What Lies in the Darkness (Shadow Cove Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  “Who was in that house?” Kennedy asks, tossing her phone into her purse.

  “I don’t know. I’m really interested in how the hell they know who I am, though.”

  “Yeah, me, too. Maybe it’s someone from our school.”

  “Maybe.” I’m not so sure, though. Something about that voice … I’ve heard it before. And not at school.

  I replay the voice over and over again as I continue to drive. The raspy tone … like someone who smokes way too many packs … And I think there was a tiny bit of a lisp in there …

  Suddenly, it clicks. Lispy Larry. I gave him that nickname when I helped my dad get a story on him. The topic of his article was supposed to be on the increasing drug use in Shadow Cove. My dad had a hunch that Larry, the mayor’s son, was in charge of a drug trafficking circle going on. Before my dad made it too far into his research, though, his boss shut the story down. He said it was due to not having enough proof, but my dad overheard the mayor threatening his boss, telling him, if he ran the story, he’d shut the newspaper down permanently.

  I never found out if Larry was the head of the drug trafficking or just a little worker bee for someone higher up. But what I’m really interested in finding out is why he’s holed up in some ghost house that’s connected to a bunch of help wanted ads where a bunch of stolen computers are being stashed. And what does he have on Liam Stallings that made him look like he was about to shit his pants?

  LOCATION: MAK’S HOUSE

  TIME: 8:47 PM

  DATE: MONDAY, MARCH 22ND

  The second I get home, I sneak into my dad’s office while my mom is getting ready for work and check the addresses listed on the help wanted ads.

  “Holy mother of jackpots,” I whisper as I assess the ad clippings.

  Yep, sure enough, the ghost house is listed on all of them. What that means, though, I don’t have a damn clue other than my dad’s trail on Sawyer’s death led him to that house for some reason.

  Think, Mak, think. Put the pieces together. What do the ads, the computers, and Lispy Larry all have in common other than the ghost house?

  I don’t know that much about Lispy Larry other than what my dad mentioned while we were staking him out. That doesn’t mean I can’t scrounge through some of his old files and find out more. Plus, a little Internet search can always go a long way.

  ***

  Here’s all the info I can dig up on Lispy Larry.

  Age: Twenty-one.

  Current Job: Unemployed.

  Times in Rehab: Five.

  Times Arrested: Zero.

  Times He Broke The Law: Eleven.

  His criminal activities include theft, fraud, and drug charges. There might be more due to a hunch my dad had that the mayor was buying off the police to keep his son’s problems hush-hush.

  Most of my information is outdated since I collected it from the info my dad gathered when he was doing the story on Lispy Larry, so I’m not sure what those numbers are now. Then again, I think that might be irrelevant. The fact of the matter is that good old Lispy Larry is not only a troublemaker, but his dad works extremely hard to keep his mistakes out of the public eye. Perhaps that’s why the ghost house isn’t registered to anyone. Maybe Lispy Larry owns the deed, but with the illegal activity going on, the mayor has erased any record that the house belongs to his son.

  I thrum my fingers against the cracked kitchen table, staring at the small stack of papers in front of me—the research I found on Lispy Larry. “So, maybe he’s stealing computers and reselling them. It would fit his pattern. But how does Liam play a part in all of this? The two of them aren’t friends unless they have a secret friendship affair going on. But if they are friends, then Liam wouldn’t be scared out of his damn mind. And why the hell is Lispy Larry placing a shit-ton of help wanted ads in the paper? I doubt he has that many jobs that he needs done … unless they’re really not help wanted ads—”

  “Mak, honey, who are you talking to?” My mom wanders into the kitchen, dressed in green scrubs, her hair piled on top of her head in a knotted bun, ready to leave for her night shift. Her gaze drops to the stack of papers, and a disappointed frown forms on her lips. “What’re you doing?”

  “Just a little research for a school project,” I lie, patting the stack of paper.

