by D E Dennis
Hazel gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. “What? But... we know her. She was the one who came to interview us. Greg, do you remember her?”
“Yes, I do,” he said gravely. “She wanted to do an article on everything that happened twenty years ago. Who would do this?”
“That’s what we’ve been hired to find out,” Monica replied. “When did you last speak to Harper?”
“Um.” Hazel bit her lip as she thought. “I believe it was Wednesday.”
“How did she seem? Worried? Scared?”
Hazel and Greg both shook their heads. “No, not in the least,” Hazel said. “She said even though this was a tough subject, she felt good about giving the victims a voice. Making sure they aren’t forgotten.”
“Did she give you details about what she was writing or researching? Anything she may have discovered?”
Greg frowned. “Discovered? About the children who died? No, I don’t believe she learned anything new. At least not that she told us.”
“No, I meant did Harper learn anything new about... about the person responsible for their deaths. Did she talk to you about your father?”
Michael wasn’t expecting Monica to take the blunt approach, and clearly, the twins weren’t either. The smiles melted off their faces.
“Oh,” Greg said softly. “That’s what this is about.”
“I’m sorry,” Monica said. “I don’t want to dredge up painful memories, but we have to look into everything going on in Harper’s life leading up to her death and we can’t ignore that she was about to publish an article on the Siren Woods Killer. Especially when the man assumed to be the Siren Woods Killer still lives in this very town.”
Hazel hugged herself, shrinking in her seat. “We understand. Please just ask your questions.”
Monica launched into her spiel and Michael sat back to read the twins, taking in their body movements, facial expressions, changes in tone, inflection, all of it. A skill he hadn’t been taught, but acquired as time went on and honed as he readied for a career on the police force. Now it served him as a private detective and as Monica’s partner. She spoke while he listened. Those were their jobs and they were good at them... but for some reason Michael wasn’t picking up the slack today.
He tried to read Hazel, but his mind kept going off track.
Eyes filled with sadness at the mention of her—
—eyes so blue. Like two crystal clear—
—at the mention of her father. The trauma of her childhood still clings to her. She withdraws—
—and looks so vulnerable. So beau—
Michael looked away and tried Gregory instead. He was getting nowhere like this.
“...ask you about your father?” Monica finished.
“No,” Greg said. “Harper didn’t ask and we didn’t bring it up. By now, everyone knows the story. They know our own father left us in the woods to die. What more needs to be asked?”
“There is one more question hanging over the town,” Monica said gravely. “Is Liam Antarr the Siren Woods Killer?”
Greg looked down at his balled fists. “That really isn’t a question either, Miss Grimm. He never denied killing those kids, and the murders stopped the moment he was put away. It’s clear to us and all of Castle Rock what kind of man my father is.”
“Things must have been tough for you,” Monica said.
“Yes,” Hazel replied, eyes unfocused. “That day was the worst day of our lives. We were so scared. We just clung to each other, terrified that we would lose each other too and be in that empty, desolate place alone. It was already dark by the time a light broke through the trees and we heard Rowan coming. She rescued us, brought us to her home, and called the police.
“After Dad was arrested, we were sent to a distant aunt who threatened to put one of us in foster care if we got to be too much trouble.”
Monica hissed. “That’s awful.”
Michael echoed the sentiment.
“Aunt Deirdre wasn’t a very nice woman; but thankfully, she never carried out her threat and we were allowed to stay together.” Hazel glanced at her brother, giving him a soft smile that he returned. “She died when we were eighteen and we inherited the house but little else. There was no money for college, so I took up sewing and designing while Gregory taught himself computers. Ten years later, we own and run a successful online clothing business. And he doesn’t say much, does he?”
Michael blinked when he realized he was suddenly the topic of conversation. He swiveled his head toward Hazel. A playful grin on her face, she gave him a wink.
Michael hurriedly cleared his throat. “That’s amazing,” he said as he picked up the thread of the conversation. “You’ve overcome your past and put it all behind you.”
“We’ve certainly tried but... but sometimes the past won’t let you go.” She shook her head. “Reporters showing up on our door wanting details. Our father moving back to Castle Rock a month after we return home. We can never really put the past behind us,” she finished softly.
“Has your father tried to contact you?” Monica asked after the silence grew uncomfortable.
Greg shook his head. “No.”
“And there was never an explanation for why he did what he did? Not even to you? His own children?”
“The last thing our father ever said to us was ‘this will all be over soon.’ That was twenty years ago.”
Hazel abruptly got to her feet. “I think I’ll make some tea. Anyone want some?”
“Yes, we’ll have a cup,” Monica replied. “Michael will help you.”
Michael rose and followed Hazel into her small kitchen. He stood there like her own personal statue while she filled the kettle with water. He finally found his voice when she placed the kettle on the stove.
“I can tell you don’t want to talk about this.”
She looked up at him, a smile was on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “That obvious, huh?”
