[Ash Park 01.0] Famished

by Meghan O'Flynn

  Dermont stared at Petrosky, open-mouthed. “Wait, are you telling me that … that Jayden …”

  “I am. Which is why I need to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts on the days around Mr. Campbell’s death.”

  She sniffed. Her face had gone tomato red. “Ask away. I’m never anywhere but work or here, and I have a few neighbors who can verify. Ms. Ross lives across the street. She watches Jayden when I’m at work and keeps an eye on everything and everyone the rest of the time.” Her voice was choked with emotion. A few tears slid down her cheeks and onto the top of Jayden’s head.

  “Hey, Mama! Stop! Stop! All wet!”

  She held him close to her chest.

  “You’re going to college, baby.”

  Ms. Ross was old, wretchedly mean, and honest. She wouldn’t let them in the house, but she had plenty to say: the kids in the neighborhood were too loud, Morrison’s hair was too damn long, and there was no way that Shellie Dermont was anywhere but where she’d said on the nights in question.

  Petrosky was quiet as he slid behind the wheel.

  Morrison cleared his throat. “You think our killer believes he’s helping people?”

  “Helping?”

  “Yeah, like offing people who are getting in the way of other people’s happiness?”

  The car’s engine grumbled to life. “I doubt the families in question would have chosen that path,” Petrosky said.

  “Well, obviously they wouldn’t have. Maybe that’s why he intervenes; he thinks he knows what’s best for everyone else. Like a nosy old lady.” Morrison nodded at Ms. Ross, who stood on her porch in her bathrobe glaring at them.

  “If we’ve got a killer out to rid the world of assholes, he’ll have to kill a lot more.”

  “As it is, I don’t see him stopping,” Morrison said.

  Petrosky put the car in reverse and nodded to Ms. Ross who squinted harder at him but touched her door handle like she was considering going inside. “No, he won’t stop.”

  Their killer had planned this. Chosen a poem. And he’d gotten off clean so far, which would only whet his appetite for more slaughter.

  “The killings are coming fast,” Petrosky said. “But this one with Campbell feels … different. We’re missing something.”

  “Besides the poem?”

  Petrosky’s hands tightened on the wheel. Yes, the missing poem. Between the poem and the restraints and the type of victim, there were too many differences. That didn’t sit right, and it intensified the disquiet already eating at him. “If we don’t get a handle on this soon, we’ll have another family to notify.”

  “At least the next family might not cry, if what we’ve seen so far is any indication,” Morrison said.

  Petrosky braked hard enough to lock the seat belts. “You a fan, California?”

  “No, Boss. Just saying.”

  Wednesday, November 11th

  Just another month and you’ll have enough cash to get out of here.

  You don’t really have to leave. This has nothing to do with you.

  From my desk, roses and lavender filled the air with a subtle sweetness. The elaborate vase had come after the funeral and graced my workspace every day since, a constant reminder that Jake had never given me anything so beautiful. That I was really better off without him. I had cried fat, guilty tears at those thoughts, but it hadn’t been enough to make me remove the vase. It was enough to make me toss the note, though:

  If there is anything I can do to be of assistance, please let me know.

  In sympathy, Dominic

  I had torn the note from the vase the day I got it, both in panic that I might have to take off work, and out of fear that I’d spend my life rereading it, extracting meaning that had never been there to begin with. Plus, I worried that if someone came to search my place again, they would misconstrue his words.

  Let me be of assistance. I want to help you.

  Yes, sir.

  “Hannah …” Noelle’s trembling voice floated over the top of the cubicles. I followed her gaze. Detective Petrosky was at the glass doors to the office, staring in at me.

  He thinks I’m a murderer. I walked to the door on shaky legs, my stomach trying to dance a jig and succeeding only in making me want to vomit.

  “Ms. Montgomery.” He nodded.

  “Detective Petrosky.”

  “Can you spare a moment or two? Maybe take a fifteen-minute break?”

