A Trail of Breadcrumbs

by D E Dennis

She froze. “Antarr? You’re investigating Antarr?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve heard about him, it all went down long before you moved to Castle Rock, but twenty years—”

  “Michael, I know this town’s most infamous killer.” She spun on him, the food abandoned. “Of course, I do. Everyone at the CRPD was put on alert when he moved back to Castle Rock. You’re going after him already? I didn’t think you’d get there this soon.”

  He made a face. “Why? Come on, Mira. Harper Rowe was writing an article about his victims. She was going around asking questions, digging up the past. It wasn’t too big of a leap to assume he’s involved.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Michael, and this is what I wanted to talk to you about. Spencer and I came to the same conclusion and we’ve been looking into Antarr’s alibi for the night of the murder—”

  “Great. Did you find—”

  “But, Michael, he’s nothing like you’ve ever faced before,” she plowed on. “He’s nothing like we have ever faced before. That man is a monster in human skin. A serial killer. And you’re not equipped to handle that. I can’t tell you to drop this case, but I can ask that you leave Antarr to us. Focus on the other people in Harper’s life and leave the known murderer who tried to kill his own kids to us.”

  “Samira, I can’t.”

  “Michael, I’m serious.” She advanced on him and leaned over the table. “If he is the killer, what will you do if he pulls the gun he killed Harper with on you? Give him the infamous Grimm silent treatment? Flash him a cute grin?”

  “No, I’ll—”

  “You’ll be killed,” she said firmly. “Because Antarr will not hesitate. He won’t be talked down. That only works on people capable of remorse. I’m asking you, Michael, leave Antarr to us.”

  “Mira,” he began. He placed his hand over hers. “I’ll be careful, I won’t approach him on my own.”

  Her face fell. “Michael, are you serious? You won’t do this for me?”

  That one struck right through him. Wincing, he replied, “I would do anything for you. You know that. Just like I would do anything for Monica and my mom. I’ve gotten my fill of warnings in the last twenty-four hours and I’m going to play this smart. Quietly gather information, place Antarr at the scene, and call you and Spencer for the actual arrest. Trust me. Liam Antarr won’t lay a finger on me.”

  Samira pursed her lips, but she didn’t argue further. It was silent as she plated the food and placed it in front of him. Conversation picked up as they ate, but it was stilted. Awkward.

  “So Monica wrangled us all an invitation to see her perform at the charity ball next weekend,” Michael began. “Mom, Dad, and me. She’s really excited about it, but also exhausted with all the late-night practices.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “She was hoping you could come too,” Michael offered. “She can get your name on the list.”

  “Yep. Great,” she said to her half-eaten plate of pasta.

  He tried to hang on to his cheery tone. “It’s an excuse to get dressed up, eat food we can’t afford, and support Ella and Monica.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Michael’s fork clattered to his plate. Enough of this. “Samira, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  “Nothing, Michael.”

  “Is this about Antarr? Mira, I was hired to investigate. I’m running a business. I literally can’t afford to turn cases down.”

  “I understand that, Michael, and who am I to tell you to. I’m not your girlfriend, your fiancée, or your wife. You’re going to do what you want to do. You always have.”

  Michael’s face fell with every word. “Mira, come on. I—”

  “You know it’s not your fault,” she said softly, finally lifting her head to look at him directly. “It’s mine for expecting more than you ever said you would give me.” Her face hardened. “But one thing you did promise... was to tell me the truth about what happened all those years ago. I’m still waiting for that, Michael. When is it going to be time?”

  He swallowed, looking down. The silence spread between them, filling the space his words should have occupied.

  “A tip...”

  Michael’s eyes slowly found hers.

  “...definitely don’t use the Grimm silent treatment if you face Antarr,” she continued, brown eyes glinting with her disappointment. “It doesn’t defuse a situation as well as you think.”

  The weight of her dismay settled on his throat, tightening, squeezing. “Mira, I don’t like this any more than you do,” he burst out. “Don’t you think I want to tell you! I want you to know everything.”

  She pulled back, eyes wide. “Michael, I can. I can right now if you just tell me the truth!”

  “I can’t!”

  “Why?!”

  “Because of the way you’re looking at me right now! Once you know... that look will never go away.”

  “What?” Her jaw went slack as she blinked at him. “What does that mean?”

  He scooted his chair back, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry, Mira. I have to go.”

  “Michael, no. Wait!”

  Jamming his feet into his shoes, he snatched up his coat and escaped out the door.

  “MICHAEL? MICHAEL!”

  He jumped, sending his desk chair reeling back. “What? What is it?”

  Monica frowned. “Have you heard a word I said?”

  “Um...” He considered the possibility of his words earning him a head slap. “...no?”

  Monica popped him over the head.

  He grumbled, rubbing his head as she repeated herself. “I said that since Rowan Presley’s phone and address are unlisted, we’ll have to try and speak to her at work.”

  He straightened. “Unlisted? But what about the assistant? Lyle? Doesn’t he know the address?”

