A Trail of Breadcrumbs

by D E Dennis

  Kaiden took the business card and placed it on the side table without a glance.

  “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  They stood and Michael took the opportunity to glance behind him and see what drew Kaiden’s eye.

  Michael winced. A beautiful brunette stared back at him, hazel eyes shining with love and joy. Holding her tight and beaming into the camera was Kaiden Rowe. Kaiden had been looking at his wedding photo.

  Michael turned back to Kaiden to find him looking back at him. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said. “I promise, I’ll find the person responsible.”

  He frowned. “You promise? I thought you types never made promises you couldn’t keep.”

  “This one I can.”

  He blinked at him, not expecting that response. After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll hold you to that, Grimm.”

  The Grimm siblings said their goodbyes and hurried to the car.

  “A virus on both computers,” Monica burst out the second she slid into the passenger’s seat. “That proves it. It was definitely deliberate. Someone doesn’t want us to know what Harper had on those hard drives.”

  “It also heavily leans toward this murder being work related, not something going on in her personal life. Here’s hoping the assistant has more to say than the husband.”

  “Speaking of the husband, what sense did you get of him?”

  “Tight. Restrained. Deals with chaos on the inside by exerting control on the outside. You saw inside that house. It was scrubbed within an inch of its life. Not a speck of dust to be found.”

  “So you think her death is affecting him more than he’s letting on? Because the vibe he’s giving off says otherwise.”

  “He cares,” Michael said assuredly. “His face when he told the story of their proposal. It was clear he loved her.”

  Monica blew out a breath. “Poor guy. And poor Harper. What could she have possibly stumbled onto that someone would do this to her? Murdering her in cold blood.”

  Michael put the key in the ignition and paused. “I don’t know, Mo, but it must be big. Bigger than bribes. Bigger than affairs. Big enough to rock Castle Rock to its core.”

  MICHAEL STEPPED INTO his apartment and locked the door behind him. One bedroom, one bathroom, one tiny living space but it did the trick for a single man living alone. All Michael needed these days was a kitchen to cook in, a bed to sleep in, and shoes to run in.

  Michael shed his work clothes and stepped into those shoes. He was lacing them up when his doorbell chimed, propelling him off the bed.

  He opened the door and gave the person on the other side a small smile. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Son,” he boomed. Glenmore seized Michael in a crushing hug, pounding him on the back. “How are you?”

  “Just fine, Dad,” he wheezed. “And you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  Mercifully, he released him and stepped inside. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I am, and...” Michael looked his father up and down.

  People said they looked alike but, personally, Michael couldn’t see it. Sure they were both over six feet, they had the same broad forehead, large ears, wide-set nose, and dark brown eyes, and coarse brown hair that they both kept short... but other than all that, no resemblance whatsoever.

  One of the many stark differences that Michael could see was how they dressed. Michael had on inexpensive running clothes he bought off the sales rack while his father had a sweatband, armbands, full athletic attire, and running shoes that probably cost as much as Michael’s rent.

  “...you’re clearly ready too,” Michael finished.

  “Let’s get going, son. I moved a conference call and have a dinner meeting to get to after this.”

  “Dad, we can do this another time if you’re too busy—”

  “Nonsense. I’m never too busy for you and Monica.”

  Michael gave him a tight smile. Part of him had been hoping his dad would cancel, but Michael prayed that wasn’t clear on his face. “Great, let’s go then.”

  They left the apartment. “I run two routes, Dad,” he said when they paused in front of his building. “One is five miles, the other is only two. We can do the short route if you can’t handle five miles.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said mildly. “I’m sure I can keep up.”

  Michael shrugged and set off, leading the way for his father to follow.

  He set an easy pace and his dad jogged next to him. The two men did not speak, which was largely why Michael suggested this father/son bonding activity. There was a time when Michael did not want anything to do with Glenmore Grimm. They had only recently began healing childhood wounds, and Michael wanted to ease them both into this reconciliation thing.

  They ran through his neighborhood headed for the town square. It was one of Michael’s favorite spots and he loved jogging through every day. By now, the elderly men who sat on the benches with their newspapers and groans about grandchildren were used to seeing him.

  “Michael, my boy!”

  He waved back, but did not slow down. Skirting the fountain and the children playing within it, Michael kept running until the men found the town at their backs.

  “Are we going into the woods?” his father spoke up as Siren Woods loomed before them.

  Michael shook his head. “No, we’re turning back.” He slowed to a stop and began running in place. “This point, I go back the way I came or make a detour to the Little Pigs.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a detour,” he said pleasantly. “Rest these old knees.”

  Michael snorted. Old knees, his backside. Glenmore wasn’t even winded. “I thought you said you never run?”

  “Never have time,” he replied. “But I make a point of seeing my personal trainer twice a week.”

  “Of course,” Michael grumbled under his breath. In a louder voice, he said, “We can drop by the Pigs if you want but what about your conference call?”

  “Doesn’t start for another hour.” He clapped Michael on the back and took off running. “C’mon, son. You’re letting your old man leave you in the dust.”

