Kenna opened another drawer of the table in her foyer, recalling she’d thrown a couple of matchbooks inside after a night out with a few friends. Unfortunately, they were no longer anywhere to be found. Maybe she had left an old fireplace lighter in the kitchen junk drawer or something. She didn’t break stride when the lights flickered overhead. It was only a matter of time before the house descended into darkness, as was par for the course. She didn’t have time to waste prancing around the issue at hand.
A winter storm had struck last week, but no one had expected another one to follow so closely on its heels. Five inches of snow still blanketed the ground from the other day, with another six to eight expected shortly. The first three inches of the wet stuff would have been a breeze, except for the strong wind gusts that were messing with the power lines. The ice accumulation shorting out transformers that fed the individual housing additions wasn’t helping in that department, either. Losing electricity was inevitable in this part of the country, which was why so many people had purchased whole-home generators after last year’s storms. She should have followed suit, but it was too late to worry about that now.
“You work too hard, McKenzie Rose Burke. Your father and I—”
“Don’t have to worry about me,” Kenna finished her mother’s sentence as gently as possible, cutting off whatever excuse Marie Burke was about to use to prove her point. “I work from home. I work for myself. I make my own hours, and you know that I only put in a four-day work week when all is said and done. Sure, there are times in the year where it can get crazy, but I can take a week and go to the shore to soothe my soul.”
Kenna resisted the urge to give a triumphant shout when she finally found one of those long-barreled lighters she’d purchased at the candle store in the mall last Christmas.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to be near us when things go wrong around the house?” Marie was hushing her husband in the background, who was most likely trying to be the voice of reason. “You said yourself that you wished your father was there to build those additional shelves you wanted in your home office. I just don’t understand why you’d rather stay there in the cold than come down here to Florida with us where the beach is warm and inviting.”
Marie was talking about Kenna’s home in Winter Heights, Connecticut. The sprawling suburb outside of New Haven had a population of around fifteen thousand residents. It was home to many small businesses that needed her accounting services, while offering her the ability to work from her own home with only the rarest of site visits. How could she give up that beautiful convenience and the independence it provided her?
She couldn’t, which was why it was time for her to take a stand with her mother.
“Mom, my friends are here. My established business is here. My life is here.” Kenna walked around the kitchen, lighting two candles on the counter before doing the same to the scented ones on the mantle of her fireplace. It was in times like this that she was grateful for the open layout of her home. “Why don’t you and Dad come here for Thanksgiving? It’s a little over a week away. You’ll get to see some snow, we can do a little Christmas shopping on Black Friday, and I’ll save the hickory shelving unit I bought for Dad to put together.”
Kenna stopped just short of putting the lighter down on the coffee table. She should take the candle that was in the bathroom and light it in her bedroom. It would make it easier for her when she decided to call it a night for the evening.
“What about becoming a snowbird?” Marie certainly wasn’t the type of woman to give up, which Kenna had greatly admired in the past. Her father always said she took after her mother. It was the sole reason Kenna had been able to move on with her life after Justin had died in a senseless skiing accident. “That way, it would allow you to keep your clients and your friends. It would be the best of both worlds for everyone involved.”
Kenna had succeeded in snatching up the candle in the bathroom and transporting it to her bedroom. Now all that was left was for her to collect the flashlight from underneath the kitchen sink. It was rare that she had to use it, but she always made sure the batteries were recharged and that it was stored next to the small CO2 fire extinguisher she’d acquired after catching a roast on fire. That particular memory wasn’t a pleasant one.
“Mom, I—”
The unexpected chime of the doorbell had Kenna stopping midstride to the kitchen. Who could be out in this frightening weather? It had to be one of her neighbors needing a cup of sugar, candles, or a flashlight. Kenna could spare them the one under the sink, because she also had one in her car for emergencies.
“I heard your doorbell, so I’ll let you go,” Marie said in a singsong tone. She was happy because the interruption didn’t give Kenna a chance to shut down her most recent proposal. “I’ll call you tomorrow, dear.”
Kenna tilted her head back in defeat when the doorbell rang once more. Whoever was visiting was just as impatient as her mother.
Kenna set the lighter on the table in the foyer before answering the door. The lights flickered once more, as if letting her know she didn’t have time to chitchat.
“Oh!” Kenna hadn’t been expecting a stranger to be standing on her doorstep. “May I help you?”
She was now wishing she’d first looked out the thin window outlining the wooden frame to see who’d rung her doorbell before opening the door. It usually wasn’t needed out here, living in a rather upscale neighborhood. Honestly, the only reason she could afford such a home was because of the mortgage insurance Justin had insisted they have on the house when they’d first bought it.
Kenna wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the instant cold as she braced the door with her foot. She’d given an opening to the brutal gusts of wind, but she wasn’t about to let a man who she didn’t know inside her home, no matter how handsome he might be.
“Ms. Burke? I’m FBI Special Agent Dean Malone with the FBI.” The man held out his badge and ID for verification, giving her a sense of relief that she hadn’t just opened her door to a complete psychopath. Her relief was short-lived when his blue gaze seemed to peer around her and into her house. Attractive or not, he could still be an axe murderer impersonating a law enforcement officer. “I was hoping to speak with you for a moment, if I could.”
