Forgotten Obsessions (The Love is Murder Social Club Book 1)

by Talia Maxwell

  “Hadda-wha?” Millie asked, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t tell anyone. I haven’t even told the bartender at Nob Hill that I see two times a week and she knows everything about me!” She hissed and stared back at the workers sorting cookies and sandwiches on to plates. “I don’t know how she knows. But I didn’t say anything…”

  Maeve took her seat next to Derek on the pew as the service started.

  He held the program with both hands trembling and Maeve reached out to touch his knee, but he slid away from her. Her heart dropped. She’d joked about becoming a pawn, but maybe she was. Maybe she actually was.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he answered. “It really isn’t. I just have a thing about being lied to.”

  “I didn’t lie. I just never found the time to tell you…”

  “Why were you—” the organ music began to play “—afraid to tell me. You think it wouldn’t be possible to fall in love with you if I knew?”

  “Fall in love with me?” Maeve repeated. She heard her own voice, louder than she intended and she scooted sideways and leaned into him. “What do you mean? I’ve been preoccupied and I hadn’t even heard from either school yet. It’s just a stupid dream…”

  The organ music died away and the pastor took his place up at the pulpit.

  As the message about Timothy Shelton’s journey to the life beyond reached out to the mourners, Derek turned to Maeve and whispered in a loud voice, “They should just call his story, My Life Bound to a Lie.” The people around them ignored his grumbling. He’d lost his father after all and he was allowed to grieve.

  But two seconds after that, he got up and scooted out of the pew, stalking up the aisle and walking right by wife number four, whose name he’d never even taken the chance to learn. He pushed open the double doors leading out of the sanctuary, ignoring the metal clanking. Everyone held their collective breaths until the door slammed shut again and the pastor continued.

  “And for those of us who believe in a God who created us in his image to carry his message of love down to his people, his sons and daughters, we know there is rejoicing in death. For we know we will spend our eternity with someone who loves us most of all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Derek emerged from his self-imposed exile midway through the reception and without a word to anyone, grabbed a piece of white cake with raspberry filling and sat down in the middle of the Love is Murder group, acting casual, as if he hadn’t just stormed out of his own father’s funeral.

  Maeve held back. He regarded her, but only with a small nod and a sad smile. He didn’t apologize or try to explain. And Maeve felt a great emptiness grow inside her as she realized he might be too broken by his past to forgive her of something she saw as a simple misunderstanding.

  Maybe they’d had too many of those.

  “So,” Derek said, scraping his fork across the frosting. “Let’s talk murder.” There was bitterness in his voice. Maeve wondered if perhaps he was drunk.

  “Lance was here today,” Gloria said, and Kristy and Rosie nodded.

  “We noticed him, too,” Rosie said.

  “What’s he look like again?” Maeve asked. She waited for Derek to look back when she asked the question, but his eyes stared low to the ground.

  “Middle-aged, brown hair, glasses,” Gloria replied.

  “So, like most of the people who attended today. Got it,” Maeve joked. There was a sprinkle of laughter. Derek didn’t crack a smile.

  “I mean they were friends, so it makes sense,” Gloria expanded. “It might have been stranger if he didn’t show up.”

  A woman approached their table, middle-aged, but ambiguously aged, with graying hair but smooth, wrinkle-less skin—like an old/young hybrid. She wore a black pantsuit, her hair cut into an unflattering bob. She apologized for intruding and motioned to Derek and stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  The group stopped talking when she approached and watched and waited.

  “I know you don’t recognize me,” she started, and Maeve didn’t watch the woman, but kept her eyes glued on Derek as he searched the woman’s face. “But I was one of the first police officers at the scene the night you and your family was attacked,” she said.

  Derek frowned. “I bet I’d remember your name. But…I don’t remember much about that night. I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you don’t and there’s no need to be sorry. It was a hard night for all of us involved. And I just wanted to say, I’m sorry. We failed your sister by not catching Peter Newell faster. That’s something I’m always going to regret.”

