"That's not…" She covered her mouth, and for a second Arlie thought she may get sick. Instead, she lowered her hand. "That's not true. I was not a fling to him. He loved me. I know he loved you, too. I would never deny that. But he did love me, Arlie. He loved us both. Maybe in different ways. Maybe on different levels. But he did love me."
Arlie locked her jaw, narrowing her eyes at Meaghan. "What do you want, Meaghan? Why did you come here?"
"I just…I know you must hate me, but we miss him the same way. I thought we could stick together somehow." She held out a hand for Arlie, who jerked away as if she were on fire.
"Excuse me?"
"Don't you see? We're the only ones hurting this way. We need each other."
"No," Arlie spat. "No. We aren't the only ones hurting. Brett's family is hurting. His parents. His brother. So many people are hurting over his loss."
"But not the same way we are."
"We are not the same, you and me," Arlie said, moving her hand—finger pointed—back and forth between their chests. "We aren't. Just because we loved the same man, that doesn't make us equal. He may have made a bed with both of us, but I was his wife. We made a vow to each other. We spent twelve years by each other's side. That could never compare to what you had. Never. You aren't equal to me, Meaghan. Even if he did love you. He could never love you like he loved me."
"You don't know that."
"You need to leave now," Arlie said, stepping back to shut the door.
Meaghan placed her foot out to stop it. "Arlie, you don't have to like me, but you need to talk to me. I need to get what I deserve out of this—"
"What you deserve?" Arlie seethed, spit foaming in the corners of her mouth. "What you deserve, Meaghan? What is that exactly?"
"I just—"
"Because let me tell you what I deserve. I deserve a husband who doesn't lie to me. I deserve a husband who actually meant the vows he made to me. A husband who doesn't stray at the first girl with a low-cut blouse and an even lower IQ. But more than that, I deserve a husband who's alive. Thanks to you, I will never have any of those things. As far as I'm concerned, you're the reason he's dead."
Meaghan took a step back as if she'd been punched, a hand to her chest. She bent over at the waist, taking a deep breath as her gaze seared into Arlie's. "You don't mean that."
"I do," she said firmly. "I do mean that, Meaghan. And I hope that sticks with you. I hope those words, that horrible truth eats into you every day of the rest of your miserable life. You are the reason Brett is gone. Not me. We will never…never…be even."
"I should've gotten some of his life insurance," Meaghan shouted as Arlie moved to shut the door.
"Excuse me?" She pushed the door back open, a new fireball of anger in her belly.
"I have expenses. Brett had been taking care of me. He was helping me with my bills. Since he’s been gone…I'm behind on everything. He promised to take care of me."
"If you think you are entitled to one cent of my money, you're insane. Don't you have a husband? Why on earth did you need mine?"
"My husband is never here," she cried, her head in her palms. "He won't be home for another year and a half, and when he does come home, he won't recognize this…this shell of a woman he left behind."
"What do you mean?"
She shrugged her shoulders, tears still cascading down her red cheeks. "He's deployed."
"You mean to tell me your husband is in the military, and you are cheating on him with a married man?" She curled her lip in disgust. This woman was everything wrong with the world. "You told Brett he was at work the night we had dinner."
"That wasn't technically a lie," she said, her voice a squeak. "He’s always at work. And it's not like we planned it." She cried again. "I loved my husband. But, you have no idea what it's like, having to be away from the man you love."
"Yes, actually I do, Meaghan. You made sure of that."
"It wasn't my fault," Meaghan screamed, lunging at her. Her actions caught Arlie off guard, and she jumped back. Meaghan's weight landed on her, pushing her inside the house to the living room floor. She cried out, trying desperately to shove the girl off of her. Meaghan was dead weight, her sobs rippling through her body. Arlie wasn't sure if it was anger or sadness causing her tears. She pummelled her arms into Arlie's chest, soft, baby-like punches that did no real damage. Arlie pushed her off, finally relieving herself of the weight.
"Get off of me, Meaghan."
"He loved me," Meaghan screamed, grabbing onto Arlie's legs as she tried to stand.
"I said get off," she repeated, anger coursing through her.
"I know you don't believe me, Arlie, but he did. He did love me. And I loved him. He meant everything to—"
Arlie shoved her knee into the girl's face, trying to get her to let go as the venom worked its way through her body. She watched in slow motion as Meaghan's head flopped back, crashing into the corner of the coffee table with a loud CRACK.
The girl crumpled to the floor, her body in an uncomfortable position, but she didn't move. "Meaghan?" Arlie called, her voice soft. It was no use. Like a light, the girl was out. Gone. Dead.
She took a step back, collapsing inches from the body and letting her own tears finally begin to release.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Just a year and a half after Arlie had buried Meaghan in the backyard, another knock sounded at the door. This time, it was a face she didn't recognize at all. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his dark hair neatly cut with sharp, recently done edges. She opened the door cautiously. In the back of her mind, she had been waiting for this day, the day her crime would finally come to light.
She opened the door, trying to keep her face unreadable. "Hello?"