  I glanced back into the office. Noelle was staring openly at us. Ralph wandered past, pretending not to look, but failing miserably.

  “Maybe … um … a walk,” I said.

  We sat at the picnic table by the lake, my face toward the water, his face toward me. Half a dozen mourning doves crooned by the lake’s edge, pecking at icy thistle and casting hopeful glances at us.

  The detective’s face did not look as hopeful. “I’m sorry to bother you at work, Ms. Montgomery. I just had a few follow-up questions.”

  I swear I didn’t do it! Ask someone else! “Okay.”

  He pulled two pages from the folder and slid them across the table. Photos, black and white and glossy, of someone in a hooded jacket. “Do you recognize this person? Maybe the coat?”

  “I can’t see their face.” I leaned toward the pictures and plastered them to the table with my fists when the wind tried to whip them away. Was this taken in my mailroom? “Is this … her? The girl who left him that note?” Hopefully, the detective would understand if I puked on his shoes.

  “I think so, ma’am.”

  I touched the photo, her hood, her shoulder. What did she have that I didn’t? What made her so special? I could feel my heartbeat in my frozen ears.

  “Ms. Montgomery?”

  “You think she was the one who … did it?”

  “We’re looking into it. You’re sure you don’t recognize her?”

  “No, I don’t. I doubt she would ever have wanted to meet me.”

  He took the pictures back and put them in the folder. “Were you aware that Jake had a child?”

  My mouth dropped open. Jake was a child. “I … No, there must be a mistake.”

  The detective’s expression remained deadpan like he hadn’t just blindsided me. “No mistake. He had a five-year-old son.”

  “But … he never said anything. I don’t think he ever paid support—” My neck muscles went rigid. “You think this has something to do with his death?”

  “Not the child support, but perhaps the inheritance from Jake’s father.”

  I shook my head, hard. Now I knew they had it all it wrong. “He never knew his dad—”

  “Maybe, maybe not. The money was to be paid when Mr. Campbell got married or when he turned thirty, whichever came first.”

  Let’s get married, baby. I want to take care of you.

  Maybe we can just go see the judge. You know I love you …

  It had always been about money. My jaw clenched.

  “Something wrong, Ms. Montgomery?”

  “No. I’m just … I’m starting to feel like I didn’t know a lot of things about him.” Like the fact that he had an inheritance. That he had a fucking child. Maybe he’d always preferred store-bought spaghetti sauce to the homemade shit. All bets were off now.

  Petrosky’s eyes were soft. “Don’t feel too bad,” he said. “This is not information that many others had.”

  “Did his mother know?” Of course she did. No wonder she was pissed that we didn’t get married before we moved in together.

  “Yes, but she didn’t think the child was his.”

  I blinked back the sting of tears. They had all known. Everyone except me. “But the baby is his? For sure?”

  “He is. We have the tests to prove it.”

  I stared at the doves, who were obviously not worried about anything but preening their feathers. Petrosky’s voice came to me in snippets, something about keeping this quiet, not leaking to the press.

  I met his gaze. “Why does this even matter? Wasn’t
Jake killed by the same person who killed those women? That’s what they keep saying on the news.”

  His eyes darkened, like he was angry at me for asking. “We don’t know.”

  The ice swept through my chest, hardening my lungs. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” No, no, no. This could still be my fault.

  “There were inconsistencies with your boyfriend’s murder. We can’t rule anything out.”

  His face swam, blurring in my prickling tears.

  I thought of the eyes on my back as I walked around my apartment, heard the crunching of footsteps in empty alleys behind the shelter. I blinked hard to hide the fear that must have been written across my face.

  I’ll find you, baby. We will always be one.

  “So Jake’s killer … might not have killed the others? He might have just killed Jake?” My voice cracked. “If you thought it was all connected you wouldn’t be asking me about some woman in a picture, right?”