  The group swallowed in unison, tension was heavy, but the woman had the floor.

  Gloria’s eyes shifted to Holly who conveyed what they were all thinking: a real cop from the night of? It didn’t get any better than that.

  “That case always stayed with me. The ones with kids often do. I was young, too, mid-20s. A lot has changed in fifteen years, I suppose. And well, I didn’t mean to bother you,” the woman said simply and turned to walk away.

  It was Gloria who stopped her. “So, you were there? That night?” she asked, and the question caused the woman to freeze in her tracks.

  “I was,” the woman nodded.

  Derek shifted, uncomfortable.

  “Let’s play a game of what if,” he said and looked up at the woman he didn’t remember. “What if Peter Newell wasn’t the killer,” Derek said, and he took a deep breath and exhaled. The entire group stopped to stare at him. Maeve had no idea what had gotten into him, she moved forward as if to stop him, but Gloria stopped her. “What if it wasn’t him?”

  “I’ve played the what-if game, too,” the cop said. “All people in law enforcement do. But it’s not healthy. That’s what I learned. You go with the facts and the evidence.”

  “Let’s ask this way,” Holly said and leaned in to be seen. “If it wasn’t Peter, did the police at the time have any other theories?”

  When the officer looked back at the group, she nodded and smiled. “It’s hard not to have ideas that pop up every once in awhile. Things niggle at you, you know. I had one idea once, but it never gained any traction.” She made eye contact with the women at the table—everyone had pivoted to look at her. “But I’m sure you all don’t have time for me to get into that…”

  A few people immediately vocalized interest.

  “Well,” Maeve said and she pointed to an empty chair across the table. “We’re all ears.”

  Beverly Kane was the first officer to respond to the Shelton home. She knew the case was different than the other Woodstock Murders from the start.

  “The Woodstock Killer’s obsession was solely with the babysitters,” she said. “Our profiler had him pegged as someone with a fetish for young women, but that wasn’t my take. The guy always seemed like the murders were more of statement. Then the Shelton murders happen and he’d never used a firearm before. So, I think we had two different crime scenes. The little girl’s death was different. And I think Peter died because he knew it…”

  “I’ve heard this one before,” Derek responded and he leaned across the table and knocked once against the wood. Maeve knew the tone, the seething emotion underneath his bite. “The thirteen-year-old brother accidentally shot his sister with the gun and his parents covered it up.”

  “No residue on you,” Beverly replied quick and ready. “We checked. There goes that theory. Stay with the facts. Keep guessing though, that’s the fun part.”

  “Is that the fun part?” he asked. “I always thought the actual crime scene was the real fun part. The part with the dead kids.”

  Gloria slapped the table and glared at Derek. “Don’t be cheeky with this woman. We need her, viewpoint,” she said in her motherly tone.

  Maeve nodded to Derek and he got up from the table and started to pace.

  “You know what. She’s right. I’m gonna…I’ll go wait in the sanctuary or something,”
he announced.

  Derek disappeared and when he was out of earshot, Maeve apologized.

  “He’s not ready to be involved,” she said.

  “It’s okay. It was traumatic,” Beverly said with a nod. “He was beaten up and left for dead, and he watched his father attack a family friend and kill him right in front of them.” She paused. “I couldn’t help but overhear you talking earlier. You’re looking into Lance Kershaw?”

  Gloria nodded for the group.

  “That was always a good lead. Good lead. Look, here’s a tip. Find the gun and link it to the girl’s death and Timothy’s death. Wouldn’t that be wild?” Beverly said with a wink. “Then your case would be a slam-dunk.”

  “Meaning…the same person who killed the sister, killed Timothy?” Gloria asked, humming. “There is a group of Timothy haters out there who’d love to see him go down for the whole lot of murders, too.”

  “Find that gun,” Beverly repeated and she put her purse in her lap, signaling that it was time to go.

