by D E Dennis
He blinked. “Yeah, but that wasn’t what I was doing.”
“Leave it alone, Michael.” She sat up and leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. “If there is someone—and there isn’t—I would tell you when I’m ready. Okay?”
Michael knew he had said or done something wrong; but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what. “Okay,” he replied. “I got it.”
“Thank you.”
Conversation ceased.
Michael drove through Castle Rock, heading for the nicer part of town where Finley resided.
Michael had never minded the silence, he preferred it actually, but this one felt oppressive. It poked and prickled at him, telling him something was wrong, and after this morning with Samira, he didn’t want another person he cared about refusing to look at him like Monica was now.
“So how’s the band?” Michael blurted. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. “Did you break in that new drummer?”
Michael saw a nod out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, she was a good pick. We sound great together so we’re starting to ease up on the practices. Take a break before the ball, rest up, get our outfits together, stuff like that. It will also give me time to put together the tribute video.” Monica said all this to the passenger window.
“Lyle sent you the photos already?”
“Not yet. A few of them, like the ones Harper had of her own family, are physical photos. He’s scanning all the old photos and making them digital. To make it easier for me. Nice of him.”
Michael nodded. “That’s great, Mo. Tell me if you need any help.”
She shook her head. “Making a music video isn’t really your expertise, bro. Don’t worry, just stick to the hollandaise sauce.”
“You keep knocking my sauce, but that stuff isn’t easy to make. It takes skill and precision, and last I checked, you can’t even crack an egg, let alone mix it into hollandaise-y goodness.”
“Oh, really?”
Michael snuck a peek. It was hard to spot, but he was sure that was a smile at the corner of her mouth.
“You know I’m getting really tired of you doubting my cooking skills, big brother.”
“This from the woman who doubts my everything else.”
This time she laughed. “Alright, alright. I may deserve it, but either way, I don’t like you harping on my only flaw.”
“Only?”
Michael tried to duck her, but there was no way for him to escape the pop on the head. They were guffawing.
“Yes, only,” she said when she sobered. “I’m just going to have to prove myself. Give me a dish, any dish. I’ll make it to perfection.”
He hummed, tapping his chin for dramatic effect. “How about grilled mackerel with artichoke and potato salad.”
She cocked her head. “But you hate mackerel... and artichokes... and the word salad.”
“Yep,” he said cheerily. “All things I already don’t like. This way you won’t be able to ruin my favorite foods for me.”
This earned him another head slap, but he happily accepted the price. They were laughing so hard tears were running down their eyes, dangerously blurring his vision. It was okay though. All that mattered was that they were good again.
“WANNA BET HE’S STILL in the garden?” Monica teased. “In the same spot we left him last time.”
“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. He turned on Finley’s street, nearing the house. “I wanna bet he’s on the porch, peering at the neighborhood from the porch swing.”
“You’re on. Five bucks?”
“Deal.”
Michael drove up and parked the car in front of Finley’s house. He grinned.
Sitting on the porch swing slurping a beer was Nelson Finley.
“That’ll be five bucks.” He swung around, hand out.
Mumbling under her breath, she dug her wallet out of her purse and slapped the bill into his palm.
“Let’s go.”
The Grimm siblings climbed out and walked the stone path up the manicured lawn.
Michael didn’t know if Finley was solely responsible for the gorgeous rosebushes, the playful cherub topiaries, or the neatly trimmed lawn but it looked amazing all the same.
“Good morning, Mr. Finley,” Monica called.
He beamed. “Morning, ma’am, but please call me Nelson.”
Michael was still struck by how quickly his attitude toward them changed.
“Then, I insist you call me Monica.”
“What can I do for you?” he asked when they stepped onto the porch. He gestured at two porch chairs and they sat.
“You know that we’re investigating the death of Mrs. Rowe,” Monica began, “but what you may not know is that her death may be connected to Liam Antarr.”
Finley’s smile disappeared. “What? Antarr? That trash killed her!?” He lurched forward, almost toppling his beer.
Monica held up her hands. “We don’t know for sure who killed her, Nelson, but we’re trying to find out. That’s why we’ve come to you. Harper was a journalist, and the piece she was working on before she died was about the victims of the Siren Woods Killer. We have reason to believe she stumbled on something and it got her killed. We know you worked the case back then. Can you tell us about it?”
He scowled, leaning back on the swing. “That was the hardest case of my career. It still haunts me to this day. Why wouldn’t it? When Antarr still roams these streets.”
“Anything you can tell us would be helpful. Flatfoot to flatfoot.”
Nelson studied her, his red nose growing even redder in the wake of his anger, but after a while, he took a deep breath. “I wasn’t hired on a murder case. The Miltons didn’t know what had happened to their son. I was only looking for a missing child until Andrea Taylor was found.” He stared off in the distance, eyes growing unfocused. “That’s when everything changed. The atmosphere of the town grew dark, unbearable, when people found out what had happened to those children. Suspicion hung heavy in the air and Elias suffered under the pressure of finding the killer fast.”
