by Kathi Daley
Of course, Larry and Laverne seemed to be doing fine with the setup. In fact, the charismatic pair seemed to be the life of the party. When I first met them, I was immediately transported back in time. They reminded me so much of the image I held in my mind of the sixties when everything was awesome, and everyone loved one another, and the only thing that was truly important was free will and creative expression. Both Larry and Laverne seemed to be the sort to pull you in with a warm smile and a long, hard hug. I’d never seen them when they weren’t smiling, and their overall demeanor was one of joy toward all that life had to offer.
“So in the interest of research, Larry decided to jump fully clothed into the icy cold water,” Laverne informed the others as she shared the story of their Christmas trip to Alaska to research a story about a family who lived off the grid after escaping the stress of the big city. “Of course, he sank like a log, and the folks standing on the pier had to fish him out, getting everyone wet in the process.” She turned and glanced at her husband with a look of pure adoration. “I think we are banned from the entire state after that trip, but what a trip it was. We saw the northern lights, snowshoed through a deserted forest, and even spent the night in one of those domes under the stars.”
Larry smiled at his wife, and I spotted him squeezing her hand under the table. It seemed obvious to me that the couple really did welcome the chance to experience all life had to offer.
“How was it staying in a place where the sun never shines for weeks on end?” Piper asked.
“It was actually spiritually enlightening to spend such a large part of each day in the dark. We stayed near Seward for part of the trip. That is where Larry took his polar plunge. And they do have light for several hours a day. But then we headed north, and the days got shorter, and as the days got shorter, I felt my senses begin to come to life in a way they never had before.” She smiled at her husband, her expression softening as her deep brown eyes lingered. “The trip turned out to be one of the most sensual trips of my life.”
I couldn’t help but glance at Dax. When I saw him staring at me, I couldn’t help but blush. “When will the book you researched be out?” I asked.
“Next Christmas,” Laverne answered. “Larry and I discussed publishing it earlier, but we had so much fun reliving our memories that we decided to take our time with the book, savoring every minute of the journey along the way.”
Wow. Talk about a couple who were really connected. I loved Ben with all my heart, but I was certain that we’d never even for a minute experienced the connection this extraordinary couple seemed to experience every day of their lives.
Alfred jumped in. “I’ve been considering a trip to Europe this summer. I love the idea of a murder mystery set in an area rich with historical significance. I’ve done the touristy thing a time or two, but after listening to tales of Larry and Laverne’s adventures, I know I want to immerse myself in the culture where my story will be set.”
The conversation seemed to drift toward the European experiences others at the table had enjoyed. I found the conversation interesting but not quite interesting enough to hold my attention. Once the main meal was done, I excused myself to head back to the cottage to check on Rufus. Despite the fact that the vet had assured me that all his tests had come back normal, I was still worried.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, settling onto the sofa with my furry companion. “How are you feeling?”
He began to purr.
Okay, that was something.
“The snow seems to be getting worse, so I guess I should take the dogs out while I can, but when I get back, we’ll watch a movie.”
“Meow.”
“Yeah. It does seem as if this winter is colder and snowier than last year, but we have this warm, cozy cottage to hang out in while the storm blows through. It will be fine.”
At least I hoped it would. We hadn’t lost power yet, but I could see that coming, and the wind had picked up to the point where the entire cottage shook with the gusts. I opened the door for Ramos and Molly, who spent less than a minute outdoors before deciding that perhaps they too would rather wait out the storm inside. Once the dogs were back inside, we all curled up in front of the fire. Rufus climbed into my lap, seeming content, which made me feel a tad better even though he hadn’t eaten his dinner as of yet.
I was halfway asleep when I heard a knock on the door. I set Rufus aside, got up, and answered it. “Dax. What brings you out in the storm?”
“I was hoping to have a chance to chat with you, but you scurried off before I could grab you.”
I stepped aside and waved him inside. “My cat, Rufus, has been acting oddly, so oddly that I took him to the vet today. The vet assured me he just has a case of the winter blues, but I was still worried about him and wanted to check on him. Please, have a seat.”
He sat down on one of the two wingback chairs that framed the sofa on either side.
“Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Coffee if you have it.”
I headed to the kitchen and started a pot. “Based on the enthusiastic exchange of ideas over dinner, it seems as if the writers are really enjoying their time together.”
Dax nodded. “This is as good a group of writers as any I’ve worked with. Alfred has so much knowledge to share when it comes to the forensic side of things. I plan to stay in touch with him after the retreat. I feel like he can help me in an area where I don’t excel.”
“I often come up with questions relating to an autopsy or time of death too. His background really will help him as a novelist.”
“And of course Hazel is a real hoot and has a lot of insight, Larry and Laverne have kept me in stitches all day, and while the sisters are just starting to blossom, I sense their potential.”
“And Piper?” I asked.
Dax frowned. “Her story is haunting and, I’m beginning to suspect, based in fact.”
“Fact? Isn’t she writing about the murder of a child in a small community? Do you think she knew this child?”
“From what she’s said and, more importantly, what she hasn’t said, I suspect that the girl who was viciously murdered in the story may have been someone she knew. Perhaps someone she knew well.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “You don’t think she is the narrator? The witness to the crime?”
Dax paused. “I’m not sure. The story is very good. It is raw and uncensored, and if it is based on fact, more horrific than I can imagine. The narrator seems to have witnessed the death of this child, who we are told was the narrator’s friend, but although she seemed to have been present, she felt helpless to help. As the story unfolds, you begin to realize that the killer wasn’t a stranger to the narrator, but someone she knew well.”
