I scanned every table, every seat at the counter. Why was he here and what the hell was he talking about? What book? I couldn’t find the source of the voice, making me think I imagined the entire episode. I reasoned my grip on reality must’ve finally slipped and I was suffering a vivid delusion.
“I’m grateful for the success of the series. I’ve written since I was a boy because it always felt like the truest expression of myself…”
Definitively, I realized D’s voice was not inside the diner, but coming from the television that sat perched in the corner behind me.
Staring up at the screen, I wasn’t sure if I was having some sort of hallucination. Maybe the mental stress of the called off wedding finally caused the breakdown I predicted would happen to me. The moment couldn’t be real. I couldn’t actually hear D’s voice coming from a man in a suit, sitting in a chair being interviewed by a pretty journalist on a talk show.
The journalist smiled without showing her teeth. “With the announcement of the series coming to an end, what can we expect next from you?”
As he answered, the camera zoomed in for a close-up. Oh no, I panicked. That couldn’t be him. No way, I was not looking at my mystery caller. Because the man speaking with D’s voice was beautiful in a way that felt unfair to the rest of us regular folk. Dark hair with sexy waves, mussed perfectly. His eyes were brown and soulful with arched eyebrows that refused to disguise any of his emotions as he spoke. I moved my eyes down to examine his lips—lips that looked soft and sensual, sexy as fuck kissing lips. He didn’t look tan, but rather having a natural olive complexion. And good Lord, seemingly permanent five o’clock shadow on his chin—my one true weakness when it came to men.
“What is this?” I whispered. Mr. Fredericks had been speaking to me the entire time, but I had been in a complete trance. I cleared my throat. “What are you watching?”
“Girl, you having a seizure or something?” Mr. Fredericks shouted in my direction while snapping his fingers.
I shook my head quickly. “No…I just need to know what you’re watching.”
“It’s an interview with that author who lives in Jersey,” he sneered, looking disgruntled that I was forcing him to answer my question. “His wife got murdered a couple years back.”
And then the room was certainly spinning on its axis. I slammed the coffee pot on the table, then fell into the seat across from Mr. Fredericks. I felt close to fainting, cradling my face in my hands. “Who?” I hissed.
He had to be wrong. Of course, Mr. Fredericks was wrong. Emily wasn’t murdered. And D said she was his fiancée not his wife.
Mr. Fredericks ignored me. “Jenny! Can you get your girl to a doctor? She’s having some kind of episode at my table.”
Jenny was tying on her apron as she rushed to the table. Her eyes grew wide with concern. “Alyssa, what’s wrong?”
I shushed them instead of answering, trying to hear the interview.
I had missed the answer to the previous question. The camera panned once again to the reporter, who smiled at D while leaning forward conspiratorially. “Was there another reason you came to speak with us today?”
His face was grim. “I believe it’s important to bring attention back to Emily’s case.”
Oh, double fuck, I wanted to cry. It really was him. D was on television and he was talking about his murdered wife’s case. A sobering thought brought on a wave of nausea. Leaning forward, I circled my fingers around the edge of the table until they were bloodless. “He’s not a suspect, right? Did he kill her?” I asked Mr. Fredericks through gritted teeth.
Mr. Fredericks bent away from me as if I was contagious. Meanwhile, Jenny was staring as if I had lost my mind. She wasn’t far off. “Who, Derek Walsh? Isn’t the killer always the husband?”
Fuck it all to hell. I’d been talking to a killer. I had phone sex with a killer. What was wrong with me? How could I have such godawful taste in men? And the entire time, I thought he was a thousand times the man Jake ever could be.
Jenny narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t you remember hearing about him a couple years ago? He’s a bestseller, writes sci-fi or some shit I’d never read. His wife was stabbed to death in her car, then her body dumped in the pine barrens.”
“And he did it?” I managed with a croak.
