“Oh.” Morgan pulled out the office chair and slumped into it, doing all he could to ignore the coat of dust over his closed laptop. “Dare I ask for more information?”
Mason paused and smirked, then looked around the room. “It’s a nice setup you have here. Personally, I used to rent an office across town. Made it easier for me to separate work from my personal life. That is, if anything could ever do that.”
“I know what you mean,” Morgan said, wishing he’d make his point.
“And here, there’s no room for a second desk.”
“Why would I need a…” Morgan thought he understood. “Oh.”
Mason watched his reaction, then ventured on. “I’m thinking about taking a step back from the SFPD. I’m getting a little older now, and it’s time I settled into something less stressful. Thing is, investigation is all I know. Diane and I have had the conversation, and she’s prepared to see how things go.”
The insinuation left Morgan with mixed feelings. Having only recently agreed with Rachel that he’d take it easy for a while, it was hard to tell which way to look at this. A partner could always be useful, especially when it came to delegating tasks, but what about the other difficulties? “Just to confirm, you’re suggesting a team-up?”
“I’m suggesting a partnership. Equal responsibility, equal pay.”
“But you live in San Francisco.”
“We could move.”
“I thought Washington wasn’t your scene?”
Mason laughed. “It’s not, but for the sake of a job, I can make allowances.”
“What will you do if I say no?”
“Probably think of something else.”
“Right.” Morgan mulled this over. Having a partner couldn’t be all bad, but he’d feel guilty shifting their whole family over here. On the other hand, he’d always liked San Francisco and wouldn’t mind spending some time there. What would Rachel think, he wondered? “Sounds interesting. Can I think about it?”
Mason nodded and stood. “Of course. Just thought I’d run it by you. A new venture.”
“Young and Black’s Investigation Agency,” he mused aloud.
“But I’m neither of those things.”
“It’s a little on the nose.” Morgan shrugged and stood with him, edging toward the door so they could return downstairs to continue his birthday celebration and so he could catch up with Amy and get to know Diane a little more. “Just give me a few days to think about it.”
“No problem,” Mason said, heading out the door. “No problem at all.”
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Prologue
Weighed down with the torture of recent events, Lori unlocked the door of the motel and stumbled inside, hauling her one big bag of spare clothes with her. Before she got a chance to study the small, dusty room, she hurried to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She then unpacked her bathroom gear and brushed her hair in short, violent strokes, fighting the urge to look at herself in the mirror. The image she expected was awful: tired eyes, frizzled hair, and red skin bitten by the fall air.
She glanced around the bedroom and shook her head at the worn and tired feel. If she painted the walls black, the room couldn’t be any darker. The once-frilly net curtains at the window were thick with years of grime. The light hanging from the ceiling struggled to reflect from the formerly beige carpet that was more like a forest floor in both color and texture. The walls could be any shade at all. She couldn’t tell.
Lori grimaced. She’d clearly been given a room that hadn’t been used in a long time. She thought about going to complain but had neither the energy nor inclination. It could wait until tomorrow.
By the time she was done, she climbed into bed and winced as the hard springs poked her skin. It was like fingers pricking and prodding her all over, adamant she shouldn’t sleep. She didn’t need them—she had enough trouble sleeping just from the memories that came back to haunt her. How had this all happened so fast? Only weeks ago she’d been the wife of a loving husband, and now she was being hunted while a nameless man fed her conspiracy stories.
I’ll get to the truth somehow, she thought, stirring. Even if it kills me.
Chapter One
Before her life changed forever, there was nothing Lori loved more than living in the small, quiet town of Castleford, Connecticut. With a population of less than seven hundred, there was little room for drama and plenty of space and tranquility to enjoy the view of the lush and leafy forests that surrounded the town. There was no better place.
Castleford, referred to as the town that always slept, was hemmed in by dense woods that were home to ancient beech, cedar, and birch trees. These trees stood as silent bastions, observing folk going about their everyday lives. She never tired of admiring the landscape as it changed through the seasons. From a color palette of greens in the spring and summer, to the rich oranges, yellows, bronzes, and reds that heralded the cool touch of fall in the air.
Yes, this was their home now, the place she and her husband had chosen to relocate, and that’s why she could afford a smile when she stood in line at the grocery store, clutching some last-minute picnic essentials. Her heart fluttered as she thought about this special picnic and the news that she was desperate to tell Sam. She imagined the look on his face as she told him. Just the thought made her laugh. Their dreams were coming true.
It was the first Friday of the month, which meant an early leave from her job as an independent blogger. Her blog, All Things Life, focused on Castleford and the many things that visitors to the area could try. It meant that she’d explored the local trails through the state forest, discovered the delights of the local wildlife, and promoted the local farms and bakery. One part of her blog that she looked forward to was her monthly quirky comparison of a New England town to its UK namesake. Sheffield, Hartford, Winchester, and Norfolk had featured in recent months.