  Petrosky searched my eyes. I resisted the urge to close them.

  “Just covering our bases. Have you given any more thought to who might have wanted to hurt him?”

  Jake’s dead because of me, and knowing it makes me an accessory.

  I don’t want to go to jail.

  “No, sir. I can’t think of anyone.”

  Petrosky stood. “Thank you for your time, ma’am. If you think of anything else—”

  You already know more about the man I lived with than I ever did. I nodded at the tabletop and waited, my heartbeat wild and hot inside my icy body. His footsteps crunched over the snow toward the parking lot.

  I looked back out at the water, took a final deep breath and stood. I hope I can save enough to run again before he kills me too.

  It had been hours since the police came to their office, but Noelle was still unsettled. She assaulted her fingernails with her teeth and winced when she drew blood.

  Through her windshield, barren maple trees cast clawing shadows on snowy lawns that rolled up to neat, uniform houses. The homes were red or gray brick behind small cement porches and topped with aluminum-sided second floors.

  Thomas’s house was in a cul-de-sac at the end of a winding asphalt road. Bay windows protruded from brown brick on either side of the entrance. It was a nice home. A family home. But you couldn’t just take a house and magically make a happy family any more than you could take just any self-centered jackass and make him a good father.

  He opened the door before she knocked, his smile wide. “Hey! You found it!”

  “I did.”

  He grabbed her hand and led her into the house. “You smell good. What is that, lemons?”

  “Orange-mango.”

  “I like it.” His lips were frozen in a permanent grin. “Come on in. I was just feeding the cat.”

  Noelle’s boots squeaked over the light oak floors. The foyer walls were painted a deep green. A narrow table sat against one wall of the entry, topped by a small, sickly plant. Brown leaves littered the tabletop.

  Thomas saw her staring at it. “Wolverine’s kind of a jerk to plants.”

  They entered a large cheery kitchen with matching white appliances and light oak cupboards. He opened one and grabbed a bag of cat food.

  She followed him through to the living room. “Holy shit.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forget that not everyone is a fan.”

  The entire room was painted a deep electric blue, making the light floors and suede couches seem larger. Small wooden tables topped with glass sat on either side of the sofa, and a leather chair faced the television on the wall to her left. The TV on the wall was at least sixty inches, flanked by large black speakers that looked as if they could blow the house apart if Thomas got carried away. Behind the couch, the far wall was entirely covered in a stretched canvas painting of huge, muscled-up green giant charging into the room, fist outstretched as if in attack, face twisted in a grimace. Droplets of cartoon saliva flew from his half-open mouth.

  “It’s … interesting.” Violent and angry, but interesting. “I didn’t even know you could get art like that.”

  He laughed. “I painted it. It was that, or tack up a poster.”

  “You painted it?” She studied it more closely. He’s kinda good.

  “Yeah, like I said the other night, I needed something to do with my time instead of football. Plus, the Hulk is more reliable companionship for a geeky kid than school buddies anyway.” Thomas stooped and poured the cat food into a glass dish. “Hey, there he is!”

  A fat orange tabby entered the room from a hallway in the back corner and slunk toward them, staring at Noelle with suspicious green eyes. Thomas scratched him behind the ears. Wolverine purred like a rumbling motor.

  Thomas righted himself and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  She took it. “Lead the way.”

  He is never picking the movie again. Noelle glared at the screen. Seriously, who cares about this superhero bullshit? I mean, except …

  Thomas’s face was a mask of childlike excitement. Even the way he wiped fake popcorn butter on his khakis was endearing. What was wrong with her? Was she falling for him? Maybe it was the way he just seemed so damn happy all the time. He had probably had the perfect childhood outside of that whole being-small-and-bullied thing.

  Maybe that’s why he likes this stuff. She pictured him as a small, dejected boy in a Spiderman T-shirt, poring over comic books, losing himself in another world where he was more … well … super.