  She stares at the papers with skepticism. “What’s the project about?”

  “About how drugs affect the human body and mind.” I carry her gaze, crossing my fingers she can’t see the title on the top paper.

  “Oh. Well, that’s … interesting. Let me know if you need any help.” She moves toward the fridge to grab her lunch. “I work until ten, so I won’t see you before you leave for school.” She bumps the fridge shut with her hip then collects her car keys and purse off the countertop. “But maybe we can do dinner tomorrow.” Her phone dings, and her brows crease as she fishes it out of her shoulder bag. When she reads the message, worry floods her expression. “I’ll make lemon pepper chicken,” she says distractedly. “That’s still your favorite, right?”

  “Sure.” I force a smile, wondering why she went from cheery to miserable in the time it takes me to click search. “Sounds good.”

  “Good.” Her eyes remain glued to the screen as she wanders across the kitchen. “Lock up after I leave, okay?”

  I nod, but she doesn’t even look up to note my answer as she walks out of the house.

  Hmmm … I wonder who texted her.

  Probably Don.

  Sighing, I drag my butt out of the chair to lock the front door. As I’m sliding the deadbolt, I peer out the window at the top of the door and notice my mom heading for the street instead of the garage.

  I press my nose against the glass and squint against the darkness. “Where the hell is she going?”

  Glancing left and right, my mom jogs across the street then ducks into the passenger seat of a sleek Mercedes. The headlights flip on, and the car peels away from the curb, speeding down the road and disappearing into the night.

  I slump against the door. Who the hell was that? And why isn’t she heading to work?

  “She could be getting a ride from someone,” I try to convince myself. “Not everything is suspicious, so just walk away and go back to your research.”

  I head for the kitchen, but as I think about how the bank statements showed her paychecks have been less lately, I flip a U-turn and hurry for the front door. Whether it’s any of my business or not, I need to know what’s going on with my mom, if Don was in that car, and why she looked super worried when she left the house.

  Grabbing my bag and car keys from the wall hook, I hightail it to my car. The tires spin as I back down the driveway and onto the road. I cross my fingers that my mom doesn’t recognize my car and that she goes straight to work. But I have an unsettling feeling I’m about to discover something about my mom that isn’t going to be pretty.

  LOCATION: MAK’S CAR

  TIME: 8:58 PM

  DATE: MONDAY, MARCH 22ND

  I keep a good distance as I tail the Mercedes through the streets of our neighborhood, over the railroad tracks, and to the center of town. That’s a good sign since the hospital is located on the opposite side of town from where we live. My hope rises that she’s just bumming a ride off one of her coworkers, like a doctor, which would explain the swanky car. Then my hope fizzles like cheap champagne when the car zooms past the turn-off road to the hospital and heads for the hills, near Kennedy’s neighborhood.

  I back off a little as the traffic thins, knowing my headlights will be more noticeable now, and continue following the Mercedes as it weaves around corners and past all the neighborhoods, finally coming to a stop at the top of the cliff lookout that stretches above the seaside. While I haven’t been to this spot personally, I know kids my age go here to get high, throw parties, and have sex. Since I doubt my mom is throwing a party with the mystery driver, and she gets drug tested at work, I can only assume she’s doing the latter.

  Yuck. Yuck. Ju
st yuck.

  Instead of parking in the same area, I drive further down the road until I reach the next turnoff. Then I climb out of my car and backtrack with my phone in hand. I don’t actually want to see what they’re doing. I just want to get the plate number so I can run it and find out who owns the car.

  Gravel crunches underneath my sneakers as I hike up to the edge of the street, the ocean roaring below and the starry sky twinkling above. The salty air nips at my skin, and every time a car drives by, I cringe, worried the wrong person will spot me. I should probably turn back, but I’m just too close to finding out the truth.