“We appreciate you doing this anyway.”
She sighed, thin shoulders slumping. “No, we don’t want to talk about our father. We would never speak his name again if life would let us, but we aren’t stupid. It’s obvious why you’ve come to us. You think my father killed that journalist because of her article.”
Michael shifted, leaning his hip against the counter. “Do you think he did?”
She kept her tone even, but a slight tightening around the lips gave away her distress. “Harper promised that the article would not mention Liam Antarr. The focus would just be on us. How far Greg and I have come. Photos of the other children, who they were, and the families that miss them. That was it.
“But my father could not have known that or trusted it if he did. If all they say of prison is true, it’s likely he would have done whatever he needed to make sure he would not go back. Including silencing an infamous investigative reporter.”
Michael shivered, those chilling words settled into his bones. “You never thought he was innocent, did you.” He said it like a question, but he meant it as a statement.
“If you had asked me before that awful day, I would have said no. My sweet, loving father could never hurt a soul, let alone a child, but now...” Hazel shook her head. “He did it, Michael, and he should have been punished for it. I almost wish Harper had been investigating the murder.”
He cocked his head, looking at her questioningly.
“The police bungled the case back then,” she went on. “They should have found something, anything that could stick, but in the end, all they charged him on was what he did to us. He shouldn’t be allowed to roam freely in the town he almost destroyed. My father belongs in prison, and I wish Harper had been trying to put him there.” Anger lit her eyes as two spots of color rose on her cheeks. “And if she was, despite what she said, and he killed her for it then we have to fight to get her justice. No matter how much I want to leave the past behind me. This never would have happened if all that time ago, things were done right.”
“Maybe, I’ll be able to move forward too.” She broke eye contact, fists clenching. “I... still have nightmares about that day.”
“I understand,” Michael said softly.
She lifted her head, eyes seeking. “You do?”
He nodded slowly.
A smile spread across her face and his breath caught.
He felt her eyes sucking him in, pushing him down, drowning him in—
Eeeeeeee!
Michael jumped half a foot in the air, the tea kettle scaring the life out of him.
Giggling, Hazel stepped back and took the screeching kettle off the stove and busied herself making the tea. When she was done, she handed a tray to Michael to take back into the living room.
Monica took hers with a thank-you and a knowing smile that he ignored. Michael reclaimed his seat, and they let the conversation move on to lighter topics. Asking the twins more about their business and how they have enjoyed being back in Castle Rock.
“It’s good to be home,” Greg said. “We missed this place. We missed the people. We missed the sights and the sounds and smells. This was always where we belonged.”
After the tea had all been drunk and the polite conversation exhausted, Monica glanced at Michael. He gave her an imperceptible shake of the head. He had no more questions.
“We should go.” They both got to their feet and Monica held out a hand to shake. “Thank you for speaking with us. We hope we can contact you in the future if we have more questions.”
Michael grasped Hazel’s hand, it was cold but soft. “You can ask me your questions too, Michael,” she said, lingering in their handshake. “Over dinner.”
“Dinner?”
Dear Lord, did that high-pitched squeak come from me?
She covered a smile. “Yes, dinner. Call me and we’ll arrange a time... to talk about the case of course.”
His speech was lagging behind, but his brain had no trouble reading the suggestion behind her words. He managed a jerky nod before releasing her and fleeing out the door after his sister.
Chapter Four
MONICA EYED HIM WHEN he got in the car. “What was that about, brother dear?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Michael replied, nonchalant. “Let’s just get back to the office and get to work.
“Whatever you say,” she sang out.
Michael endured her laughter and teasing with his head held high. By the time they reached the office with bags of takeout, she was thankfully out of jokes.
“How did it go?” Ella asked when Michael handed her a sub.
“Awful,” he grumbled. “Oh, you meant the interview? That went fine.”
He shot his sister a look before sitting down to eat. Monica was far from repentant.
“We didn’t learn anything new,” she said. “Except that Hazel Antarr has a thing for dolls, stuffed animals, and Michael Grimm.”
Michael gawped at her. “Where are you getting this from?”
She shrugged. “I took a peek into Hazel’s room when I went to the bathroom. Not as done up as I was expecting. Just a lot of dolls and animals on the bed like I said.”
“But you can’t just—”
“Also,” Monica continued, addressing Ella. “The twins did not blink at the implication that their father was responsible for Harper Rowe’s death. What about you? Did you dig anything up?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how helpful it will be. There’s nothing on Liam Antarr now except that he still lives in his old home. Everything I can find about him is twenty years old. You guys probably know all about it.”
Monica shook her head. “I was only six at the time.”
“I was twelve,” Michael chimed in, “but Mom did her best to shelter us from all that. I knew about the disappearances of course, my classmates made sure of that, but she didn’t let me read the papers or watch the news. The only change in our routine was her waiting at the bus stop to pick me up so I wouldn’t walk home alone.”