  “Find the gun?” Kristy laughed and she tossed one of her arms up on to the back of the chair next to her. She chewed on the end of the plastic fork and furrowed her brow. “Just…find a gun. Because that’s easy. Just find the murder weapon that everyone has been looking for fifteen years.”

  “Yes,” Beverly responded with a sigh and she stood up. “That’s police work, right? Find the one clue you need and you’re golden. I’m serious, if you’re serious about finding that gun, you’ll need to look back to the family. Leave no stone unturned, women.”

  “Is that your professional advice?” Kristy asked without malice. If anything, she sounded a bit too eager.

  Maeve stiffened. She was glad Derek wasn’t there to hear the lady say it was important to look back to the family. Back to him.

  He’s dangerous.

  No gunpowder residue.

  He’s dangerous.

  “I haven’t been a cop for a few years now, but, you know…the Sheltons. That case. Could never shake it. That man, who you grieved for today, he was a hollow man that night. Hollow. Desperate. That sticks with you.” And on that word, she walked away, leaving the women in silence.

  “Someone needs to go talk to the wife,” Holly instructed. She had tucked her red hair into a cascading ponytail and she put a hand on her hip. “She has the suicide note. That’s what Beverly meant and you know what?” She leaned in closer. “I bet Lance has the gun.”

  Maeve nodded, thinking.

  “Derek will hate it if any of us go talk to that woman, he doesn’t even say her name.”

  “She didn’t benefit from Timothy’s death,” Rosie said. “No matter how much he hates her, she wasn’t in it for the money. It’s possible she liked the guy because you can’t trust a kid with stuff like that.”

  “He was still famous and raking in cash from appearances and book sales. She benefitted from a large house and a nice car…”

  “He paid for her daughter’s college tuition,” Maeve slid in there with a grimace.

  “Yikes,” Gloria whistled low and loud. “Respect, I say.”

  “I’ll do it,” Maeve said with a nod. “We need to talk to her and I think if it has to be someone, it has to be me,” she acknowledged.

  The club turned and looked at her, she stared back.

  “What?” Maeve asked them.

  But before they could answer, the sound of running caught their attention and they lifted their heads to see Derek rushing toward them through the hallway that separated the reception hall from the sanctuary.

  He was on his phone, rushing, frantic, but his message was to everyone who could hear.

  “I need someone to come quickly to Christ Episcopal in Northeast. I’ve got an injured woman in the sanctuary. She’s alive, but barely. She’s been strangled and stabbed...”

  He motioned for the table and rushed back the way he came without waiting to see if any of them would follow him.

  They all jumped up, rushing out from the gathering hall and back across a small atrium to the sanctuary.

  Derek led them to a pew halfway down and he scrambled over the back and slumped down next to the prayer bench to reach her.

  It was easy to see from the dress and the hair that it was Julie.

  A small pool of blood gathered beneath her body and she’d pressed her hand into the wound, everything smeared and red. A rope was still tied around her neck and her face was white and her eyes rolled back into her head. She pulled toward sleep. Derek handed the phone to Holly who took over the call.

  “I’m a former dispatcher,” Holly said. “Let me lead you in. We have an ER nurse on the scene.” She wandered a few feet away, but remained within earshot. Maeve’s ears rang and she felt like time slowed down—minutes drew into hours—Julie’s blood kept gathering on the church floor.

  “Stay with me, Julie,” Derek said. “I have you. Take slow and deep breaths.” He snapped at the group. “Someone go grab clothes or fabric.”

  Maeve went to the pew over and leaned across to get a better view. Julie’s eyes closed and Derek whispered for her to stay awake. Several of the girls went outside to wait for the arrival of the police and ambulances and direct them inside. Julie stopped breathing and Derek began to perform CPR.

  Maeve watched as he began the life compressions, his style so automatic, his precision and attention immaculate. There was no way she looked like that when she’d huddled over his father, trying to remember all the instructions in her head.

