"Okay, well, if you think of anything, just give me a call. Arlie has my number.”
“Yeah, of course.”
The chief nodded. “Well, you all take care, okay? Let me know if you hear anything."
"You've got it," Arlie promised, opening the door with shaking hands. When the chief was out of earshot, she looked to Mason. "Thank God you weren't there last night. It could've been you."
"I know," Mason said. "I can't believe no one saw anything. That bar is far from empty every night."
Arlie shrugged. "No one saw anything, or no one wants to say what they saw. People in Crimson, even though we're small, don't typically like to stick our necks out for other people. Not when those same people could hurt us later."
"But who would want to hurt Perry?"
"Better question: who wouldn't?" she asked, frowning at the grim joke. "I know that's harsh…but honestly, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. The guy is a jerk." She looked up at him, a thought hitting her. "I don't want you going back there."
"What do you mean? It's my job. If I don't go back, who will keep it going? It’s not like I have many options for employment in Crimson Falls."
"It's not your responsibility. I told you this town is dangerous right now. You need to stay here. Where you're safe."
He wrapped her into a hug. "I'm sorry. I know how hard this must be on you. All the memories it has to be bringing up."
"You have no idea," she said, small tears forming in her eyes suddenly. They weren't for Perry. They'd never be for Perry. No. These tears were, as always, for herself and all that she'd lost.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next day, on October twelfth, the second murder happened. This time, when the chief knocked on her door, he was accompanied by another officer. Someone young. A boy Arlie hardly recognized.
"Arlie." The chief greeted her as she swung open the door, this time dressed slightly better than before and with her hair freshly combed.
"Someone else?" she asked, looking behind her to where Mason stood.
"I'm afraid so," he said softly. "Darla Redding, a second grade teacher at the school."
"Oh no," Arlie said, and this time her shock felt more real. She knew Darla. Not well, but well enough. Enough to care. "Oh no."
The chief placed a hand on her shoulder. "We need to talk to you."
"What about?" she asked. She had nothing to do with Darla, and neither did Mason. She couldn't imagine what this visit could be pertaining to…but by the look on his face, she knew it couldn’t be good.
"You'll want to sit for this," he told her, pointing to the chair with his free hand. She followed his instructions, sitting in the worn recliner. Mason took her hand, looking back and forth between her and the chief. "Now, this is going to sound crazy. Crazier than usual, anyway.” He pressed his lips together, his mustache buzzing with a deep exhale. “You'll forgive me for saying this, but I've never read your books. I'm not much of a reader. I can read fine, but never comprehend what I read," he said. It was the same old excuse she heard time and time again, and so she nodded, waiting for the lies to end. "But my wife, you know Anita loves them. And…well, she pointed something out after this case. Something that can't be ignored."
"Something? Something like what?" Her palms were sweating at his tone and she rubbed them over her jeans carefully.
"When Perry was killed, he was shot in the back behind the bar. Not that suspicious, I guess. But then Darla died. And the murder weapon was a corkscrew to the neck." He stared at her, waiting for her to catch on. It didn't take long and she was gasping.
"What? No." She shook her head, her fingertips dancing over her lips.
"Yes," the chief confirmed. "It's crazy, I know, but both murders are eerily similar to the ones in your books." He pressed his lips together under the large mustache. "And I'm afraid that's something we can't ignore anymore."
"What are you saying?" she asked softly.
"I think we have a copycat on our hands, Arlie. Someone who is using your books as inspiration to commit crimes. Murders."
"But…why would someone do that?" she asked. "And why now? Do you think it’s because of Founders Day? So many years after the books were published? That doesn’t make any sense, but it’s too big a coincidence, right?"
"We don't know," he said. "Right now it's all just speculation, but we'd like to have you come down to the station so we can discuss this further." He looked up to where Mason stood. "And, uh, bring your friend with you."
Arlie sat at the small police station, squeezing her fingers together in front of her. The officer sat down, sliding a cup of coffee to her.
"Nathan, what on earth are we going to do?" she asked, so thankful to have a familiar face to talk to. Granted, they were all pretty familiar, but Nathan had once been a family friend.
"Just stay calm," he said, squeezing her hand on top of the desk. "We're going to figure this out. Honestly, at this point, it could all be a coincidence."
"You've read my books, haven't you?"
He nodded. "Of course."
"How similar were they to what happened?"
He swallowed, looking away. "The things you wrote were…I mean, they could happen to anyone."
"But in order? And specifically like this? The chief's right. What if someone is trying to use my books to hurt people?"
"Relax, Arlie. Let's take this one step at a time, okay? First of all, we need to know how you went about the research for your books. Did you talk to any experts?"
"Of course. I used you guys for a lot of the police procedural stuff, Google, and I went to Riverside and visited with some professors, too."
"The power of knowledge," he said with a smile. "Has anyone ever shown a particularly strong interest in your books?"
"I mean…I have fans, sure. From all over the world. I wouldn't say anyone was especially invested, but how would I know?" She shrugged, biting her nail.
"You've never been contacted by a fan?"