Jenny nodded solemnly. Mr. Byrd, another regular of the diner, poked his head around from the neighboring table. “She’s full of it, Alyssa. Derek Walsh was at a convention in Arizona when it happened. He was never a suspect. And he was engaged. They weren’t married.”
I slumped back in the seat, still stunned as I looked up again at the screen. Crap, I hoped Mr. Byrd was at least right and I didn’t invite a murderer into my life. I had to calm down, get my thoughts together. The shock of hearing his voice was muddling my brain, making me forget his texts, his words full of devotion to Emily. He would’ve never hurt her.
D for Derek. My D was a famous author and one with a more tragic past than I realized. The biography I crafted in my mind for him was completely off base. I hoped him cute, an average looking guy who was funny, but could be serious too. The man on the screen smoldered with intensity. I couldn’t even imagine him smiling. He was the same guy who sent me Star Wars jokes?
The reporter was still talking to him about Emily, likely asking a few polite questions about his books before getting to the real reason he was booked on a national TV show.
“She was murdered almost two years ago and the police still have no suspects.” Her expression turned bleak. “Do you believe her killer will ever be found?”
Derek’s mouth was set, his strong jawline rigid as he thought over the question. “He has to be found. There’s no other alternative.”
“Statistically, the likelihood of a murderer being caught gets halved if there are no leads after the first two days.” His annoyance with her reply was obvious. His face was too expressive to hide his true emotions. I was surprised the interviewer baited him. He came off as intimidating, almost unapproachable.
His voice was controlled, his answer evidently rehearsed. “I understand that and I don’t blame the police for not solving the case. But I waited long enough. I increased the reward amount offered by Emily’s parents and I hired my own private investigator to review her case.”
“Don’t you believe Emily would want you to let this go after all this time and tell you to live your life?”
He shook his head adamantly. “I can’t move on until her killer is found and pays for his crimes. I’m stuck in this anger stage of grief because I can’t have that closure.”
“Two years is a long time to hold onto such grief. You have a lot to be grateful in your life. The Darkest War is currently number fifteen on the New York Times Bestseller list.”
“Someone told me once that grief is intangible, so it’s wrong to try and measure when it’s the right amount of time to get over a loss.”
I paled. He was talking about me. He was mentioning me, albeit indirectly, in a national television interview. He was sharing my advice like it was of consequence.
“I still say he did it. He could’ve hired a hit man. Or maybe he has a twin who was at the convention while he went and offed her,” Jenny remarked, pointing at the television.
“You watch too many of those soap operas,” Mr. Fredericks said with annoyance. “That girl was killed years ago and he’s still trying to figure it out. If he had something to do with it, why would he keep trying to publicize it?”
“Maybe, but I like the twin idea because even if he’s a killer, there’s another one who isn’t a killer who looks just as hot as him.” Jenny clucked my chin. “What’s up with you? Why so interested in Derek Walsh?”
“No reason. He looks familiar, that’s all.”
Jenny nodded. “He was all over the news after she was killed. You probably saw him on TV back then. I heard he lives in the county and the murder wasn’t far from here. She was dumped a few exits before Atlantic City.”
&
nbsp; “That’s awful,” I mumbled.
I needed to have my head examined. Why did I never ask him how Emily had died? I thought it was disrespectful to question him. Honestly, I assumed she had maybe died in a car accident or had a sudden illness. But murdered? And an unsolved murdered at that? No wonder he was a mess.
“Have you read his books?” I asked Mr. Fredericks.
“Yes, he writes the New Colony series. They were good, but turned to shit after book six. He’s trying to milk that money cow for all she’s worth.”
“You should read them,” Mr. Byrd added. “Each one has a great twist at the end. Like the first book, you think the humans are talking about aliens invading and colonizing earth. But it turns out we are the bad guys and humans are colonizing an alien planet.”
“Nice job ruining the ending for her,” Mr. Fredericks snorted.
The interview had ended after the interviewer plugged Derek’s new book one more time. She also shared the number to a hotline for any information pertaining to Emily Hill’s murder.
