mason. When the numbers were saved, she sent text messages to the former three and gave her new contact details. The fourth one, however, finally deserved that phone call he’d been waiting for.

  “Detective Mason Black,” he said, sounding tired.

  The phone pressed to her ear, Evie froze. Now that the time had come, she realized that she actually had no idea what to say. In the end, all she could think of was “Hey.”

  A pause, and then the excitable voice of her older brother. “Evie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. I’ve been trying to get hold of you! You’ve been on the news, you know. We’ve all been worried sick.” It wasn’t unlike him to care. Evie even found it sweet that he talked to her as if they had never had a falling out—as if she’d never found out about him murdering a child killer.

  “I’m okay.”

  “I got that impression.” Mason stopped talking for a moment, but his fast breathing stayed audible even with the surrounding noise of the market. “Listen, when I found out that you were home, I booked a flight to New York.”

  Evie began to panic. Was she really ready to see him again? How long had it been? Six months? Whatever it was, maybe it had been too long. This could even be the excuse she’d been looking for—a chance to rebuild that bridge to her brother, and one of her closest friends. “You did? That’s… great. Are you still coming?”

  “Depends,” Mason said. “Do you want me to come?”

  “Maybe.” Evie laughed at how perfectly and insanely comfortable this conversation was, given the circumstances. She’d expected to feel like she was talking to a stranger. “When is your flight?”

  “Uh, it comes in tomorrow.”

  Evie took one last bite of her apple, stood, and threw it in a nearby bin. The cell phone at her ear, she took one last look at the market and then walked off into the nearby alley, headed for home. “I look forward to it.”

  Also by

  Adam Nicholls

  YOU SAW TOO MUCH

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  You Saw Too Much

  Extended Preview

  Prologue

  Weighed down with the torture of recent events, Lori unlocked the door of the motel and stumbled inside, hauling her one big bag of spare clothes with her. Before she got a chance to study the small, dusty room, she hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She then unpacked her bathroom gear and brushed her hair in short, violent strokes, fighting the urge to look at herself in the mirror. The image she expected was awful: tired eyes, frizzled hair, and red skin bitten by the fall air.

  She glanced around the bedroom and shook her head at the worn and tired feel. If she painted the walls black, the room couldn’t be any darker. The once-frilly net curtains at the window were thick with years of grime. The light hanging from the ceiling struggled to reflect from the formerly beige carpet that was more like a forest floor in both color and texture. The walls could be any shade at all. She couldn’t tell.

  Lori grimaced. She’d clearly been given a room that hadn’t been used in a long time. She thought about going to complain but had neither the energy nor inclination. It could wait until tomorrow.

  By the time she was done, she climbed into bed and winced as the hard springs poked her skin. It was like fingers pricking and prodding her all over, adamant she shouldn’t sleep. She didn’t need them—she had enough trouble sleeping just from the memories that came back to haunt her. How had this all happened so fast? Only weeks ago she’d been the wife of a loving husband, and now she was being hunted while a nameless man fed her conspiracy stories.

  I’ll get to the truth somehow, she thought, stirring. Even if it kills me.

  Chapter One

  Before her life changed forever, there was nothing Lori loved more than living in the small, quiet town of Castleford, Connecticut. With a population of less than seven hundred, there was little room for drama and plenty of space and tranquility to enjoy the view of the lush and leafy forests that surrounded the town. There was no better place.

  Castleford, referred to as the town that always slept, was hemmed in by dense woods that were home to ancient beech, cedar, and birch trees. These trees stood as silent bastions, observing folk going about their everyday lives
. She never tired of admiring the landscape as it changed through the seasons. From a color palette of greens in the spring and summer, to the rich oranges, yellows, bronzes, and reds that heralded the cool touch of fall in the air.

  Yes, this was their home now, the place she and her husband had chosen to relocate, and that’s why she could afford a smile when she stood in line at the grocery store, clutching some last-minute picnic essentials. Her heart fluttered as she thought about this special picnic and the news that she was desperate to tell Sam. She imagined the look on his face as she told him. Just the thought made her laugh. Their dreams were coming true.