Kenna glanced over his shoulder to seek out what type of vehicle he’d parked outside of her home. The overhead light on her garage glinted off a plain black, official-looking sedan that held no obvious markings, but no one could miss the government plate with the G42 prefix. She focused on his badge once more, coming up empty with a valid reason to leave him standing on her front porch in the middle of a snowstorm freezing to death.
The only catch was that he wasn’t with the Winter Heights Police Department.
He was a federal agent, which never boded well for anyone they took interest in.
The only illegal activity Kenna could be accused of was speeding and maybe an unpaid parking ticket or two. Alright, three. They were still in her glovebox where she’d stuffed them after each offense. It was more than apparent that Agent Malone wasn’t here for something so innocuous as serving a traffic warrant for the local PD.
“Of course.” Kenna stepped back, but she maintained a tight hold on her cell phone. She did her best to dial 911 into her keypad without pressing the call button while he was kicking his dress shoes against the concrete sidewalk. It was always good to take some measure of precaution, no matter how attractive and well-dressed the man might be. “Please, come in. We can talk in the kitchen over some coffee. Would you like a cup?”
Kenna closed the door behind Agent Malone, figuring he could use something warm to drink after such a harrowing drive. Winter Heights didn’t have a federal office building that she was aware of, which meant that he’d made around a forty-minute drive from somewhere like New Haven. She gestured toward his dress coat.
“May I take your coat?”
“No, thank you.” Agent Malone once again surveyed the interior of h
er home, causing her to do the same and wonder if he was looking for something in particular. Kenna hovered her thumb over the home button of her cell phone. “But I would appreciate a cup of that hot coffee you mentioned.”
Kenna relaxed a bit as she led the way out of the small foyer and down the hall into her dream kitchen. She was proud of how the river rock looked on the far side, reminding her of those gorgeous log cabins shown on the Home and Garden Network. She had meticulously picked out each and every appliance to match the grey hue of the rock.
“Milk or sugar?” Kenna asked, quickly and efficiently setting a K-cup inside the machine she’d decided was worth more than a hundred and twenty dollars. She would have paid triple for the convenience it gave to her life. “I also have some flavored creamer.”
“Black, please.” Agent Malone took a seat at the counter with his back to her living room. She’d turned on the gas fireplace earlier more for enjoyment than out of any necessity. Another flicker of the lights told her the additional warmth and illumination would soon be to her benefit. “This storm came out of nowhere, didn’t it? Two so early in the season. It really is strange how quickly the fall season passed us by.”
His coffee was done in under thirty seconds, so Kenna slid the ceramic mug across the island so that it sat directly in front of him. She figured he kept his coat on more for her benefit, because there was no doubt he was carrying a firearm. Nothing quite so obvious explained why he wanted to speak with her, though. She wasn’t the most patient person, so she initiated the conversation.
“Has something unusual happened in the neighborhood?”
“You might say that it effects the township as a whole,” Agent Malone explained rather evasively, taking a drink of his coffee. She winced when she realized that he had to have burned his mouth. The steam was still rising from the black beverage. “Have you noticed anything strange in your subdivision? A vehicle that doesn’t belong, maybe? A utility worker hanging around one of the houses longer than necessary? Anything amiss?”
Kenna focused on his original question. Something had happened in the area or else he wouldn’t be here asking these vague questions. She lived in a wonderful neighborhood where the crime rate was extremely low, because the residents took immediate notice of strangers. Although that didn’t necessarily mean the occasional minor offense wasn’t committed by the average teenager or someone passing through with nefarious intentions.
“Not that I recall.” Kenna thought back on her work week. She’d only left the house on Wednesday evening to have drinks with some friends. “I’m probably not going to be as much help as the neighbors across the street. Mr. and Mrs. McGee have a green thumb and are constantly outside in their yard working on their landscaping, even in this weather. They’re always checking to make sure their shrubs are covered properly.”
“What about clients? Have you taken on anyone new recently?” Agent Malone reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small notebook, missing her look of surprise. Then again, she doubted he missed anything in his line of work. She tightened her grip on her phone. “I was told—”
“I’m sorry,” Kenna apologized without sincerity. She needed a few things clarified before she answered any more of his inquiries. His line of questioning had taken a turn that she wasn’t comfortable with, and she fought off the urge to press send on the three numbers she’d entered into her phone earlier. “I thought you were talking with everyone in the neighborhood. Does your investigation have something to do with one of my clients or me personally?”
Kenna’s stomach lurched when Agent Malone carefully set down his notebook on the granite counter without looking up. Oh, my God. Was he here to arrest her for making some type of accounting error?
“Did one of my clients accuse me of stealing or some other kind of fraudulent offense?” Kenna was going to be sick. She laid a hand over her stomach and wished she’d been on the other side of the island so that she could take a seat. “Do I need to retain an attorney before I talk to you? Am I under arrest?”
