Pressing his ear against the door, he heard rustling from inside. He was relieved to know it had all just been a terrible nightmare; Mia was still very much alive! But when he opened the door, she came for him. She had ripped out a chunk of flooring from the foundation to break free. Along with being handcuffed to the bedframe, she used her entire weight to charge at him. The corner of the bed knocked him in the temple, sending him to the ground. Her hands were still handcuffed, so she used her teeth as weapons. He looked up to see her lips smeared with blood, an eerie shade of red lipstick.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he screamed, trying to fight her off. “I’m helping you! So you can see how bad you’ve been. So you can get your life back on track.”
She spit in his face, speaking in tongues. Calling him the worst names imaginable, hating him with such a fire. This had all gone so wrong. She took a bite of his neck, and then he managed to pick up the heart-shaped rock, knowing what he had to do.
They had reached a point where only one of them would make it out of this predicament alive.
Does that sound familiar, Kyle Broder?????????????????????????????
* * *
KYLE SLAMMED THE manuscript shut. He’d been so absorbed in the tale that he hadn’t noticed the snow falling at a faster pace, the manuscript frozen in his hands. He wasn’t wearing gloves. Not a soul was walking around, the campus unnervingly quiet. In the distance, a shadow appeared down the path, coming closer. Because of the snow it was hard to make out a face, but he could tell it was a man about six feet tall with a normal build. William.
He reached into his pocket for any type of weapon, always carrying the Swiss Army knife attached to his Wisconsin Badgers key chain. He snapped the sharp knife open as the shadow drew nearer. Just as the shadow closed in, he rose to his feet, the knife in his grasp. But it was not his mentor, only another professor making his way through the flurries. Kyle excused himself and sank back to the bench, his head in his hands.
“What the fuck is your game?” he asked, quietly at first until he tipped his head back toward the bone-colored sky.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR GAME?” he shouted. Two birds on a bare branch became startled and flew away. He shouted it over and over until it echoed. He could still hear his cries after he got back in the car and drove away.
* * *
KYLE FOUND HIMSELF outside William’s house. He was shaking in the car, unsure whether from the cold or shock. He now reasoned he wasn’t being framed—only fucked with. But why would William want to confess what he’d done after all this time? Unless this was just another plot twist and William still intended to hang him. He looked up William’s landline number on his phone and called his house.
“Hello?” a sweet voice asked.
“Yes, may I speak with William Lansing?”
“He’s not here right now. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“Probably in a few hours. He’s in the city right now. Who may I ask is—”
Kyle hung up. He dialed Jamie’s number, getting her voice mail. He was about to leave a message, but he had no idea what to say. She seemed so far away, almost as if she’d been a part of a different life, a better one. Could he ever return to it, to her, to what he no longer believed was a possibility? He hung up on her as well and reopened Devil’s Hopyard, ready to see how William planned to wrap this all up.
I will spare you the gory details of how Mia’s heart tasted, how it was bitter but sweet at the same time, how I’d never felt so fulfilled until I chewed the last bite. For once, a heart was no longer on my mind because it was in my stomach. I wondered if it might satiate me for good and I could work toward becoming normal again, no longer ruled by my hunger.
With dirt beneath my fingers from burying her deep in the earth, I returned home and went right to my office. Under the floorboards by my desk was a secret compartment where I kept pictures of Mia. I burned all her images and replaced them with the heart-shaped rock, stained with our blood. It was all I needed of her memory, so I locked it up and covered it with an area rug. Then I tore into my bedroom, heaving, and woke up my wife by pleasuring her. We didn’t sleep all night (if you catch my drift). In the morning, she told me that last night was like it had been when we first met. I was actually present because I always seem distracted. I truly looked at her. Usually I had my eyes closed. She couldn’t remember the last time I made love to her with them open.
Kyle closed the book and tossed it into the passenger seat, his heart furiously beating. He wondered if William had slipped up by pointing out that the heart-shaped rock was located beneath the floorboards in his office. But then it could also be the perfect bait to get Kyle to enter his home.
He got out of the car and headed to the front door, no other choice but to find out.
32
“YES, CAN I help you?” Laura Lansing asked as she opened the door. The snow was coming down harder, and she pinched her heavy sweater closed. Kyle thought she had kind eyes, at least upon a second impression. He remembered that about her from years ago. The one time he’d met her had been at the same charity function where Bill pried the feathers off the bird. William had introduced Kyle to her as one of his very promising students. This had been some time after Mia’s disappearance and his two-night stint in the psych ward. Laura had acted gracious, probably having heard similar praise of a student before, but she made him feel special. She asked him what he wanted to do when he graduated.
“Something with literature,” Kyle said, sticking to a club soda that night. He hadn’t allowed himself anything stronger yet. That would soon change after his relationship with Cathy dissolved.
“Maybe a professor?” William chimed in. But Kyle didn’t think himself smart enough. Without realizing, he said so.
“Nonsense,” Laura said, a hand on his shoulder. “You’re young, you still have so much knowledge left to soak up in school. My husband has a lot left to teach you.”