  It was the first Friday of the month, which meant an early leave from her job as an independent blogger. Her blog, All Things Life, focused on Castleford and the many things that visitors to the area could try. It meant that she’d explored the local trails through the state forest, discovered the delights of the local wildlife, and promoted the local farms and bakery. One part of her blog that she looked forward to was her monthly quirky comparison of a New England town to its UK namesake. Sheffield, Hartford, Winchester, and Norfolk had featured in recent months.

  Sam—her husband, who wrote for the Castleford Times—could also pick and choose his hours. It wasn’t like his ninety-seven readers were itching for the latest gossip in town. The older townsfolk took care of that. However, Sam still managed to pick up the occasional newsworthy piece, like the dispute over the guinea hens that crossed a road to get to the other side and forage for food. This wouldn’t seem like front-page news, but a ruckus arose over the responsibility for the noise and damage they caused. His piece about the town taking part possession of a new twelve-seater transport van had been well received. Castleford now co-owned the vehicle with a neighboring town to help seniors attend programs at the senior center, go on shopping trips, and see a doctor. Hardly earth-shattering world news, but it was news nevertheless and Sam loved it.

  Snapping from her trance, Lori shifted her weight to the other foot and assessed the line ahead of her. There were only three people in front, but with Sam waiting impatiently in the car outside, she had to make this quick. This meant steering clear of Betty Walker, the kindest and sweetest old lady you’d ever met, but the one person in town who knew everything and everyone. Worse yet, she was stood only a few paces in front.

  Lori shied away, glancing toward the window to hide her face from view. If she could only make it to the counter, she could pay for her snacks and get out of there. Now, as one person took their change and left the store, she was closer than ever. The line shortened and she shuffled forward, praying Betty wouldn’t see her. The old, dusty hardwood floor creaked beneath her feet like arthritic joints. The surface was pitted, each mark the start of a story that would never be told. It had been the silent witness to so much life in this nineteenth-century New England town, the good and bad. Lori winced as she shuffled from one foot to another, desperate to avoid drawing attention to herself.

  “Is that you, Lori?”

  Lori’s muscles stiffened at the shrill voice, and she turned to see a short, hunched figure with gray ringlets and kind eyes. Misleading eyes. She had her arms folded, grocery products resting in the grooves between them. “Hey, Betty. Why didn’t you grab a basket?”

  “I didn’t expect to buy so much. Help me out, won’t you, dear?”

  Lori sighed and placed her own shopping on a nearby shelf, wincing as her back tightened.

  “Let me get that for you,” she said, rushing to take the cans and bottles from Betty’s arms. “If you needed help, you only had to say. There are plenty of people here who won’t hesitate to carry stuff for you.”

  Betty waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “I’m still up and able. Unlike Norma Durham. Did you hear? She hasn’t left her house in days, and her doctor says she’s under the weather. Waterworks apparently. And as for Barbs Newell, well, I don’t want to say anything, but sciatica is making her wobble all over the place. She’s like Jell-O on a plate.”

  Lori nodded, glancing to the front of the line where the next customer grabbed his brown paper bags and left. With the wait shortening by the second and Betty surrendering personal details by her side, Lori couldn’t wait to escape.

  “And at her age?” Betty continued. “You would think she—”

  “No offense, but I don’t want to hear it.”

  Betty’s mouth hung open, her eyes turning a blank, dark hue. It was the face of a confused, insulted woman who’d heard something shocking—frozen, turning only at the sound of the horn blaring from Sam’s Mercedes.

  “Sorry,” Lori said, her heartbeat doubling with eagerness to leave. “I just don’t think it’s nice to spread so much gossip about other people. That’s not to say we can’t be friends; I just think Norma’s business should remain Norma’s business. And Barb’s for that matter.”

  “I see.”

  The horn blared again. Lori pictured Sam leaning on it, with all one hundred sixty pounds of his athletic body. There was nothing that guy loved more than a sandwich, and while Lori held all the ingredients, he would only grow less patient.

  “Next,” the shopkeeper called.