  Monica sighed heavily, glancing over her shoulder at Ella. “Yep. The dude’s been ignoring us the whole time.” To Michael, she said, “Ella called Lyle. He doesn’t remember the address. It was Harper that addressed the letter, he just posted it.”

  He blew out a breath. “Alright. Where does she work?”

  “That’s the interesting part,” Ella piped up. “She doesn’t work there. She is the owner and founder of that candy company, Lollipop Gardens.”

  “Really? How have I never heard of her before? I’m in her stores almost every other week picking up baking ingredients.”

  Ella glanced at her screen. “Private person from what I could gather. No interviews, no articles, no social media profiles. There’s only a short bio on her company’s website.”

  “Were you able to get a hold of her?”

  Ella shook her head. “I got through to a secretary who said Ms. Presley keeps irregular hours, but she does visit the factory at least two times a week. She’ll pass along the message that you want to speak to her.”

  “Can the secretary give us her number so we can pass it along ourselves?”

  Another headshake. “She’s under strict orders to not give out Presley’s private information to anyone. Under pain of unemployment.”

  “So we wait around hoping she calls and arranges a meeting?”

  “Pretty much,” Monica said. “You know I like the ambush approach, but she expertly made that impossible. We just have to wait.”

  Sighing, Michael scooted his chair back in. “Well, she’s bound to call soon. This is a murder investigation. When the secretary passes on why we want to talk to her. She’ll call us back right away.

  RIGHT AWAY ENDED UP being days later. The entire weekend passed with no word from Presley, and Michael trudged into the office Monday morning trying not to let frustration get the better of him.

  The investigation had stalled. Noah Lyle had no more information to give them. Kaiden Rowe was out of town when his wife was killed, and Harper did not have any other close friends or family besides her mother. Even the Presley lead was thin.

  Michael wanted to speak to her mostly to learn more about Antar
r and what went on that horrible day in the woods. He didn’t know if she could shed much light on the present murder.

  Michael hung up his coat before strolling into the kitchenette. As was his daily routine, he started the coffee, washed and set out his sister’s favorite mug, and then set the sugar and creamer beside it.

  He stepped into the main room just as his coat pocket trilled. Michael fished out his phone and checked the screen.

  “Hello, Mrs. Engelbert.”

  “Mr. Grimm,” Harper’s mother replied. “Forgive me for calling so early, but I was hoping for an update on the case. Please tell me you’ve found something. Do you have a suspect?”

  Michael took a breath. “Mrs. Engelbert... we do have a suspect.”

  “You do? Who—”

  “But I’d prefer not to tell you over the phone,” he interrupted firmly. “This could be hard to hear, I would rather do it face to face. If you want to set a time for us to meet, I’m free all day.”

  “I can be at your office in half an hour.”

  “Thank you. I—”

  Click.

  Michael strode over to his desk and reclined in his chair. He let the silence draw him in, retreating into his mind. A world of motives unseen, furtive glances, and secrets fighting their way to the surface.

  When his sister shook him to attention twenty minutes later, the case of Harper Rowe was no clearer to him.

  “Morning, bro.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee. “Thanks for this. It was another late night.”

  Michael shook his head. “I know this gig is important, but you’ve been running yourself ragged. You guys are already great. You don’t need to practice this hard.”

  Grinning, she reached out and pinched his cheek. “A compliment and a dash of brotherly concern. How sweet.” She dropped her hand and settled on his desk. “But I’m afraid we do need the practice. We lost our drummer.”

  “Bella? Why? What happened?”

  “Her husband is going under the knife this Friday. Nothing serious,” she added quickly, no doubt seeing his alarm. “He’s having his gallbladder removed and obviously she wants to be there for him during the recovery. Her cousin is stepping in as a replacement, but this late in the game, she has to play some serious catch-up.”

  “My offer still stands,” Michael said. “I’ll work the case alone so you can focus on the ball.”

  Shaking her head, she peeled herself off his desk and strode over to her own. “I can’t leave you on your own, bro. You’re lost without me.”

  He barked a laugh. “Since when?”

  “Since forever,” she teased. “Honestly, I don’t know what you did those six years before I was born. It can’t have been pretty.”

  Rolling his eyes, Michael filled her in on their incoming visitor. “Harper’s mother is stopping by the office for an update. I’m going to tell her about Liam Antarr.”

  Monica’s smile fell away. “But we don’t have much to tell yet. I’ve been asking around, but the guy, unsurprisingly, doesn’t have any friends. He’s either skulking aimlessly around town or hiding away in his cabin at the edge of the woods. Short of asking him outright, I don’t know how we’re going to find out where he was that night.”

  “We know exactly where he was that Thursday night.”

  “We have to be sure,” she said firmly. “Before we go and give a grieving mother false information.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Michael said calmly. “Which is why we’re going to do exactly what you said... ask Liam Antarr outright.”

  Her eyes went round. “But we—”

  The chime that accompanied the opening door cut her off.

  “Hello?” Mrs. Engelbert stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She was dressed very smart. Crisp black pants, simple blue blouse, and makeup doing its best to cover the dark circles under her eyes. “I’m here.”