  Michael chuckled and took off, quickly catching up to him.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, the grin was still on his face. Dare he say it, but Michael was actually having a good time.

  “What did you say then?”

  “What could I say?” his father replied. “She told me the alpaca was loose and running wild through the streets. As excuses go to get out of work, that one seemed so ridiculous it had to be true. So I gave her the day off.”

  Michael laughed and followed his father to a free table. He didn’t know how long this could last so he just wouldn’t think that far ahead.

  “THIS IS NOT WHAT I was expecting,” Monica said as she slammed the car door shut. “This is the operation behind the paper that gave us an entire two-thousand-word article on Faralene Gudmore’s new nose job?”

  Michael snorted but inside he had to agree. He had been expecting a rinky-dink one-story office situated between a supermarket and a donut shop. This four-story red-brick building with dozens of smartly dressed people streaming in was not the Castle Rock Times he had pictured.

  “I called ahead to confirm,” Monica continued. “The assistant is back from the honeymoon and on the job.”

  “Perfect. Let’s go.”

  They approached the building and Michael held the door open for her to go in. He heard her whistle, and when he stepped in behind her, he could see why. The inside of the newspaper was even nicer than the outside. Framed articles of their most notorious pieces decorated the walls and a glance told him some of them were Harper’s.

  The siblings went up to the receptionists’ desk and announced themselves.

  The man blinked at them. “Detectives? But I just sent two detectives up to the third floor?”

  Michael sighed. We really are going to spend this case trailing behind the CRPD.

  “We’re private detectives
hired by the family,” Monica clarified. “So, third floor?”

  Monica grabbed his arm and took off before the guy could answer. They crossed the lobby and pressed the button for the elevator.

  “What’s the assistant’s name?”

  “Noah Lyle,” Michael replied. “He should know what Harper was working on.”

  “If he does, do you think he might be in danger too? He was safely away when the killer struck, but now that he’s back, he might be a target.”

  The elevator dinged open. “That’s true,” Michael said, paying no attention. “We don’t have the ability to provide protection, but maybe Samira can arrange it.”

  “What can I arrange?” a voice piped up. “Trying to pass more work on me, Mikey?”

  Detective Samira Reddy stepped out of the elevator with her partner in tow and a cardboard box under her arm.

  He smiled at her. “We’re talking about the assistant, Noah Lyle. He might be in danger if the killer really is trying to silence anyone who knows the details of Harper’s current story.”

  “One step ahead of you,” Samira replied. “He has already been offered protection for him and his new wife. He declined.”

  Michael nodded and glanced to her right. Spencer Gutiérrez was beaming at Monica like she was a pile of presents under a Christmas tree.

  “Monica,” Spencer said brightly. “It’s good to see you. I guess congratulations are in order.”

  “Are they?”

  “Yeah, I follow your band’s page, and I see you are performing at the Castle Rock Charity Ball. I bought my tickets last night.”

  “How sweet, Froggy,” Monica said, patting his cheek. “We appreciate the support.”

  Spencer watched her pass into the elevator with gooey eyes, but they hardened the moment they turned on Michael.

  “Ghoul,” he hissed, keeping his voice low so Monica wouldn’t overhear. “Mira filled me in on you conning a grieving mother out of her money.”

  “I definitely didn’t put it like that,” Samira deadpanned.

  He continued like there was no interruption. “We’re going to solve this case, Ghoul, and you’re going to do what you’re doing now. Scuttling around clueless and one step behind.”

  “Michael, we have to go,” Monica called, her finger on the “hold open” button. “What are you guys talking about? Frogman, are you behaving yourself?” she asked. There was a hint of warning in her voice.

  Spencer’s expression immediately changed. He turned to his sister with a grin. “Of course, Mo. See you next Saturday.”

  He shot Michael one last poisonous look and stomped off. Samira shook her head at his back. She patted Michael’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Michael.”

  Michael finally joined his sister in the elevator, and they went sailing up to the third floor.

  That guy will never stop being a jerk.

  Michael and Spencer had known each other for a long time, all the way back to his prep school days. He had been a tall, gangly kid who never said much and kept to himself, couple that with the fact that he was the son of a rebellious Grimm heir and the cook’s daughter saw him being called everything but his actual name. “Ghoul.” “Freak.” “Servant.” And those were the nice nicknames.

  Spencer had been one of his biggest tormentors, and proving that age did not come with kindness, maturity, or wisdom, he kept up the taunts even though they were grown and he was madly in love with his younger sister.

  The doors opened on the third floor while Michael closed the door on his thoughts. Spencer might not have left school behind, but Michael did... or at least he was trying to.

  Michael scanned the floor as they stepped out. It was a sea of cubicles. Pant-suited, tie-clad, flabby-bottomed people sat hunched over computers, their fingers flying across the keys. The cubes had no name tags and Michael had no idea what Noah Lyle looked like.

  A woman passed in front of them, and Monica waved her down. “Excuse me?”

  The woman pulled up and turned to them, a scowl on her otherwise pretty face. She tossed her long, curly hair over her shoulder and snapped, “What?”