Finley looked toward the Rowe house, a slight smile on his face. “It was him who encourage me to go into the PI business. He moved here after he got married and we become friends. He would come by, talk cases with me, and we’d throw some theories around. After my wife died, he knew I was looking for a purpose, so he pushed me to open my own business. He was a good man.”
He stopped speaking and the siblings let him take a minute to gather himself.
Clearing his throat, Nelson continued, “When they say we had nothing to go on, they mean nothing. The old Castle Rock Elementary School bordered Siren Woods. The children walked along the woods to get back into town and not many people hung about the place. Their teacher saw them off at the front steps and then they just vanished.
“The physical evidence didn’t help either. They were struck in the head with what we believe was a rock, but we couldn’t find it. Although we did a sweep of the woods, the place is endless. After a thorough search of the area fifty yards around the crime scenes, we had to call it quits.”
“We?” Monica probed, asking the question Michael wanted to ask.
“What?” Nelson said, blinking at her.
“You keep saying ‘we.’”
“That’s right. Me and Elias. He brought me on the case after we realized we were dealing with a serial killer. The first one Castle Rock has ever had and it was up to us to find him. We gave it our all. We tracked down every lead, no matter how small. Nicholas bought a candy bar the day he went missing, so we interrogated everyone in town selling so much as a stick of gum.
“Andrea Taylor was sent to school with a birthday present for show-and-tell that went missing so we held that back, hoping to use the information to trap the killer, but no matter how many people we interviewed or how many doors we knocked on; we were no closer.
“The town started to turn on Elias and his partner. The news reports turned nasty, accusatory. Hi
s boss harangued them every other day, demanding to know why weeks had passed with no suspects.
“It all came to a boiling point when a fourth child went missing.”
Michael tensed.
His pocket buzzed again.
“An older boy, twelve or thirteen, and he weren’t one of us townies. This one went to school on the other side.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Michael saw Monica turn her head, gazing at him. He shifted slightly away.
“...didn’t get on the bus,” Nelson continued. “His mother was waiting for him at the bus stop but the doors open and the kid doesn’t get out. She panicked, of course. Called the cops right away and demanded they tear all of Castle Rock apart searching for him.
“The father was from the other side, and he got the police from three counties in on the search. They found the poor kid the next day, traumatized from spending the night alone in the woods, but unharmed.”
Nelson shook his head. “But after that, the pressure intensified. It was one thing when this was kept to our side. Now those Fairy Tails kids were being dragged in and they wouldn’t stand for that. Elias’s boss was inundated with threats that he would be replaced with a more effective chief. His reaction was to give Elias two weeks to serve up a viable suspect or he was fired.
“Elias thought that was it. He had all but given up when Rowan Presley made that call saying she witnessed Liam Antarr abandoning his children in the woods. We knew we had our man, but— Well, you know the rest.”
“Yes, we know the rest,” Monica whispered. “I’m sorry, Nelson, about your friend Elias.”
“So you know the rest of that story too,” he croaked. “He quit the force after that. Fell into depression. And then...” He trailed off.
Monica brought him back. “About Antarr. What were you guys able to learn about him during the course of the investigation?”
He sniffed. “Not much. He was another transplant. Moved to town when his children were small, after their mother passed. He bought that house near the woods and built the shop behind it, offering his services as a woodworker. As I understand it, business was slow. He was barely making ends meet.”
“We think he had a business partner,” Monica said. “Last name Cordova. Did you ever meet them? Interview them?”
“Cordova?” He sucked his teeth, mulling it over. “Yeah, that name does sound familiar. A pretty young thing, worked part-time for Antarr.”
“Pretty young thing? Are we talking about a woman?”
He nodded. “Can’t recall the name. I never spoke to her about the case myself. It was Elias who handled that interview.”
“Can you think of anything else we should know?”
“Just that Liam Antarr is the worst kind of soulless beast and it’s my life’s regret that we couldn’t find the evidence to nail him.”
“I’m sorry, Nelson, but thank you for speaking to us. You’ve helped more than I can say.”
“You really think Antarr killed that sweet woman?”
Monica didn’t answer.
He blew out a breath. “If he did, you two had better be the ones to do it. To finally put that animal away for good.”
“Don’t worry, Nelson,” Monica said as she stood. “Antarr will pay for everything he’s done.”
Monica patted Michael’s shoulder and he rose, following her off the porch. “You okay?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Alright,” she said, taking his refusal better than he expected. “You’ll talk to me when you’re ready.”
He reached out, squeezed her hand, and let go just as quickly.
“I love you too, bro.”
MICHAEL ORDERED HIS usual Reuben sandwich and bottled water before joining his sister at their table. He loved The Little Pigs café and by now the staff—
“Here’s your water, Michael. Your Reuben should be ready in ten minutes.”
—knew him by name.