  Noelle’s phone vibrated with a text message. She pretended not to hear it, though it seemed impossibly loud in the sudden quiet. On the screen, a guy in a neon blue leotard pressed himself against a brick wall. Very incognito.

  She yawned and rested her head against Thomas’s shoulder. He smelled like shampoo and something that could only be cat hair. She sneezed.

  “Bless you,” he said.

  “Thanks.” Her phone vibrated again.

  “Do you need to get that?”

  Noelle shrugged, fumbled in her purse for the phone, and checked the messages.

  You’re such a bitch.

  She sighed. Ralph had been going back and forth from I hate you to Please forgive me for whatever I did to upset you for weeks. He had even left her a six-minute voicemail telling her that he knew she lied about having a brother, like she gave a shit.

  “Everything okay?” Thomas whispered.

  “Everything’s fine.” She turned the phone off and vowed to change her number tomorrow. He’d get tired of harassing her soon, if he was anything like the others. Their anger never lasted forever. She wondered if anything did.

  Thomas put his hand on the armrest. She covered it with hers, leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  “You’re missing the best part,” he whispered.

  She dragged her lids open. “Oh, I was just—”

  “I know, resting your eyes.” He chuckled. “Hey, there’s no accounting for taste. Or for people staying home because they’re afraid of a little snowstorm in the forecast.” He nodded to the nearly empty theater. “I think the reviews were pretty bad, though. That’s the first thing Jim said when I told him where I was taking you.”

  Noelle glanced at the screen, where two guys were engaged in a seemingly intense conversation about what it takes to bring down a superhuman. She rolled her eyes. Maybe next time Jim would get through to Thomas and save her from this nonsense.

  “How’s he been? Jim, I mean.”

  “Good. On a blind date. I get the impression he’s just wasting time until Hannah is ready to go out with him. Every time I mention that I’m seeing you, he asks about her.”

  Poor Hannah. Noelle’s stomach rolled. An explosion lit the room as the hero threw a car. Then he tripped over a fire hydrant and went sprawling, his blue leotard making him look like a flattened smurf. Noelle laughed and her stomach settled. Okay, this isn’t all bad.

  Thomas beamed at her, teeth shining in the light from the screen. “Maybe we can
double with Hannah and Jim, once she’s ready. I’ll let you guys pick the movie.”

  Her stomach gurgled again, hot with equal parts guilt and fury. She had been glad when Jake and Hannah split, excited that her letter had the desired effect. She had not been sorry when he died.

  But—

  He was not supposed to hit her. She hoped his death was horrific. And slow.

  Thomas was still waiting for an answer.

  She squeezed his hand tighter and watched leotard guy leap from one skyscraper to another. He brushed his lips against her cheek. Her heart slowed.

  “Noelle, you okay? I’m sorry if you hate double dates or something. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

  “No, I’d like to double. Hannah might be upset for a while, though. She’s pretty torn up.”

  “Maybe.” Thomas shrugged and turned back to the movie. “Who knows? Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  Noelle wasn’t sure if he was whispering it to her or to himself.

  Thursday, November 12th

  I chewed on my cheek, trying to ground myself in the pain of it. The thought of leaving tonight and having to find another shelter in another city made me sick to my stomach. I just had to save a little more cash so I could legitimately start over, on my own two feet. Because whether or not Jake was killed by the same person as those other women, someone killed him. Someone who could be watching me right now. I felt like I was losing my mind. Maybe I was paranoid, but that didn’t mean that someone wasn’t out to get me.

  The owls smirked at me from under my pointless blank cork board. No puppies, no babies, and I had never even picked my nose behind the partition. I should start, so that when I was old and gray in a rocking chair on a porch somewhere with an owl on a perch next to me, I would at least have this one small thing I could say I took advantage of when the rest of my life fell apart. I looked at my finger.

  “Ms. Montgomery?”

  The finger disappeared under my desk.

  “May I sit down?”