"Hi," he said cautiously, "I'm sorry to bother you. I just…um, my name is Alec Hopewood. I think you know my wife."
"Your wife?" she asked, trying to calm the nerves that were causing her heart to flutter.
"Her name is Meaghan. She's missing."
"Missing?" Her voice was shaking, and she prayed he wouldn't notice.
"Yeah. I'm sorry, could I come in? It's just…it's a really long story."
She nodded without conscious thought. "S-sure."
"Thanks," he said, his dark eyes burning into hers. He walked into the small living room, sticking his hands in his pockets. He had the stature of someone in the military, his shoulders square, gait even. "I know this is kind of crazy."
"What exactly are you hoping I'll be able to help you with?"
"I don't know…exactly. You see, I was deployed up until recently. My wife stopped answering my calls about a year ago. We lost contact, and I believed she had left me."
"Were you two having problems?" she asked, though as soon as the question left her lips she regretted it. What business was that of hers?
He sighed. "Things hadn't been…good, for a long time. Actually, I thought she may have been having an affair. But, when I came home…my house was…it's like she just walked out the door without a word. Her purse and phone are missing, but all of the food was spoiled. The post office has been holding and returning our mail because our box was so full. It's as if…as if she were planning on returning but never did."
"Is it possible she left you for the man she was having an affair with?"
He lowered his brow, seemingly taken aback by her question. "It's possible, yes. But, no money has come out of our account. The deposits go in, our bills come out automatically, but she's spent no money in the past year and a half. I called her job, and they said she stopped coming in altogether around that time. They thought she was depressed after the shooting."
"Was she?"
His jaw was tight. "I don't…I don't know, honestly. I wish I did. I hadn't talked to her in so long."
"So, why is it you think I can help you? Did I know your wife?"
"I'm hoping so," he said, pulling out his cellphone and holding out a picture of Meaghan. Her smile was endearing, yet her eyes
looked as though they held a secret. Arlie's secret. It was as if she were begging her to admit what she'd done. "Her name is Meaghan Hopewood. And I believe…I believe she worked with your husband. I found…I found messages between the two of them on her computer. They were close, I think."
She pretended to stare at the picture, though her gaze grew fuzzy. "I don't…maybe. I mean, I think I heard him mention her name once or twice." She felt cool tears filling her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I know your husband passed away. I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," she said, biting her lip and looking down.
“I just…I hoped, maybe…after the shooting, I don’t know what happened. She just, changed. I don’t know how to explain it. I’d hoped you might know something that could help me find her.”
Okay, so he didn’t know anything. He wasn’t suspicious. She let out a breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s okay, it’s not your fault.”
She nodded. “I do hope you find her.”
He frowned. “Thank you. I’ll be going to the police next. Hopefully they can help.” He started to turn around, but stopped, his gaze dancing over her face. “Did you…did you know anything about their relationship? Meaghan and your husband?” She tried to keep her face stony, though it must have faltered because his expression suddenly told her he knew her secrets. “You did, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do,” he said, taking an angry step toward her. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Ms. Montgomery. Like I said, I found messages on the computer. Messages between her and your husband. Messages between you and her.”
“Me and her? I never messaged your wife.”
“Yeah,” he said firmly. “You did. Maybe you didn’t know it was her. She was using the name Roosevelt.”
Arlie gasped, truly shocked. Roosevelt. Her stalker. Those messages had started so long before she found out about the affair. Brett had lied to her when he’d said it had only been going on for a month. She swallowed, looking back at Alec.
“The messages she sent you, begging you to leave your husband. It was sick. I’m sorry for that. Meaghan was…lonely. She’d never done well on her own. It doesn’t justify what she did, but she wasn’t a bad person.”
She shook her head, looking down. “You should go.”
“Fine,” he said firmly. “I’ll go. But I’ll be back with the police. If you won’t talk to me, maybe you’ll talk to them.” He turned, reaching for the door. Thinking quickly, Arlie grabbed the small cast iron skillet that held a decorative candle from her coffee table. She lifted it above his head, bringing it down with full force just as he pulled the door open.
His body crumpled quickly, the blood pooling from his head in an instant. Now, what was she going to do with him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
PRESENT DAY
After it was all said and done, Arlie dumped the body in a field on the outskirts of town. She’d bought a construction vest and placed it on him, thinking that if he was found, people would assume he’d died doing construction work. Mine work. Something. Anything that wouldn’t point to their connection. She took his wallet, leaving him nothing to be identified with. So, you can imagine her surprise when she was driving back into town from a quick trip to Arbordale the next day and spied the man she’d murdered…walking through the fields and headed straight for Crimson Falls.
When she’d pulled over, she’d been trying to decide what to do. But he looked confused. Genuinely confused. And when he approached her car, he hadn’t recognized her. He’d asked who she was. Where he was. He didn’t remember what she’d done. He didn’t remember anything.
And so, Arlie saw her second chance. But just to be safe, she kept him close. If his memory came back, she wasn’t sure what she’d do, but she’d have to get rid of him. And not in the garden, she didn’t need any more damning evidence around her home.