So he thinks, Kyle thought with a smirk, now that he stood at William’s door.
“I work at Burke & Burke,” he said to Laura, debating whether to introduce himself as Kyle or Brett, or as an entirely made-up person. “We’re publishing—”
“Oh, yes,” she squealed, tugging at him. “William’s novel! He’s not home right now. Are you the one who called earlier?”
“No,” Kyle said, as she whisked him inside and shut the door.
He observed his rival’s home. Typical New England décor: nautical themed, gloomy seascape paintings, blues and whites. Pictures of the family on the mantel above a roaring fireplace: vacations and arms around one another. Not a hint of the evil that lurked here beneath the surface.
“I didn’t catch your name,” she said. “I’m Laura. Can I get you some coffee, tea?”
“Tea would be great,” Kyle said. “It’s Carter. Carter Burke.”
“You wouldn’t be the publisher, would you?”
Kyle gave a stern nod.
“Oh, I am so honored,” she said, flustered. She went over to a bookshelf and pulled out a few titles. “I’ve been a fan of your mystery division for some time. I love mysteries.” She showed him a title, as if recommending it. “The Fairchild Series. I’ve read all twenty-seven—no, twenty-eight books!”
Kyle pegged her as a lonely woman stuck in this house on a weekday afternoon, eager for the thrill of the twenty-ninth book being delivered.
“Let me get your tea.”
She scooted into the kitchen, leaving him out of sight. He quickly took an inventory of the first floor, no sign of William’s office. Somehow he’d have to get up to the second floor. He thought to ask to use the bathroom but then spied a half bath off to the side. That wouldn’t help. Laura returned with the tea.
“Orange rooibos, I hope you like,” she said, handing him a cup and tucking a strand of graying hair behind her ear.
“I do, thank you for your hospitality.”
&nb
sp; She sat on the couch and he faced her on a chair, a coffee table between them.
“What brings you here?” she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her tone. Maybe she was hiding something. Maybe she was just insecure and didn’t want to say the wrong thing to a man of his supposed stature.
“I have a weekend place in Connecticut, so I was in the area,” Kyle said. “William’s editor passed along his manuscript, and I wanted to talk to him about me taking it on personally. I edit so few books these days.”
“You’re so young to be the publisher,” she said, burning her tongue and spilling some tea from her shaking hands. “I don’t mean that as an insult.”
“I’m older than you think. It was my father’s company. I’m just trying to preserve his legacy.”
“How grand.”
“Anyway, maybe you could help me with some questions I had about the manuscript before William returns?”
She placed her hand over her heart. “Oh, no, no. Bill will want to be his own mouthpiece and I haven’t read it … yet.”
“Really? I would’ve assumed you had because you’re obviously such a voracious reader.”
“Well, yes, but Bill has never even showed me a sentence after all these years. Do you know he’s been writing it for over a decade? His dedication inspires me.”
Kyle couldn’t believe this woman was naïve enough not to suspect her husband had psychotic tendencies, unless she was possibly just as dangerous.
“I was curious about his influences,” Kyle continued.
“Again, it’d be better if he answered. I could probably come up with a few, but the obscure ones I wouldn’t be able to remember.”
She fingered a small silver cross hanging from her neck. In fact, before every answer she gave that Kyle didn’t buy, her hand went right to that cross as a security blanket.
“I didn’t mean authors who’ve influenced him necessarily, more how the plot came together.”
“Again, Mr. Burke, I haven’t read the manuscript.”
“He hasn’t told you what it’s about?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, it’s called Devil’s Hopyard, which is a park close by.”
“Yes,” she said, squeezing the cross. “He used to go for runs there. My husband is a big runner. He’s the athletic one.” Her voice had developed a singsong quality to it.
“And you?”
“The chef. And I sing in my church’s choir.”
“That’s really beautiful, Mrs. Lansing. I’m a firm believer in worshipping the Lord through song.”
He didn’t know where those words had come from, but they seemed to do the trick. She lit up, her blue eyes getting wide.
“What sect are you?” she asked.
“Episcopalian.”
“Bill and I are Lutheran.”
The conversation was going off the rails. He had to steer it back.
“There are great passages about faith in Devil’s Hopyard,” he said, and she looked up, surprised. “But I was most curious about the book’s parallels to something that happened in this town a long time ago.”
Her hand went right back to her cross. She chewed on the corner of her lip. She had to know what he meant.
“Does the name Mia Evans ring a bell?”
She went to speak but then stopped herself. She seemed saddened. Her cup of tea knocked over. He couldn’t tell if she’d done it on purpose.
“Oh, nuts,” she said, scurrying to the kitchen. He watched the tea spread across the coffee table. She returned with paper towels.
“I’m such a clumsybum.” She smiled, but it was strained, more like William’s attempts at a smile. She began to mop up the spill.
“What was that name again?” she asked offhandedly.
“Mia Evans.”
This time she really thought about the name, or at least pretended to.
“Oh … yes, the girl who went missing.”
“It seems as if she’s a character in William’s book. And that she was a student of his?”
“Such a terrible tragedy,” Laura continued. “I recall how broken up Bill was back then. You get used to burying those older than you, but not younger.”