Then, one last close-up on him, much too brief. I almost began to laugh hysterically because he was so far from what I pictured in my mind. Never did I envision he would be the most wildly handsome man I ever set eyes on. He could have any woman in the world—fucking supermodels, CEOs, gymnasts. Whoever the hell he wanted. Why was he wasting his time on a stranger?
“I have to go,” I managed, climbing out of the booth. I couldn’t stay in the diner for a second longer. I had to run back to my apartment and process everything.
Touching my phone through the cloth of my apron, I hesitated. I had planned to reply back to D with another joke about tittles, but now I had no clue what to say. Did I tell him the truth?
Jenny didn’t argue with me about leaving abruptly, so my face must’ve given away my misery. I was a complete and utter mess. I didn’t know how to reconcile D with Derek Walsh. His name did sound familiar, but I hadn’t exactly followed the case. Two years earlier, I lived hours away in the Carmichael bubble, not exactly following New Jersey murder cases.
Suddenly, many of the D mysteries made sense to me with his identity revealed. His erratic working hours were from being a writer. He was traveling for work to do the interview and probably other promotional stuff for the new book. Also, when I first called him, he angrily asked me if I knew who he was or Emily. At the time, I assumed he was just an ass, not someone notorious.
Sneaking into my apartment, I tiptoed quietly across the hardwood floors to my laptop so Birdie didn’t hear me below. I promised to help her, but I’d have to postpone for a bit. I needed to research Derek Walsh.
After typing in his name, several photos of Derek appeared on the search screen along with links to news articles about him. He didn’t have the ability to take a bad photo. Every angle, every expression, was perfectly sexy. In one of the photos, he actually had a smile and I was panting. He obviously didn’t smile often in public, but when he did, it was certainly a panty-melting one. His smile was subtle, almost secretive, with only a flash of teeth.
Staring at his image, I couldn’t quite believe he was the man who asked me to masturbate for him. I’d touched myself under his direction, completely his over the phone, coming in his ear. Undeniably hot for him and I had no idea he even looked half as good as the reality. I fanned myself, flushed as I went back to when he told me to ride my hand, dreaming I was riding him. Jeez-us.
Then, my lust bubble was burst. Because the searches also returned images of Derek and Emily. Pictures of Emily and Derek together as a couple before tragedy struck. Derek, beautiful and sexy, with the equally magnificent Emily Hill.
Emily reminded me of a real-life rendering of a Botticelli painting with her waist-long, full wavy golden hair that she wore loose and free. Her eyes were blue, smoky and provocative. Derek was tall, probably close to six feet, and Emily measured a mere inch or two shorter than him. They were stunning together, beautiful and fit, likely living the charmed life before a monster stole her away from him.
I read a few of the articles about her murder, but Mr. Byrd had the right account. Two winters ago, Derek had gone to a book convention in Phoenix. Emily visited her parents on that Saturday and then called Derek on the road back to her apartment. The police believed she got to her building, but never made it out of the parking lot. At some point between Saturday and Sunday morning, she was killed inside her car. Her body was found in the woods with the car abandoned behind a warehouse nearby.
Since day one, there’d been no leads. Her fiancé, Derek, had made the publicity rounds at the start. Standing with her parents at a press conference, offering up rewards for information leading to the arrest of Emily’s killer. At the time, his books were already bestsellers with six books from the series already released. He wasn’t a household name, but famous enough the media latched onto the case. Plus, the fact that the camera loved them both gave the story a sense of greater tragedy. Young lovers, in their prime, with their happy ending stolen away in an instant.
But like any story, interest waned and there was less national coverage on the case. His latest book, The Darkest War, had just come out and Derek had a full publicity schedule, most likely to serve a dual purpose—promote his book and get Emily back in the media. His website had a list of events he’d be attending through the fall.