Sam—her husband, who wrote for the Castleford Times—could also pick and choose his hours. It wasn’t like his ninety-seven readers were itching for the latest gossip in town. The older townsfolk took care of that. However, Sam still managed to pick up the occasional newsworthy piece, like the dispute over the guinea hens that crossed a road to get to the other side and forage for food. This wouldn’t seem like front-page news, but a ruckus arose over the responsibility for the noise and damage they caused. His piece about the town taking part possession of a new twelve-seater transport van had been well received. Castleford now co-owned the vehicle with a neighboring town to help seniors attend programs at the senior center, go on shopping trips, and see a doctor. Hardly earth-shattering world news, but it was news nevertheless and Sam loved it.
Snapping from her trance, Lori shifted her weight to the other foot and assessed the line ahead of her. There were only three people in front, but with Sam waiting impatiently in the car outside, she had to make this quick. This meant steering clear of Betty Walker, the kindest and sweetest old lady you’d ever met, but the one person in town who knew everything and everyone. Worse yet, she was stood only a few paces in front.
Lori shied away, glancing toward the window to hide her face from view. If she could only make it to the counter, she could pay for her snacks and get out of there. Now, as one person took their change and left the store, she was closer than ever. The line shortened and she shuffled forward, praying Betty wouldn’t see her. The old, dusty hardwood floor creaked beneath her feet like arthritic joints. The surface was pitted, each mark the start of a story that would never be told. I
t had been the silent witness to so much life in this nineteenth-century New England town, the good and bad. Lori winced as she shuffled from one foot to another, desperate to avoid drawing attention to herself.
“Is that you, Lori?”
Lori’s muscles stiffened at the shrill voice, and she turned to see a short, hunched figure with gray ringlets and kind eyes. Misleading eyes. She had her arms folded, grocery products resting in the grooves between them. “Hey, Betty. Why didn’t you grab a basket?”
“I didn’t expect to buy so much. Help me out, won’t you, dear?”
Lori sighed and placed her own shopping on a nearby shelf, wincing as her back tightened.
“Let me get that for you,” she said, rushing to take the cans and bottles from Betty’s arms. “If you needed help, you only had to say. There are plenty of people here who won’t hesitate to carry stuff for you.”
Betty waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “I’m still up and able. Unlike Norma Durham. Did you hear? She hasn’t left her house in days, and her doctor says she’s under the weather. Waterworks apparently. And as for Barbs Newell, well, I don’t want to say anything, but sciatica is making her wobble all over the place. She’s like Jell-O on a plate.”
Lori nodded, glancing to the front of the line where the next customer grabbed his brown paper bags and left. With the wait shortening by the second and Betty surrendering personal details by her side, Lori couldn’t wait to escape.
“And at her age?” Betty continued. “You would think she—”
“No offense, but I don’t want to hear it.”
Betty’s mouth hung open, her eyes turning a blank, dark hue. It was the face of a confused, insulted woman who’d heard something shocking—frozen, turning only at the sound of the horn blaring from Sam’s Mercedes.
“Sorry,” Lori said, her heartbeat doubling with eagerness to leave. “I just don’t think it’s nice to spread so much gossip about other people. That’s not to say we can’t be friends; I just think Norma’s business should remain Norma’s business. And Barb’s for that matter.”
“I see.”
The horn blared again. Lori pictured Sam leaning on it, with all one hundred sixty pounds of his athletic body. There was nothing that guy loved more than a sandwich, and while Lori held all the ingredients, he would only grow less patient.
“Next,” the shopkeeper called.
Betty nodded, studying the groceries in Lori’s hands like she wanted them back.
Feeling a pang of guilt for depriving the poor woman of the only thing she loved, Lori took them to the counter. “Here, let me get these. How about we catch up next week, and you can tell me all about Norma… and Barbs?”
Betty’s eyes lit up in a flash as she beamed. “Oh, that would be lovely. There’s so much to tell. Not just about Norma but that Oliver Barnes, too. Did you know he’s found himself a new girlfriend? Who would have thought it would be so soon?”
Lori bit her tongue while paying no mind to further tales of the townsfolk and reached to pack Betty’s bags. By the time they were done and Lori paid for her own groceries, thirty minutes had passed and she returned to the car only to see Sam rushing out.
“Took your time,” he said, the fall breeze blowing his perfectly trimmed dark-brown hair. “I thought I was going to die of old age.”
Lori sighed. “Betty Walker.”
“Ah.” Sam nodded his head, took her bags, and stowed them in the trunk.
There was a lot Lori appreciated about her husband, but above all was his ability to see things from her point of view. Any other man—at least by her experience—would’ve continued to sulk about her taking so long. But not Sam. Sam knew Betty Walker was known as Betty Talker, and probably felt sorry for Lori if nothing else.
“Get in,” he said, planting a soft kiss on her cheek before opening her door.
Lori smiled. Life was good. A gorgeous, caring, and loving husband. A new life in the country and the hope of soon starting a family. She’d seen how he was with his niece, lowering his own mental age in order to have fun with a six-year-old, and that was the moment Lori knew how much she loved him. It was like he was telling her—in his own subtle way—he was ready for a child of his own.