"Well, of course. Daily. I'm close to a lot of my fans. Internet-close, anyway. I have my Facebook reader's group and author page. I get emails daily. But my fans live all over the country. I don't think I have any die-hard fans here in Crimson Falls."
He touched a hand to his chest with a playful grin. "I'm offended."
"Okay, I have one," she said with a smirk. "Are you the killer?" She regretted the question as soon as she'd asked, realizing how tactless it was to make a joke like that.
Ignoring her question, he went on. "Have you ever received letters to your house from a fan? Or multiple emails? Anyone who came off to you as odd?"
"Well, I mean…not really. I've had to block some people on there. Ones who sent me email after email or wanted to video chat daily, whatever. But that's just Facebook. It's not anything to do with me.” She paused, biting her lip and trying to think. Suddenly, a thought hit her. “Oh. But, I did have Roosevelt."
"Who's Roosevelt?"
"I'm pretty sure it was a fake name, but it's the only one he ever used. He was my…for lack of a better word…stalker. It was several years ago, before I was ever famous. Back when I first started writing. Roosevelt would write to me almost daily, sometimes more than once a day. In the beginning, it was normal. Like, telling me how much he liked my writing or he enjoyed a book. But then the emails got more demanding, asking me to meet him. Telling me how I should leave Brett and be with him. Telling me he could take care of me. He sent me letters to my house, pictures of my house, pictures of Brett and me, everything. It got really scary there for a while. I don't know why I didn't think of this before."
Nathan was taking notes as she spoke. "What happened to him?"
"I don't know," she said. "Brett and I…well, we spoke to the chief about it, filed a report and everything, but since he'd never truly threatened me, there wasn't a whole lot that could be done. Eventually, after months of no response, he just stopped writing. The pictures stopped coming. The chief said he must've gotten bored. I haven'
t heard from him in…two years? They stopped shortly before Brett passed."
Nathan nodded, flipping to a new page in his notebook. "Is there anything else you can think of that might help? Do you still have any of the old emails or photos?"
"Yes," Arlie said, "I have them all."
"Can I get you to send them to me?"
"Of course. Do you really think it could be him? Why would he do this? To get my attention, maybe? Why would he wait all this time?"
"I don't know," he said calmly. "But don't start panicking yet. Just let us do some digging. In the meantime, you need to be extra cautious."
"Me? Why?"
"Because…" he said, looking at her as if it were obvious, "if the murderer is really a copycat, and he plans on acting out each of the book deaths, you'd be next, right? The next book is the one where a writer is killed?"
She swallowed hard. "Not the next one…" She trailed off, terror filling her. Could she really be in danger? "Wouldn't my number one fan know that?" She tried hard to fake a smile, though it just wasn't coming.
"I could've sworn it was." He touched his chin, staring at the ceiling as he tried to think.
"That's The Girl Called Never, and it's my last book. The next one is the homeless man, The Goodbye Sister."
"That's right," Nathan said, "I did know that."
"You don't really think any of this is true, do you? I mean, how crazy would someone have to be?"
"Just crazy enough," Nathan said, his voice low. "Speaking of, how well do you know this Mason guy?"
"Not well," she said honestly. "I only know what I told you guys before when I found him." She looked over her shoulder where Pete could be seen questioning Mason. "Why?"
"Well…a guy shows up on the outskirts of town, no one's ever seen or heard of him, he wasn't reported missing anywhere, and he claims he doesn't know who he is. It's just…it's odd. And then with all of this going on, it makes it even more…odd."
"Mason didn't have anything to do with this, Nathan. He's been with me. And he's not claiming not to know who he is, he genuinely doesn't. The doctor at the hospital even confirmed it."
"The doctor confirmed his memory loss?" he asked with a raised brow.
"Well, no," she said, looking down. "He said that wasn't possible. But he said that with the injuries sustained, it was possible, probable even, that he'd lose his memory."
"Arlie," Nathan said, leaning forward. "I don't trust him. I don't know what he wants from you, but I think you should ask him to leave. We can do that for you if it's easier."
"No," Arlie insisted. "No. There's no reason for it. Mason wouldn't hurt anyone. And he's not asking me for anything. Everything I've given him has been because I wanted to. He's good, Nathan. I know sometimes it's hard to remember that good even exists outside of Crimson Falls, especially this time of year, but it does. And he is. He gave the Arbordale police his DNA and fingerprints. If he was a criminal, I’d think you would’ve had those results back by now."
“Not necessarily. You know how slow we are to get word here sometimes. And people commit crimes all the time without getting caught. Just because he’s not in the system doesn’t mean—”
“I trust him. That’s all that matters.” She pushed her chair back. "So, if that's all you need from me, I want to go home now."
Nathan closed his notebook. "Yeah, I guess that's all. For now. Just…you'll call me if you need anything, right?"
"You know I will,” she said, offering up a sad smile.
"I mean anything," he said, staring at her with his piercing brown eyes. "And anytime. Day or night."
"I'll be fine, Nathan. I can take care of myself." With that, she turned, walking to where Mason sat. She was ready to go home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Later that evening, Arlie and Mason sat at a corner booth in the diner at the edge of town. Arlie was picking at her plate of broccoli, trying to ignore her ever-growing headache. "I mean, it's crazy, right? It's got to be just a coincidence."