But, she’d grown to like Mason. Honestly, she had. None of it was personal. She’d done what she had to. She’d started the Bartholomew Danger blog as a way to test out a pen name when her publisher had been forceful about the idea. But, since the success had happened with her legal name, she’d forgotten about it. Until now. Until it became useful again.
The murders, the blogging…she’d done it because her sales were dwindling and her writing had taken a turn for the worst since Brett’s passing. She couldn’t bring herself to churn out any new books. But in a moment of weakness, she’d turned to what made her famous in the first place. Death. Tragedy. And it had been proven to work again.
It was a pure whim that made her commit the first murder. Perry was easy enough. She never knew if it would work. When the police didn’t immediately connect her books to it, she committed the second, and then the third. And then, when too many eyes were on her, she’d made it look like someone had attacked her. The final piece of the puzzle her books had laid out. The writer had to die. Only, she wasn’t that crazy. She wasn’t going to kill herself. Just make it look like someone had tried. Granted, in the book the writer had been poisoned, but she’d had to improvise and no one seemed to mind. It had taken every bit of her strength and bravery to shove her own face into that counter top. And oh, how it had hurt. If she hadn’t had the adrenaline coursing through her from the chief’s phone call, she might have chickened out.
In the end, it was Mason’s own offer that had made him the obvious scapegoat. She’d never planned to point the finger at him. She’d hoped for a life with him, actually. They were both wronged in Meaghan and Brett’s affair. They deserved happiness. In the beginning, she knew she had to keep him close, to make sure his memory never came back, but she’d begun to fall for him.
And then she stopped herself. Love was what had broken her heart in the first place. Loving a man, a living, breathing man who could stop living and breathing at any moment, had caused her to experience the greatest heartbreak of her life. And she couldn’t experience that again. She wouldn’t survive it.
So, when Mason had said he’d do anything to protect her, that he owed her everything…he had sealed his fate. Arlie had placed the murder weapons in his room, along with the wallet she’d taken from his pocket when she’d dumped the body, and sent the email knowing the IP address would show her house, because the blogs were posted from her computer. In fact, it was funny that she’d chosen to use the desktop to post the final blog. Somehow, she subconsciously must’ve known it might come to this. When Brett had hidden her laptop’s IP address years ago, it was to guarantee her anonymity if either her pen name or legal name ever made it big, but in the end it had been the thing to save her. Brett had saved her. But so had Mason.
She set him up, not because she didn’t care about him, but because she cared too much. She couldn’t allow herself to do that again.
And now it was over. Mason was locked up, and no one would believe him even if his memory did come back. She was free. Her books were viral once again. Her heart was still broken, but that was healing.
Everything was going to be better.
And she deserved better, didn’t she?
As she stood at her husband’s graveside, she laid the bouquet of flowers down, wiping away a quick tear. She still loved him. There was a giant rift inside of her, threatening to destroy her sanity. Her heart, her brain. They were split, in a constant war. One huge part of her was so wrapped up in loving him, while the other would despise him for the rest of her life. It was funny, the way she thought of him. Despite his many flaws, she loved Brett with every fiber of her being. If he were still alive, she would’ve taken him back. Her heart ached for him. That was one side of her. The other side, the one that was partially glad the choice to take him back had been ripped away from her, was furious with him. And she wasn’t sure that would ever go away. Her husband, as much as he’d loved her, had made bad choices. He’d done horrible things to their m
arriage, and in the end, those things had cost him his life. Sure, the actual affair had little to do with the gunman, but Brett wouldn’t have jumped in front of the bullet to save the janitor. He did it for Meaghan. He’d died for her, and then she’d died for him. At the hands of his wife.
And Meaghan’s husband would help make Brett’s wife famous, again.
It was poetic, really.
Arlie liked poetry.
She loved Brett.
She missed Brett.
She hated Brett.
She’d kill for Brett.
She’d die for Brett.
Brett would die for Meaghan.
Had died for Meaghan.
Brett had given her a happy life. Until he hadn’t. In the end, he’d ruined her life. His death had started the chain of events that gave her everything she’d ever wanted from her career, but also made her into the monster she was today.
As she walked away from his grave, she thought about the book she’d started writing a few months ago, the one starring Mason Beaumont. The Monster Within. A book about a writer who was stalked by a man who would use her books as a murder plan in hopes to grow close to her. It would be fabulous. Phoebe would love it. Fans would eat it up. She liked to think somewhere, Brett was watching her, enjoying the show. He’d helped to inspire it, after all.
She guessed she’d been right about him. Even in death, Brett was the only one who could get her to write.
Through death, she’d learned to love. In tragedy, she’d found success. Arlie was the pure definition of irony, and from now on, she was going to embrace that.
THE CRIMSON FALLS NOVELLA SERIES
READ ALL EIGHT:
Original Sin by Greta Cribbs
The Last Dupont by Rachel Renee
The Stranger in the Woods Page 9