The doorbell rang and the interruption was welcomed at this point. I couldn’t stomach any further gory details about the murder. Quickly, I shut down the computer after stumbling on a thread about the case. One of the bloggers claimed to have real crime scene photos from the murder. The last thing I needed to see was a photo of Emily’s BMW soaked with her blood. She was a real person to me, a woman who inspired someone to text her for years after she was gone.
Birdie was wagging her finger at me as I answered the door. Without a word, I slipped out of the apartment and began to follow her through the back door to her shop. “Sorry, I know I promised to help you, but something came up.”
“No worries, honey, I figured you might’ve forgotten. I actually thought maybe the wedding flowers might get you upset.” My landlord was literally the sweetest. If she hadn’t decided on a whim to rent the apartment to me, I didn’t know where I would’ve ended up.
“Oh, not at all. I actually liked the planning process of the wedding,” I answered honestly. Concentrating on the wedding plans gave me less time to second-guess my decision to marry Jake. “I think part of me was more upset I wouldn’t actually see any of my plans come to fruition.”
She smiled kindly. “Honey, you’ll find Mr. Right and have the wedding of your dreams, I’m sure of it.”
I perched on one of the stools behind the counter. “How long were you married before your husband passed away?”
She sniffed a bloom before answering. “I’m widowed twice. My first husband died in a car crash while we were still newlyweds. My second husband died five years ago now…prostate cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She waved me off. “He was so sick at the end; it was a blessing for him to finally let go. Seeing him in pain was more awful than losing him. I miss him, but cancer is a nasty thing.”
“But you loved them both?”
“Oh yes, I was mad about each. And the funny thing was they were nothing alike. My first husband, Charles, was a construction foreman. My second husband Todd worked on Wall Street.”
“How did you move on after Charles? Was it difficult?” I no longer had people in my life, but the separation was by choice. How did someone survive after losing a soul mate?
“He was a good man and the father of my oldest son, Anthony. Anthony was a toddler when I met Todd and I was in no mind to meet a man. Todd asked me out three times until I finally said yes. But it was the best decision I ever made. My heart didn’t die with Charles. I had room to love more than one man.” She patted my hand. “You have second thoughts about leaving your husband-to-be?”
My spine stiffened at the suggestion. �
�Oh no, not even a little bit.”
Birdie quirked a penciled eyebrow, looking as if she didn’t quite believe me. “You know Todd strayed while we were dating. But I still know he was one of the great loves of my life.”
“He did? How did you forgive him?”
“People make mistakes. He was a good man ninety-nine percent of the time, but had a weak moment. I wasn’t perfect and we came to realize we’d rather work through his infidelity than never be together.”
Slouching down, I leaned forward until my elbows rested on the counter. “I don’t think Jake is the same kind of man. He cheated on me for years. Even if he wanted to work things out, it wouldn’t change anything. He would cheat on me again…I don’t think he ever loved me.”
“I find you very lovable, so I don’t see how that’s possible.” She handed me a rose with a toothy grin. “But men who cheat and cheat, normally can’t love anyone but themselves. And I think you need to love yourself first before you can move on.” She fluffed my hair in a motherly way. I was touched. My own mom didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. “You still hanging out with Jenny?” I nodded before she continued. “That’ll be good for you. She’s a wild one after her marriage fell apart, but she knows what she wants. She wants to have fun before settling down again.”
I smiled wanly as she patted my hand and went to the back of the shop to start working on the wedding estimates. The shop would be slow since it was a Wednesday afternoon, so I’d have plenty of time to stew about Derek. His message from earlier remained unanswered, so I sent back a laughing emoji instead of a real response. Truthfully, I wanted to write: Really, dude? You’re fucking famous and trying to find the murderer of your fiancée? And you look like the latest cover model of the sexiest man alive magazine issue?
I had asked Birdie about her relationships because I needed guidance. Derek had a complicated life, a past more daunting than I ever anticipated. I trusted D, but would Derek be the same man I had gotten to know over the summer? My heart would be broken in the end, I could guarantee the outcome. But why did the thought of never talking to him again fill me with a more persistent dread?
The Despair of Strangers Page 8