“I thought there was no conclusive evidence that she was murdered. The papers said she went missing.”
“Yes, oh, yes, I meant her presence had been buried. No one ever heard from her again. And her poor, dear mother. I can’t imagine outliving one’s child.”
“William said you have two children?” Kyle asked, because Laura seemed like she was shrinking in place. He didn’t want her to clam up for good. From detective shows that he watched, he knew it was best to pepper with questions rather than go full throttle.
“We do. The twins, Alicia and Bill … Junior. Well, no one calls him Junior anymore. As a child he wouldn’t leave his father’s side.”
“And as an adult?”
“Oh, children grow out of that early on. One minute they’re latched onto your leg and the next … well, they want nothing to do with you.”
“Did either of your children know Mia from school or—”
“Not at all. They were both younger, passing ships at high school, I presume. I doubt they were even there at the same time.”
“Why do you think your husband wanted to write about this girl Mia?” he asked, balls to the wall, no time anymore to pussyfoot around.
Laura didn’t respond right away. The fire popped and crackled, sparks flinging into the air. She rose and picked up a poker to tend to the fire. She held on to the poker, possibly to utilize it as a defense. Or a threat. He still couldn’t get a good read on her.
“Pardon me for saying this, Mr. Burke, but these are awfully unsettling questions.” She was lightly shaking. “I remember praying for that girl’s soul so long ago. I assume Bill always felt bad about what happened to her. Maybe he wanted to keep her spirit alive?”
“He talks about eating her heart in the book.”
The poker fell from her hands and clanged on the floor. She went to pick it back up and blinked wildly at him.
“Did you say…?”
“We love William’s book, Mrs. Lansing. Please don’t think this is an inquisition.”
She cupped a hand over her mouth, shaking even more.
“You’ve upset me.”
“That’s not my intention. It’s just that after the book is published, people will be asking these same questions.”
She was too stunned to answer. He realized there was no way she’d been complicit in Mia’s disappearance. Her face radiated genuine shock—otherwise she deserved an Academy Award.
“Could I use your bathroom, Mrs. Lansing? Is there one upstairs?”
She waved toward the staircase, her other hand grasping at her cross. He headed for the stairs, watching her slowly sit back down on the couch, shell-shocked.
Upstairs, he opened doors along the hallway—Alicia and Bill’s old rooms, the master bedroom, and finally at the end of the hall, William’s office. Inside was a big desk surrounded by leather-bound first editions of classics: The Great Gatsby, The Quiet American, The Moon and Sixpence, a lifetime of collecting the greats. The literary nerd in Kyle would have loved to be able to stop and pore over these tomes, but the newly minted detective knew he had precious little time. By the desk, he moved aside an area rug. Beneath it in the floor was a tiny silver keyhole. As a kid he’d been fascinated with picking locks, using his Swiss Army knife to open many forbidden doors. He was a curious child and it had finally paid off. He picked the lock rather easily and removed a black metal box. He opened the lid to find a large heart-shaped rock covered in dried blood just like it had been described in Devil’s Hopyard.
The phone on the desk rang, a piercing scream that nearly gave him a heart attack. It rang again and he crept toward the door, hearing Laura murmuring downstairs. He quickly whipped out his cell and took a few pictures of the rock from different angles, along with evidence of it being located in William’s of
fice. Then he heard a car pull up to the driveway, the tires crunching stones. He looked out the window and saw William exiting the car.
“Fuck.” He chucked the heart-shaped rock back into the black box and returned it into the floor. He covered it with the rug and hurried down the stairs. He saw the front door unlock and slowly begin to open. He ran toward the back door that led to the garden.
“Mr. Burke? Oh, Mr. Burke?” he heard Laura asking. She was climbing up the stairs.
The front door opened and William stood at the threshold. The hairs on Kyle’s arms tingled. He was at an angle where he could see William while he doubted William could see him. He slid open the glass door behind him as William entered.
“Laura?” William asked, closing the front door. “Whose car is that?”
Laura scooted back down the stairs. Their conversation became muted because Kyle backed up out of their home, squashing the remnants of vegetables that struggled to grow in the snow. He left footprints of his escape, but there was nothing he could do about that. Then he ran around to the front, jumped in the rental car, and took off. In the rearview mirror, he could see William stepping outside and watching him flee with a fully developed smirk stamped on his face.
33
SHERIFF PEALEY’S DAY had been pretty uneventful for the most part. Got out of bed at four in the morning to pee and couldn’t fall back asleep, so he drank two black coffees with a bran muffin and watched the sun rise with his black Lab, Champ. There’d been a motorcycle accident late morning on an off road, but the driver was all right, just a little shook up. He had a crab-and-cream-cheese omelet at Ethel’s Edibles and had to eat and run since Ms. Tooley’s cat got stuck in her white oak tree. When he arrived, the volunteer fire department had already saved Buttons. Ms. Tooley gave him a slice of pineapple pie and a few nips of whiskey anyway. He’d been napping at his desk ever since until Loretta hesitantly knocked on the door.
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