  “Fuck,” he whispered and shook his head, never stopping for a moment. One. Two. Three. Four. Breathe. Breathe. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t understand.”

  “Who is this monster?” Maeve breathed. She didn’t think anyone could hear her, but Derek must have.

  “That,” one, two, three, four, breathe, breathe, “is what you’re gonna find out. Right?” he replied.

  The paramedics stormed the church and Maeve was reminded of Timothy’s heart attack at The Alibi. When had that been? Two weeks ago? Three? The first night she’d attended the club, the first time she met Gloria and heard Derek’s voice. And since then, she’d been chased from her own apartment and scared underground, spared a violent death by luck, not talent or will.

  She looked at Julie, alive, but lifeless, bleeding out against the floor, and she wondered—without hyperbole—if she was next.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  She’d accompanied him, like he asked her to, but he felt a certain stiffness in her acceptance, a resignation in the way she asked if she was driving them, and he wondered if the tumult of the day was becoming too much. If he was too much. In some ways, he couldn’t blame her. Until the case was solved, every part of him was dedicated to finding out who wanted him dead, Maeve dead, and everyone else presumed to be close to him, dead.

  It was a game.

  The kind of game the Woodstock Killer specialized in. Taunting, teasing his prey—priding himself on always being one step ahead. Pinning the deaths on Peter Newell gave the killer time to adapt his strategy to avoid detection for a longer stretch of time. The public attacks—Derek knew now that the killer wanted the attention back; death without recognition was not enough.

  Maybe the guy got off on the media coverage.

  They arrived at the hospital and Derek parked the car. He ran his hand through his hair. His top buttons were undone from his suit and there was blood on his cuffs, he noticed but didn’t care.

  Together, they hopped out of the car and checked into the hospital as visitors. Someone directed them down the hall. They’d waited until Julie’s parents called Derek to say she was awake from surgery. They’d waited for four hours to hear if she was alive or dead—and Maeve, despite the obviousness of Julie’s distaste for her, cleaned up the memorial, loaded flowers and gifts into cars, and agreed to take him to see his ex-girlfriend.

  “I’ll wait out here,” Maeve said as they approached Julie’s room. An armed police officer waited outside; only Derek ha
d been granted access by her family. Maeve had not. She knew this when she accepted the offer to come with him, and he frowned as he watched her tuck herself into a folding chair to the right of the door, going on her phone and pulling up a book she’d been reading.

  “I won’t be long,” he said.

  “Take your time,” she offered, sweetly, but he watched her and the smile faded fast.

  Derek disappeared inside.

  Julie was in bad shape—he watched her vitals and looked at all her IV bags, inspected her surgery wound, and did the things he would’ve done if she’d been a patient, a person in a room who needed him.

  She was also awake.

  “They told me that you saved my life,” Julie said, and she smiled but it looked like it pained her to say it.

  “No,” he said and scoffed. “I did my job.”

  “I didn’t get a good look at him,” she said. “He grabbed me from behind and…”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “I mean, I don’t care if you got a look at him or not. You survived.”

  “Your new girlfriend might care. I heard she was part of that true crime club. I thought you hated that shit.”

  “You have nine stitches in your side, a concussion, and a broken vertebra and you still want to do this? That’s where we’re going with this?”

  “I still love you,” Julie said, attempting a smile. “I couldn’t marry you. I never said I couldn’t love you.”

  “Jules…” Derek tried to account for her trauma, but he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. “I was ready for more than love, too…”

  “Like public sex at funerals?” she deadpanned.

  He paused and weighed a response before scratching his chin and saying, “Grief manifests itself in lots of ways.”

  “Is that one of the stages I forgot?” She closed her eyes and adjusted her back, making a sound of pain. Derek stepped in to help her move. With his hands on her shoulders, his body close to hers, he looked away and stepped back. She’d have kissed him if he let her.