  “Would you mind showing us to Noah Lyle’s desk?” Monica asked pleasantly. “We need to speak to him regarding the murder of your colleague, Harper Rowe.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do I look like a tour guide? Find him yourself.”

  With that, she flounced off, leaving the siblings gaping in her wake.

  “What a—”

  “Let’s go find Lyle,” Michael said quickly. “He must be around here somewhere.”

  She grumbled, but followed Michael as they weaved through the office, calling Lyle’s name.

  “Noah Lyle?”

  “Are you Noah Lyle?”

  “Do you know where we can find Noah Lyle?”

  “He just went into the bathroom,” a much kinder soul told them. The guy pointed to the cubicle behind them. “You can wait for him at his desk.”

  They thanked him and moved over to Lyle’s space to wait.

  Soon, a rather weedy man in a loose tie and tweed pants approached, squinting at them from behind his wire-framed glasses. “Can I help you?”

  “Hello,” Monica greeted. “We’re private detectives with Grimm Investigations and we were hired separately by the family.” She no doubt said that to head off any questions about why he had to speak to detectives again. “We’re looking into the death of your boss, Harper Rowe.”

  He nodded. “The other detectives said you would be coming, and I’ll tell you exactly what I told them. Harper couldn’t have been killed for the story she was working on before her death. It wasn’t one of her usual scandal-cracking pieces and you would have been hard-pressed to find someone who objected to it.”

  “What was it about?” Monica asked.

  “It was a tribute honoring the victims of the Siren Woods Killer. We’re coming up on the twentieth anniversary of their deaths. Her article was going to have their pictures, information about them and their families, how much they are missed. That sort of thing.”

  Michael shared a look with his sister. “That’s all she was working on? Are you sure?”

  He pulled himself up to his full five feet. “Of course, I’m sure. I did background research on all of Mrs. Rowe’s articles. I collected the information and she fact-checked, conducted the interviews, and handled all the active investigating. We made a good team,” he said, a touch of sadness breaking through the pomposity.

  “So what was your task?” Monica asked.

  “I told you. I tracked down family members and photos of the victims.”

  “Just the victims?” Michael suddenly spoke up, an awful thought occurring to him. “You say no one would have objected to a heart-warming piece honoring innocent children, but I can think of one... their killer.”

  Lyle flinched. “You mean Liam Antarr.”

  Monica reached out, gripping Michael’s arm. She was following his line of thought. “Did she have you looking into him as well?” she said to Lyle.

  He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but no. This piece was not about him. Harper made that clear. She said that monster did not deserve any more attention or notoriety. She wanted the focus to be on the children and those who suffered at his hands. She interviewed the families and spoke to his kids, Hazel and Gregory Antarr, but she did not speak to Liam Antarr.” They must not have looked convinced because he went on. “I’m telling you her death had nothing to do with the article.”

  “So why was her home and work computer wiped by a suspicious virus? Why was she killed?” Monica asked.

  “It could have been for any of the other articles she has written,” Lyle insisted. “Mrs. Rowe has collected her fair share of enemies over the year. She received at least two death threats a week. All of them saying they would make her pay. The viruses were probably a revenge stunt.”

  “It’s possible,” Monica admitted. “Especially if one of the senders threatened to do so. Where ar
e the death threats? Can we see them?”

  He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Most were sent to her computer; as such they are gone now. The ones that were mailed, I turned over to the police before you got here.”

  Michael sighed. Of course, he did. That must have been the box Samira was carrying and per her chief’s orders, she wouldn’t be able to hand them over until they went through everything.

  “Have you read any of them?” Michael piped up. “Anyone stick out as wanting to cause her real harm?”

  “I handle all of Mrs. Rowe’s mail,” he said, mouth twisting with distaste. “I read all of those vile letters and, in my opinion, they were all dangerous. Anyone spewing that much hate must be.”

  Monica inclined her head. “Did Harper agree? Was she worried about anyone in particular?”

  “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t have blamed her if she was, but Harper was fearless. She always said people deserved three things in this life: decency, safety, and the truth, and she would hunt down and expose all those who thought otherwise. She didn’t even read her hate mail. She told me to toss them, but I didn’t just in case... well, in case something like this happened.”

  “Did you speak to Harper at all in the days leading up to her death?” inquired Monica.

  Shaking his head, he replied, “Sorry, but no. The police asked me the same thing, but I was on my honeymoon. We had our phones turned off. When I turned it on last night, there was only one voicemail from Mrs. Rowe checking to make sure I posted the mail and to call her back.”

  “When was this?”

  “She called me on Thursday.”

  Monica lifted a brow. “Thursday? That’s the day she died. You sure she didn’t mention anything else.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “You can listen for yourself.”

  Lyle fiddled with his cell and then handed it to Monica. She pressed play and the siblings leaned in to listen.

  “Noah,” a stern voice sounded in his ear. “I told you to mail that letter. Did you do it before you left? Call me back.”

  Click.

  Monica returned the phone. “She doesn’t sound worried or scared, but she also doesn’t sound pleased.”