  Betty nodded, studying the groceries in Lori’s hands like she wanted them back.

  Feeling a pang of guilt for depriving the poor woman of the only thing she loved, Lori took them to the counter. “Here, let me get these. How about we catch up next week, and you can tell me all about Norma… and Barbs?”

  Betty’s eyes lit up in a flash as she beamed. “Oh, that would be lovely. There’s so much to tell. Not just about Norma but that Oliver Barnes, too. Did you know he’s found himself a new girlfriend? Who would have thought it would be so soon?”

  Lori bit her tongue while paying no mind to further tales of the townsfolk and reached to pack Betty’s bags. By the time they were done and Lori paid for her own groceries, thirty minutes had passed and she returned to the car only to see Sam rushing out.

  “Took your time,” he said, the fall breeze blowing his perfectly trimmed dark-brown hair. “I thought I was going to die of old age.”

  Lori sighed. “Betty Walker.”

  “Ah.” Sam nodded his head, took her bags, and stowed them in the trunk.

  There was a lot Lori appreciated about her husband, but above all was his ability to see things from her point of view. Any other man—at least by her experience—would’ve continued to sulk about her taking so long. But not Sam. Sam knew Betty Walker was known as Betty Talker, and probably felt sorry for Lori if nothing else.

  “Get in,” he said, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before opening her door.

  Lori smiled. Life was good. A gorgeous, caring, and loving husband. A new life in the country and the hope of soon starting a family. She’d seen how he was with his niece, lowering his own mental age in order to have fun with a six-year-old, and that was the moment Lori knew how much she loved him. It was like he was telling her—in his own subtle way—he was ready for a child of his own.

  “Today, sweetheart,” Sam teased, waving toward the car door he held open.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lori lowered herself into the passenger seat and adjusted herself while Sam made his way around the Mercedes. Moments later, they were cruising down the vacant street, which was the only nonresidential street in town. Save for the closed-down sawmill at the bottom of the valley and a couple of warehouses on the edge of town, this was the only place a resident of Castleford could buy anything. Lori watched the redbrick buildings pass by the window as hot air whispered from the vents. The town was taking on a beautiful blend of oranges and yellows as October approached, fallen leaves gliding to the wet ground under every tree. It was her favorite time of year, and Lori pressed the button to roll down her window, letting the crisp fall air caress her cheeks.

  “Do you really want to sit outside?” Sam asked.

  “That’s the idea of a picnic,” Lori said.

  “And God knows I love a sandwich. But in this we
ather? On the wet grass?”

  “That’s what the blanket’s for.”

  “Right.” Sam nodded, smiling, with his gaze fixed on the road.

  “You sound like you don’t want to go.”

  “Me? Hey, I love you and will do anything to make you happy. If that means sitting in a field while it rains and eating a soggy sandwich, so be it. The second I put that ring on your finger, I promised to provide. If that means we dine al fresco, we’ll dine al fresco.”

  Lori felt the grin creep onto her face as she turned back toward the window. There was no denying she’d found herself a keeper, and as the breeze passed through her hair and blew stray wisps over her ears, she realized she could never be happier.

  Moments later, as the last of the street’s buildings passed by, they stopped at one of the only traffic lights in town. They waited in silence, not another person or car in sight, and basked in the luxury of living the quiet life they’d always dreamed of.

  “Do you ever miss New York?” Sam asked, as if he’d read her mind.

  “Not really. I miss the fact there isn’t more than one coffee shop, but it doesn’t compare to life out here. The hiking routes and the wildlife. Even the people are inherently good. How about you?”

  “Not at all. I have everything I need right—”

  The startling roar of a car engine interrupted Sam’s reply. Lori checked her side mirror to see only a dark shadow and black metal. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the vehicle came into view, stopping beside their Mercedes. The windows were tinted black, the engine grumbling like a beast from the underworld. Lori had seen these in the video games Sam used to play—a Dodge RAM 1500, if she remembered right. Amid the growl of the machine and the blasts spitting from the exhaust, Lori only had one pure thought: these huge vehicles were far more intimidating in real life.