Kenna was going to throw up. She was innocent, but wasn’t that what everyone thought just before the police slapped the cuffs on them? Agent Malone probably didn’t care whether or not she was guilty. It was his job to go out and arrest people in the middle of snowstorms. She’d heard that the FBI handled a myriad of white-collar crimes dealing with finance, but wasn’t she kind of small fish compared to those accountants who worked for the mafia or some high-powered corporation peddling defective children’s car seats? Her father was going to be so disappointed.
“Ms. Burke, you’re not under suspicion of any offense.” Agent Malone’s words were rather hard to hear over the shrill ringing in her ears. She usually wasn’t the panicking type, but a visit from a federal agent had a way of compelling horrid effigies to appear in her mind’s eye. His startling blue eyes came back into view as he took her by the arms and deftly switched places so that she finally had some support underneath her. The reassuring warmth of his touch faded as he stepped back, and she had to remind herself that he wasn’t her friend. “Let me get you a glass of water.”
“No.” Kenna managed to grab the material of his dress coat before he could take a step toward the cupboard. There was only one thing she needed right now, and that was reassurance that she hadn’t misunderstood his statement about him not being here to arrest her. “Please. Tell me what this is all about before I act any more like an idiot.”
Agent Malone thinned his lips and narrowed his eyes as he took her request under consideration.
“Have you been watching the news about the women killed over the course of the past five months?”
It took a moment for his words to process. This visit didn’t have anything to do with her job.
“Okay,” Kenna whispered acceptingly, finally releasing her hold on his jacket. She sat back in the chair as she tried not to embarrass herself further. She usually didn’t come apart at the seams like that, but images of herself in a bright orange jumpsuit didn’t sit right with her. “Um, yes. You’re talking about those two women who lived on the south side of town, aren’t you? Wait. Wasn’t there a third victim last week? Do you think one of my neighbors could somehow be involved?”
Kenna inhaled deeply as her yoga instructor had taught her to do in stressful situations, finally releasing all the bad energy as she exhaled. She’d taken up the calming exercise a few months after Justin had died, but she’d missed a few classes lately. Her reaction to this situation told her she needed to rectify that…soon.
“Ms. Burke, local authorities believe all the murders were committed by one assailant—a serial killer. It’s why the Winter Heights Police Department requested that the FBI assist with the case.”
Agent Malone regarded her carefully, as if he were gauging how much information he should share with her about the investigation. She certainly hadn’t given him much confidence that she could handle anything difficult thrown her way.
“Agent, a couple of minutes ago I thought you were here to arrest me for something you thought I did.” Kenna wasn’t sure if this was normal in his realm of existence, but believing that there was a possibility that she could go to prison wasn’t something she dealt with on a daily basis. “Why exactly are you here and what do those murders have to do with me?”
“You may recall that a local journalist published an article last month where they dubbed the killer The Widow Taker.”
Agent Malone either paused for effect or to give her time to process his statement. This would teach her to pay closer attention to the local news. She’d been so busy lately that all she wanted to do in the evenings was binge watch the latest shows on Netflix. Her nausea now returned tenfold, but she somehow managed to maintain her composure. With a moniker like The Widow Taker, there was only one possible reason why Agent Malone was standing in her kitchen.
“You’re saying I might be his next victim, aren’t you?”
He looked through the steady falling snow, focused so
lely on the golden hue of the lamp streaming through the window of the two-story house. The pleasant ambiance cast a warm and inviting scene before him, yet it was amidst the chaos of an ongoing blizzard. It was nothing but a charade for what he knew had to be a cold and lonely place to live.
She wasn’t happy.
How could she be?
How could she even draw breath after such a devastating loss? Time didn’t matter in situations like these. Weeks, months, or years couldn’t put back all the shattered pieces of one’s life.
Why no one else could see she still suffered from the endless loneliness was something he couldn’t comprehend. She tried so hard to put on a brave front when she was out in public, but he could see right through her. He could see right into her soul. He truly believed that she wanted him to witness her pain, so that he could bring an end to her suffering.
She wanted him to be her savior.
He’d taken it upon himself to help those widows whose pain only seemed to magnify in his presence. They came to him, seeking out his divine deliverance. Who was he to deny their silent pleas for liberation from their overwhelming grief?
“Soon, dear widow, I will take away your anguish,” he whispered, his chest tightening with emotion as tears welled up in his eyes. He rested the tips of his black leather gloves on the driver’s side window. “I’ll make it better. I promise.”
Chapter Four
“I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Burke,” Dean replied once he made an assessment of her demeanor. From the quick research he’d done on McKenzie, she appeared to have handled her husband’s untimely death with an innate amount of inner strength. She also ran a successful accounting business from the inside of her home and appeared to be very loyal to the small group of close-knit friends she’d made over the years. He hadn’t needed to contact any of them to know that they shared her loyalty. The only comments that he could find about her on any of the standard social media pages were glowing reviews of her work and what a great friend she was to those she chose to include in her life. Her initial reaction to believing that he was here to arrest her for some greed-driven financial crime had been somewhat endearing. “We’re not sure who the unsub’s next target might be, but Sheriff Hopkins and I are doing our best to inform certain widows fitting into a particular criterion who reside in Winter Heights.”
The Forgotten Widow Page 3