“Okay. Well, then I’ll fill you in on what I found.” Ella put down her sandwich and woke her computer. “These are the old articles documenting the disappearances of seven-year-old Andrea Taylor; eight-year-old Nicholas Milton; and eight-year-old Irina West. Then the article about the couple who stumbled on Andrea’s body and later the police search that led to the other two kids being found. The first mention of Liam Antarr is when he was arrested for leaving his kids in the woods. I’ll read it to you:
“Thirty-four-year-old Liam Antarr was arrested today for allegedly abandoning his two children, Hazel and Gregory Antarr, in Siren Woods,” Ella read. “Liam Antarr is a woodworker by trade with a home and studio on the edge of Siren Woods. The witness, Rowan Presley, spotted Liam in the woods with the two children and then again leaving the woods without them. Presley went in search of the kids, rescued them, and reported Antarr to the police—”
“Wait, stop,” Monica exclaimed. She turned to her brother, eyes wide. “Presley? Michael, I know that name. How do I know that name?” She snapped her fingers. “Michael, I swear I’ve heard that name before.”
The sandwich slipped from his fingers when it hit him. “Mo, you did. We both did. Yesterday at Castle Rock Times. The assistant said Harper asked him to mail something to a Ms. Presley.”
“We’re not really thinking there is another Ms. Presley hanging around?”
“I’m not thinking that,” Michael said with a snort. “It must be the same woman. Ella, see what you can find on Rowan Presley. We need to speak to her as soon as possible.”
“Got it,” Ella said determinedly, fingers flying across the keys.
“You know,” Monica began, chuckling. “You can eat your lunch first.”
“Oh... right.”
Laughing, they enjoyed a yummy, if hastily eaten meal and then got back to work.
MICHAEL FELT HIS POCKET vibrate as he turned his key in the lock.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” Samira said. “Are you locking up?”
“Am I that predictable?”
“Yes.”
Chuckling, Michael pocketed his keys and headed for his car. “I’m on my way home now. Why? What’s up?”
“I thought we might grab some dinner if you’re free. Maybe share some notes about the case. There is something I need to talk to you about.”
“Sounds good to me. Your place or mine?”
“Come to my place. I’m cooking.”
“Oh... Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Jerk,” she replied, but there was no sting in her voice.
He laughed. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Michael hopped in his car and made the short drive to her apartment building. He bounded up the stairs and knocked on the door he had come to know well in the last few months.
“Wow,” Samira said when she let him in. “Ten minutes exactly. Nicely done.”
“Thank you. I timed it.”
They laughed as he shed his coat and toed off his shoes. Following her into the kitchen, he asked, “What are you making?”
“I thought I’d keep it simple since you have no faith in my culinary skills. Spaghetti and garlic bread. Noodles and bread from a box and sauce from a jar. The only thing I had to do was boil the water and push a few buttons for the oven.”
“There was a time when you couldn’t even do that much,” he said, grinning. “You’ve come so far.”
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t me who exploded the pasta sauce in the microwave,” she said, folding her arms. She faced him down, all five foot four inches of her. “And you can’t prove I did.”
He leaned in, hovering centimeters away from her face. “Only two of us lived in the apart
ment. If it wasn’t you, then who could it have been?”
She shrugged, eyes dancing. “It was probably you. This is what you do. You turn it on me when you lose at board games and say I cheated. You tell me my ears don’t work when you keep me up with your snoring.”
“I never snored!”
Samira threw her head back, laughing, and soon Michael joined in. They argued as much as they did anything else, but Michael couldn’t help but enjoy the time he spent with Samira Reddy. She was gorgeous, smart, funny, and she wasn’t afraid of a fight, even one she knew she would lose.
“Sit, Grimm. Tell me how the case is going on your end.”
“You first,” he shot back as he sank into a dining chair. “I know you took the death threats from Harper’s office. Anything there?”
She snorted. “We learned a lot from that. Like how many sick puppies there are in Castle Rock. Some of the letters got quite graphic in how they wanted to hurt Rowe, but none mentioned Siren Woods. A few were anonymous, but most of them had the sender’s name and address proudly displayed. In those cases, they are mostly friends and family of people she had exposed.”
“Do you think any of them were mad enough to carry out their threats?”
Her back was to him, but he saw her head shake over the pot of bubbling pasta. “In my experience, killers don’t waste time writing about it; they just go out and do it. My gut says the killer isn’t among those letters, but we’ve turned them over to a forensic psychologist just in case.”
“Wait. But that means—”
“You won’t be able to see them for a while.” She tossed him an apologetic smile over her shoulder. “Sorry, but you know my hands are tied.”
He sighed, slumping down in his seat. “I know. It’s alright. We have a suspect we’re chasing down.”
“Yeah?” she asked, whole body moving as she stirred. “Who?”
“Liam Antarr.”