  Two minutes later, I reach the entrance to the turnoff and make out the back of the Mercedes. I hunker down, ready to run up to it, snap a photo, and get the hell out of there. As I step forward, though, headlights spotlight against my back. I reel around, shielding my eyes from the light, then inch to the side, figuring someone is just pulling in. When I hear the slamming of a car door, I tense.

  “You’re in some serious trouble,” a deep voice warns. “You need to stop poking your nose into this thing.”

  For a stupid second, I wonder if I’m hallucinating again, but after blinking at least twenty times, the headlights remain shining across me.

  “What thing?” I ask, being honest for once. While I have been poking my nose around in stuff, I don’t know which thing he’s referring to. My dad’s research? My mom’s business? My brother’s death? Or the computer thefts?

  “Don’t play dumb with me. Now, you and I are going to have a little talk. Get in the truck.” Clunky boots thud against the dirt as the person strides toward me.

  The headlights are too bright to make out anything other than his tall silhouette. While I’m dying to find out who this dude is, I don’t want to stick around and risk literally dying to obtain the answer.

  “How stupid do you think I am?” I ask, backing away from him. “I’m not about to get into a car with a complete stranger who obviously knows more about me than he should.”

  “Don’t you dare run,” he barks, jogging toward me.

  I spin around and run like a madwoman toward the Mercedes. I don’t give a crap if I bust my mom doing the nasty with Don. Right now, getting away from psycho guy is way more important.

  “Stop running!” he shouts, chasing after me. “I just want to talk to you.”

  “I bet you do,” I call over my shoulder. “And let me guess, if I get into your truck, you’ll give me some candy.”

  “Goddammit, Mak, will you stop running for two damn seconds!” the guy yells, his boots hammering against the dirt. “I just need to talk to you.”

  The way he says my name, like he really knows me, almost causes me to stop. Yet, considering I’m out in the middle of nowhere at night, I’m not about to risk the chance.

  I quicken the pace, rushing for the Mercedes. As I get close, the taillights glow red, and the car backs up.

  “No!” I shout, out of breath. “Wait!”

  Either they can’t hear me, or they thinking I’m about to bust them and are bailing out, because they peel out of there like … Well, like two people about to get busted for cheating on their spouses.

  As the taillights dwindle, I really start to panic. I swipe my finger across the screen of the phone while continuing to run straight for the cliff. No signal. Of course.

  Shit! What am I going to do! At this point, it’s either jump off the cliff or face the creeper charging me, neither of which sound appealing.

  Nearing the edge of the cliff, I slam to a halt and whirl around. “What do you want?” I snap. “If you want to talk to me, we can talk out here.”

  Pale moonlight trails down on him as he slows to a stop and hunches over, panting for air. “You need to stop poking your nose around in what Liam’s doing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I play dumb because, hello, I’m out in the middle of nowhere with a big-ass dude threatening me.

  “Yes, you do, so back off.” He straightens his stance and crosses his arms. “Mind your own business, or you’ll end up like your brother.”

  I stiffen, the pounding beat of my pulse deafening inside my eardrums. “What do you mean, like my brother? My brother … He committed suicide.”

  “You think so?” He releases a breathy laugh when I gasp. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, do you?” He shakes his head, backing away. “Consider this a warning. If you don’t stop looking around where you shouldn’t, next time, you won’t be standing when I walk away from you.”

  Rage flames through me, potent and violent, a wildfire about to take out a forest. What did he mean by that? That my brother didn’t commit suicide? What does he know? Better yet, who the hell is this asshole?

  I wait until he gets inside the vehicle and backs out onto the road before I take off, getting my camera ready. When I reach the end of the road, the vehicle is too far away to take a good picture of the plates, but I manage to make out that the vehicle is a grey truck.

  I sprint as I fast as I can to my car, rev up the engine, throw on my seatbelt, and slam my foot down on the gas pedal. The tires kick up a cloud of dust as I skid out onto the road. Taking the corners sharp and breaking the speed limit, I manage to catch up to the truck just in time to see it pull into Shady J’s Drinkin’ and Live Entertainment, a local strip club on the shadier side of town; hence, the name.