  Monica shot Michael a look before getting to her feet. “Please sit, Mrs. Engelbert,” Monica said as she directed her into the breakroom. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Michael followed them into the room, taking a seat in the armchair while the women took seats on the couch.

  “You said you had an update,” Mrs. Engelbert said. “A suspect. Who is it?”

  Michael wasn’t surprised by her urgency; it had been over a week since her daughter was killed. It must be destroying her bit by bit knowing the killer still walked free.

  “Mrs. Engelbert,” Michael began, “your daughter was working on a new article just before her death. Did you know what it was about?”

  She frowned. “No. Harper rarely discussed her work. She knew how it worried me. Why?”

  “Because—”

  “Because we have reason to believe her death may have been connected to her work,” Monica smoothly cut in. “We don’t have proof, but her work and home computer were both wiped by a virus shortly before her death. We’re assuming there was something on them the killer did not want us to find and considering her line of work...”

  Tears filled Mrs. Engelbert’s eyes, collecting on her lids and threatening to spill over. “I knew it,” she cried. “I knew that job was dangerous, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  Monica took her hand. “The piece she was working on before her death was about the victims of the Siren Woods Killer, memorializing them as the twentieth anniversary approaches.”

  Face ashen, Mrs. Engelbert whispered, “She was writing about what?”

  “It was meant to be a heartwarming piece,” Monica added. “Just about who the children were and how much they were missed.”

  “Oh, Harper,” she said softly, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh, my poor girl.” She slipped her hand out of Monica’s and brought it to her face, wiping away the tears that were now flowing freely.

  “Mrs. Engelbert? Are you okay?” Monica asked.

  Shaking her head, she took a shuddering breath. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  Michael and Monica shared confused looks. “What do you mean?”

  She sniffed, looking down at her hands. “Before I became an Engelbert and Harper became a Rowe, our last names were Taylor. Andrea Taylor was my daughter.”

  Monica covered her mouth to smother her gasp. “You mean Harper’s sister was one of the victims of—”

  “Of that trash Liam Antarr!” Mrs. Engelbert exploded. She clenched her hands so tightly Michael could see her knuckles going white. “He killed my baby and he gets away with it. He’s put away for a laughable sentence and then comes right back to town. Taunting us. Mocking us.” She tossed her head wildly.

  “We were livid, Harper and I, how could we not be, but still I told her to stay away from that man. I am no fool. My little Harper who dreamed of being a veterinarian, suddenly announces she wants to be an investigative reporter. Hunt down those who think they’re above the law and expose them for what they are.” She sniffled. “It was only a matter of time before... she went after Antarr and he killed her for it. That monster has taken both of my babies from me!”

  With that, she burst into sobs and they could get no more out of her. Michael left his sister to consoling her and went into the kitchenette to get tea and a spare box of tissues.

  This was why he never delivered hard news over the phone. Mrs. Engelbert had quickly come to the conclusion that they, the police, even Hazel and Gregory have. The Siren Woods Killer had struck again.

  MONICA STEPPED BACK inside after escorting Mrs. Engelbert to her car. “Her sister,” she repeated with a heavy sigh. “How did we miss that?”

  “We never looked up her maiden name,” Michael said. “We were young when this all happened, going to school on the other side. There’s so much we still don’t know.” He looked at her head-on. “Which is why we can’t put it off any longer. We have to speak to Antarr.”

  Michael was expecting arguments, warnings, head slaps, anything but—

  “I know. You�
��re right.”

  He blinked. “I am?”

  Sighing, she threw herself into her chair. “We can’t conduct an investigation while avoiding the main suspect. We have to find out where he was the night Harper died and if he knew about the article. The problem is, I can’t pin down any kind of routine for this guy. He randomly pops into town every now and then, but mostly no one ever sees him around.”

  “He’s tucked away in his cabin.”

  “Yes, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not too eager to meet a known psycho out in the woods with no witnesses around. That’s how every bad horror movie starts and ends.”

  “We might not have a choice, Mo. We can’t wait around for the next time he shows himself in public.” He leaned forward, resting his arm on his desk. “We’ll go there today.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll tell someone where we’re going and check in when we leave,” he said firmly. “We’ll be fine.”

  She chewed her lips, looking worried.

  “Hey.”

  Monica glanced up.

  “We have each other’s backs, don’t we?”

  Slowly, a smile appeared. “Of course we do.”

  Brrrring!

  Michael jerked, scrambling to answer the desk phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello,” a deep, throaty voice echoed in his ear. “Is this Grimm Investigations?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “This is Rowan Presley. You called my office wishing to arrange a time to meet.”

  “Oh, right.” Michael waved Monica down, mouthing to her. “When is good for you?”

  “No time is good for me.”

  Michael must have misheard. “Excuse me? Ms. Presley, we need to ask you questions in connection to the death of—”

  “When will you vultures give it a rest?” she asked coldly.

  Blinking, Michael actually pulled the phone away from his face to stare at it in amazement.

  “What’s going on?” Monica whispered.

  Presley’s voice was still coming through, so Michael put the phone back.

  “...nothing more to say on this matter. It was an accident. Why won’t you just leave me be?”