“Today, sweetheart,” Sam teased, waving toward the car door he held open.
“Yes, sir.”
Lori lowered herself into the passenger seat and adjusted herself while Sam made his way around the Mercedes. Moments later, they were cruising down the vacant street, which was the only nonresidential street in town. Save for the closed-down sawmill at the bottom of the valley and a couple of warehouses on the edge of town, this was the only place a resident of Castleford could buy anything. Lori watched the redbrick buildings pass by the window as hot air whispered from the vents. The town was taking on a beautiful blend of oranges and yellows as October approached, fallen leaves gliding to the wet ground under every tree. It was her favorite time of year, and Lori pressed the button to roll down her window, letting the crisp fall air caress her cheeks.
“Do you really want to sit outside?” Sam asked.
“That’s the idea of a picnic,” Lori said.
“And God knows I love a sandwich. But in this weather? On the wet grass?”
“That’s what the blanket’s for.”
“Right.” Sam nodded, smiling, with his gaze fixed on the road.
“You sound like you don’t want to go.”
“Me? Hey, I love you and will do anything to make you happy. If that means sitting in a field while it rains and eating a soggy sandwich, so be it. The second I put that ring on your finger, I promised to provide. If that means we dine al fresco, we’ll dine al fresco.”
Lori felt the grin creep onto her face as she turned back toward the window. There was no denying she’d found herself a keeper, and as the breeze passed through her hair and blew stray wisps over her ears, she realized she could never be happier.
Moments later, as the last of the street’s buildings passed by, they stopped at one of the only traffic lights in town. They waited in silence, not another person or car in sight, and basked in the luxury of living the quiet life they’d always dreamed of.
“Do you ever miss New York?” Sam asked, as if he’d read her mind.
“Not really. I miss the fact there isn’t more than one coffee shop, but it doesn’t compare to life out here. The hiking routes and the wildlife. Even the people are inherently good. How about you?”
“Not at all. I have everything I need right—”
The startling roar of a car engine interrupted Sam’s reply. Lori checked her side mirror to see only a dark shadow and black metal. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the vehicle came into view, stopping beside their Mercedes. The windows were tinted black, the engine grumbling like a beast from the underworld. Lori had seen these in the video games Sam used to play—a Dodge RAM 1500, if she remembered right. Amid the growl of the machine and the blasts spitting from the exhaust, Lori only had one pure thought: these huge vehicles were far more intimidating in real life.
“Roll your window up, babe,” Sam said, leaning down to see the driver.
Lori didn’t hesitate. The glass rose from the door and muffled the sound of the Dodge.
“Wonder what brings this jackass into town.”
“Just passing through, I hope.” Lori controlled her breathing, sucking in large breaths of air and blowing them out in steady puffs. The sheer size of the car beside them reminded her of something deadly, though she couldn’t quite place it. She glanced toward the traffic light, praying for it to finally turn green. Before she knew it, her gaze was drawn back to the blacked-out windows, and as she turned, the driver-side window rolled down.
The driver was not the butch, lumberjack-looking cowboy she’d expected, but a gaunt, unshaven, weasel-like man with a shit-eating grin, stained teeth, and dark circles around his eyes. Those same eyes stared at her like they knew her deepest, darkest secrets—like they knew something even she d
idn’t. Lori felt her grip tighten on the armrest, the other hand on her knee as she stared back, gawking at the man.
“What’s his problem?” she asked, looking away.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s staring at us.”
Sam leaned in again, looking up at the driver. His face grew scarlet as he pointed at the road and yelled, “Get out of here!”
The engine revved, roaring like a bear, but Lori didn’t look. She couldn’t.
Purring like a tiger, the car rolled out and took a left. The shadow inched off them as their mysterious stranger left the scene, returning the town to its usual balance of peace and tranquility. Lori glanced up to see the lights were green and pointed it out to Sam.
Sam sat back in his seat, adjusted his mirror, and pushed his foot onto the pedal.
“What was all that about?” Lori asked, her pulse returning to its steady rate.
“I’ve got no idea,” he said, picking up speed in the Mercedes as they passed a sign that read “YOU ARE LEAVING CASTLEFORD. PLEASE COME BACK SOON!”
Lori kept checking her mirror, expecting to see the same vehicle return and hoping to spot it before it got close. There was something unsettling about the Dodge, but more so about the disturbing middle-aged man driving it. “That guy gave me the creeps.”
“Me too,” Sam said, his eyes still on the road ahead. “Me too.”
Chapter Two
They were on the outskirts of town, with Castleford behind them and nothing but a long, empty road ahead. Forests surrounded them on either side, shielding the tarmac from the sun and bathing the road in shadows that danced around them. Lori thought it was eerie, in a peaceful kind of way. The landscape felt untouched by human hands. Centuries old, a green dense blanket covered the land as far as the eye could see.
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 93