  I steer my car into the gravelly parking lot of the gas station next door. Flipping off the headlights, I slouch down in my seat, keeping my head low, and watch the driver get out of the grey truck. His back is to me as he strolls across the parking lot for the bar lit up with neon lights and flashy signs of good-time promises.

  Once he vanishes into the windowless entrance doors, I slip on my jacket, draw the hood over my head, and get out. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I dash toward the truck while scanning the area for any bystanders. Thankfully, the thudding music and showy signs have drawn everyone inside.

  When I make it to the truck, I check the door handle. Jackpot. Unlocked. Although I do know how to pick a lock if I need to, this way is just simpler.

  The inside of the vehicle reeks of cigarette smoke, greasy fries, and body odor. I pull the collar of my jacket over my nose to block out the smell then hoist myself into the driver’s seat and close the door. The interior lights click off, but the nearby signs offer me enough light to check the middle console first where I discover a bag of stale fast food rotting away.

  “Yuck.” I slam the lid closed then lean over to pop open the glove box. Papers spill out onto the floor, and I quickly scoop them up: old receipts, an unpaid parking ticket, and an insurance card. Double jackpot.

  According to the car, the truck is registered to Larry Motaling, aka Lispy Larry.

  “So, Lispy Larry, you’re the one trying to scare me.”

  Clearly, my being out in front of that store earlier and talking to Liam spooked him. But why? Over stolen computers? Or does this have to do with the drug story my dad was working on? And why bring my brother’s death into his threat? Was it just that, a threat? Or does he know something?

  I sit in the truck for a moment, listening to the music playing from inside the bar, wondering what to do next. Walk away from this? It seems like the most reasonable thing to do, but at the same time, I really want to know what’s going on and if Lispy Larry knows something about my brother’s death.

  I drum my fingers on top of the steering wheel. “What to do? What to do?”

  If my mom were here, she’d tell me to be smart and keep my nose out of places it doesn’t belong. My dad, he’d tell me to be safe but get to the truth, because the truth is important.

  “Always get to the truth, Mak,” he used to say. “Those kinds of stories make the best articles. And you could potentially help a lot of people.”

  This started out as being about getting back at Dixon, but not anymore. Not after Larry just threw my brother’s death in my face. He knows something. I can fe
el it in my bones.

  I mull over what to do for a couple minutes longer while continuing my search through Lispy Larry’s truck. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, but when I stumble across a small business card tucked under the seat, I pause.

  No name or number is printed on it, just a strange circular symbol traced by a pattern of Greek-like letters. I don’t know what the symbols or letters mean, but I know I’ve seen it before. Somewhere …

  Tucking the card into the back pocket of my shorts, I slip out of the truck and dash back to my car. I’m snapping a photo of the card so I can do an image search when a message pings through my phone.

  Kennedy: Hey! I was wondering if I could crash at your place. I really need a break from the craziness for one night.

  Me: Of course! I’m actually not at home right now, but I will be in a few minutes, so head on over.

  Kennedy: Where the heck are you this late? No, wait, let me guess. You’re having a secret lovers’ rendezvous at the skate park with Rylen.

  Mak: Ha, ha, you’re so funny. I already told you nothing is going on with Rylen and me.

  Kennedy: Yet.

  I start to smile then spot Larry heading for his truck. He walks with a purpose, taking long strides and cradling a duffel bag in his arms like it’s the most precious thing in the word. Hmm … What’s in the bag, Larry? Drugs? Money? Computers?

  Mak: Whatever. Look, I’ll explain where I was tonight when you get to my place. See you in just a few.

  I toss my phone onto the console as I slide down in my seat. I stay like that for about five minutes before peeking up over the dashboard. The parking spot is empty, his truck gone, and I’m left stirring in a sea of confusion, determined to swim out of it.

  LOCATION: MAK’S HOUSE