“Thanks, Joey.” He turned back to his sister. “So what do you think? About Nelson’s story?”
“He didn’t tell us much that we didn’t already know,” Monica said reluctantly. “Although, the thing about the missing birthday present was interesting. They held it back because they must have thought the killer took it as a trophy, but if Antarr had it, they can’t have found it in the search. That would have been the slam-dunk evidence they needed.
“As for Cordova, the woman who worked for him must have been Ximena’s mother, but that doesn’t help us much either. We already figured out that one of her parents was connected to him. Knowing that it was her mother doesn’t tell us why Ximena freaked.”
Michael nodded. “True.”
She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Hello, square one.”
“Not necessarily,” he argued. “We still haven’t spoken to Rowan Presley about Ximena’s implication. There might be something there.”
“Speaking of Presley.” Monica leaned in, lowering her voice. “I’ve been thinking about what Ella showed us all morning. What if she was somehow involved in her brother’s death? Do you think a child could have... done something like that?”
Michael copied her, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to think so, but she did something, Mo. There’s a sealed juvenile record to prove it. And for all Ximena’s faults, I don’t think she would fabricate a story. She’s much too desperate to prove she is the better journalist. She found something that made her comfortable enough to call Presley a murderer.”
“Presley’s gone through great lengths to keep herself to herself. We barely got anything out of her the first time we spoke. How are we going to get her to talk about this? Whatever this is?”
“I have absolutely no idea. You’re the one who gets the suspects to talk, remember? That’s your problem.”
“Jerk.” She flicked him on the nose and he reeled back with a laugh.
“We have to get in the same room as her first,” Monica went on. “I’m hoping Ella can arrange a meeting and soon. This is a murder investigation. We can’t sit around waiting until people deign to talk to us.”
“I’ll call Ella now,” Michael said. “See if she has news for us.”
Their food arrived while Michael was on the phone with Ella. He filled her in on the little they had learned.
“...must be Ximena’s mother since there were no other Cordovas in town,” Michael said. “Elena.”
“She only worked for him part-time, but he put her name on the sign? Interesting.”
Michael picked up his sandwich one-handed and took a bite.
“To fill you in on what’s going on over here,” Ella said. “I got through to Presley’s secretary. She said she would talk to her boss and tell her we want to speak to her. She’ll call back when she receives a response.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll talk to you—”
“Also, we have a visitor.”
“Visitor? You mean a client?”
“No, I mean your... girlfriend.”
Michael blinked, sandwich returning to his plate. “Girlfriend?”
“Uh, yes. Hazel Antarr. She’s in the breakroom waiting for you to come back. I told her I didn’t know when that would be but—”
“Thanks, Ella,” Michael said quickly. “I’ll talk to her myself. Call me as soon as you hear from the secretary.”
“Will do.”
“Everything okay?” Monica asked after he hung up.
“Fine,” he said distractedly. “One second.”
He popped out of his seat and headed outside, phone already to his ear dialing Hazel.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Hazel. Is something wrong?”
She laughed. “You know you always ask me what’s wrong when I call. Is that a private investigator thing?”
“Might be,” he replied, chuckling. “I get more calls about murders, cheaters, and runaways than the average person does. But
you didn’t just call. Ella said you’re in the office.”
“Ah, so that’s the best way to get through to you. Get to Ella first.” She laughed again. “I’ve called you a few times this morning. I was hoping we could have lunch together, but when you didn’t call back I decided to drop by with food.”
“That was nice of you, but I don’t know when I’ll be back. I still have a couple of suspects to interview today.”
“Suspects? Plural? I thought you were certain my father was responsible.”
“He’s our main suspect, but we can’t ignore others who may have a motive.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You said you’d be the one, Michael. To stop him. He destroyed our lives. Please don’t let him get away with this again.”
“Hazel, I won’t.”
No response.
“I promise,” he added.
“Who are these other suspects?” she asked, surprising him.
“Just people Harper had interacted with in her life and at her job.”
“Like who specifically,” she demanded.
“Hazel, I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“I’d be out of business in a week, if I made a habit of sharing the details of my investigations with everyone. We have to be discrete or people may look suspiciously at someone who turns out to be innocent.”
“But I’m not just anyone, Michael. I’m your girlfriend and I’m involved with the case. I may be able to help you. Harper may have spoken to us about one of the people you’re tailing. Tell me.”
“I’m—”
“Michael!”
He jumped, spinning around. Monica’s head was sticking out of the café’s door. “Ella called. The secretary called her back. Presley’s in town and she is willing to talk to us, if we meet her right now. If we’re late, she’s heading back into the woods.”
“I’m coming now. Get my food to go.” Monica’s head disappeared and Michael addressed Hazel. “I have to go. We’ll meet up later. I’ll call you.”
He hung up before she could reply. Hurrying into the restaurant, Michael grabbed his things and the siblings were in their car and pulling out of the driveway in five minutes flat.