"I don't know," Mason said, taking a drink from his cup. "It's a pretty big coincidence if not."
"What do you think, then? Do you think I'm in danger?"
"No," he said quickly. "I would never let anything happen to you."
"You can't promise that, Mason. I can't let you put yourself at risk for me. Not when we don't know who we're up against."
"Hey," he whispered, taking her hand. "It's going to be okay."
"You don't understand. Tomorrow is October thirteenth. If anything bad is going to happen, it'll be tomorrow."
"But why?"
"It's Founders Day," she said, not wanting to explain.
"What's so bad about Founders Day? I know everyone here seems to be afraid of it, but it's just a day…right?"
"No," she said, her tone ominous. "Founders Day is cursed. Everything bad that happens in Crimson Falls happens around Founders Day. It's definitely not just another day."
He let out a stifled laugh.
"What?" she demanded.
"Oh, come on. Cursed? You can't be serious."
"I am serious, Mason. It's not a joke. Ask anyone. People here…they go crazy around Founders Day. It's dangerous. And now I've got a potential stalker to boot." She rubbed her forehead. "I should've never brought you here. Not now. It's not safe for you."
"Arlie," he said her name firmly, trying to get her to stop rambling, "I'm fine. You are going to be fine. We're going to make it through tomorrow, and you'll see that this is just all some insane coincidence. I promise you. I won't let anything happen to you. You don't have to protect me. I can take care of myself."
She shook her head. "That's what my husband thought, too. I begged him to stay home every Founders Day. But he never listened, and then he got cocky. He thought he was safe that day because he worked outside of Crimson Falls." She felt small tears forming in her eyes. "I can't lose anyone else…not after the way I lost him. I don't think I'll survive it."
He stood up, moving to her side of the booth and cradling her in his arms. "You aren't going to lose me. I'm here, okay?" he whispered, his lips moving against her ear. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
He pulled her away from him, kissing her softly. Her tears rubbed onto his skin, his hands in her hair, and for a moment—the first moment in a long time—she felt something in her heart telling her that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next day, Arlie stood in the kitchen with her apron on. Mason’s broad, muscled shoulders were practically on display under his thin, white T-shirt, and she couldn’t help but admire him as he danced around the room with her. They’d turned the music up, locked the doors and windows, and created their own little place of solace. Nothing could penetrate their safe haven today. They wouldn’t let it.
Mason looked up at her, noticing her stares, and smirked. “You’re burning the pancakes,” he teased, causing her to look down quickly, though he’d only been joking.
She scowled at him. “Just for that, I oughta burn yours.”
He touched her shoulder with his forefinger, making a sizzling noise. “Oooh, ladies and gentleman, the girl is on fire.”
She laughed, a loud belly laugh that felt foreign. “You are such a dork.”
“But I’m your dork,” he whispered, pulling her to him suddenly and pressing his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, ignoring the pancake batter that was probably splattered on him and the pancakes that probably were burning at this point.
She was safe with him. It was a foreign concept, but true nonetheless. This stranger, this man she hardly knew yet knew so well, was the only person she’d felt safe with for the past two years of her life. And he wanted her. He’d chosen her. Over his past life, or the pursuit of it. Over everything. Mason was hers, and she his.
There was no better feeling.
She’d never experienced a better October thirteenth. And after these twenty-four hours were over, they were go
ing to continue on with their life. A new life. One they’d make together.
Interrupting her thoughts, her phone’s shrill ring filled the house, and she immediately knew something was wrong. Something bad had entered their safe space. They weren’t safe anymore. No matter how many locks they’d latched, nothing could bring them total safety. Of course not. She should’ve known. It was the one thing she’d always known. No one was safe on Founders Day.
Arlie pulled back from their kiss, the air between them suddenly ice cold. “Don’t answer it,” Mason begged.
“I have to,” Arlie said, walking toward the living room with apprehension. She couldn’t make out the name on the screen, though she knew who it would be. No one called her. No one had any reason to.
As she reached the couch arm, staring at the white letters that spelled ‘Chief Chapman’ but translated to ‘trouble,’ she picked up the phone with shaking hands, contemplating her next move.
With a deep breath, she slid her finger across the screen and placed the speaker to her ear. "Hello?"
Sigh. The familiar sigh that let her know her worst fears were being confirmed. "Arlie?"
She recognized the tone in his voice. A tone that could only bring bad news. "Yes?"
"We need you to come down to the station, sweetheart."
"What happened?"
"It's…Ted. He's…gone."
"Ted?" she asked, knowing who he must mean. Ted Daniels, the town drunk. "What happened?"
"Exactly what happened in your book," he said, his voice no longer soft. "He was stabbed to death last night. We found him this morning in an alley behind the Crimson Cafe."
"What?" she asked, covering her mouth. Without realizing he'd ever left the kitchen, Mason's arms were suddenly around her, his face soft as he seemed to realize who she must be talking to.
"It seems you two were at the diner last night around the time that he would've been killed."
"So someone really is after me?" she asked, thankful that Mason was beside her as her knees gave out under her.
The Stranger in the Woods Page 5