“Knew well? How well?”
“I’m thinking the killer might have been the narrator’s father, or perhaps an older brother. She was horrified by what she saw, but she isn’t necessarily afraid for her own safety. It is almost as if whatever happened to her friend has happened before. I read the first half of the manuscript today, and I definitely came away with the feeling that the reason the narrator wasn’t afraid for herself as she watched this horrific act was because she knew the killer wouldn’t hurt her.”
I groaned, closing my eyes and tilting back my head. “This is going to turn out to be one of those my-father-is-a-serial-killer stories, isn’t it?”
“I think so.”
I opened my eyes and looked directly at Dax. “And you think Piper is writing about her own father?”
He nodded. “Or brother or uncle or someone else close to her. The details are very specific. I asked Alfred about a few things, just to check for forensic accuracy, and he said that her descriptions of the response of the human body to torture were right on.”
God. If Dax was right and the story was based on something that had actually happened, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Piper, or whoever was represented by the narrator, must have gone through. “I
spoke to Piper briefly last night. She seemed perfectly normal. Not at all the sort who might be harboring the memories someone who had witnessed her father brutally killing her best friend would have to have buried somewhere deep down inside.”
“I don’t disagree. She has been very sweet and caring with Albert. I haven’t sensed an emotional disturbance of any sort, and it does seem that if someone had been through what the narrator in her manuscript had been through, they would have deep emotional issues. If you read it, you will see what I mean.”
“Do you have a copy of it?” I asked.
“Just the first half. I asked her for the rest, but she told me she wasn’t finished, so she wasn’t ready to have the second half read. But Kate told me it is set to publish this fall, so I have to assume that she is lying about that. Maybe she just doesn’t want the ending leaked before it publishes. She wouldn’t be the first author to hold back the last chapter until the very last minute.”
“Maybe, but I suspect she would be the first author to hold back the final chapter of the very first book she’s published. If you are really interested in the ending, you can ask Kate about it.”
“I might. In the meantime, I thought you could read what I have and tell me what you think. Maybe I am reading more into it than I should.”
“Okay. Do you have the pages?”
“I’ll email them to you.”
“I’ll read them tomorrow. I would do it tonight, but I don’t think I want the last thing on my mind to be a horrific murder before drifting off to sleep.”
Dax chuckled. “This from the woman who recently published one of the most disturbing thrillers I’ve ever read?”
“Yeah. I’m not sure where that came from. I scared myself with that one, although it did outsell any of my tamer novels by a lot.”
“I heard you are working on a second thriller.”
I nodded. “I signed on to do a second one when I was riding the high of the success of the first one, but now I’m having a hard time finishing it. I don’t think I’m the sort who likes to spend a lot of time in a dark place, and I spend a lot of time writing, so if I’m writing a dark novel, my mind tends to linger in the void as well. I won’t do another, but this one is under contract, so I know I have to finish. I just can’t seem to find my mojo.”
“Can I help?”
I nodded. “Maybe you can. If you have time and wouldn’t mind reading what I have, maybe you can help me brainstorm the direction I should be taking. I keep wanting to change the narrative, so the story naturally flows to a brighter and happier place, but bright and happy is not the story I set out to write, nor is it the story I pitched to Kate.”
“I’d be happy to read it. Email what you have to me.”
I got up to grab the coffee, which had stopped brewing, just as a gust of wind slammed into the cottage, making the whole thing shake.
“That was a strong one,” I said as I handed Dax his mug.
“I heard they are calling for gusts of up to a hundred miles an hour overnight. I’m afraid that winds like that are going to bring down a few trees.”
“I hope no one is out in this storm. Between the snow and the wind, the visibility must be close to zero.” I glanced out the window. “In fact, you should wait for a break in the weather to make the trek back to the inn, and I’m going to text Georgia to tell her to wait until things calm down a bit before trying to make her way back here. I honestly feel like it might be possible to get lost between the two buildings the way things are now.”
Of course, even as I said the words, I realized that I’d just committed myself to spend the evening with alone Dax in my cozy little cottage while the storm of the century raged outside. Not that I was worried about that exactly. He’d acted like nothing more than a colleague since he’d been here, and I had no reason to think that the atmosphere created by a warm cottage in a snowstorm would change things in the least. But there was that underlying current I couldn’t seem to shake.
“So, how goes your friend, Colt’s, investigation of Train Tyson’s murder?” Dax asked.
“He’s working on it, but I don’t think he has settled on a suspect yet. There are some odd circumstances with this one.”
“Such as?”
“Such as you and the other men who were playing cards with Train all say you went your own way during the break in which Train died. And none of you admit to having run into any of the others during what was about a thirty-minute period. I mean, what are the odds of that being true?”
“It does seem unlikely.”
“You were there. You were one of the five,” I pointed out. “If you agree that it is unlikely that things could have unfolded the way they have been presented by all of you, might you have something to add to your own story?”
“I was outside the entire time. No one else came out, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. Still, I can see why your friend might suspect that one or more of the men are lying.”
“It does seem like one or more of them are lying, and at this point, all five of the men at the poker game are considered to be suspects, including you. I don’t think Colt suspects you strongly because you didn’t even know Train before the night he died, but I do know you are still on his list.”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Oh, I knew him.”
I raised a brow. “You did?”
He nodded. “Tank and my brother, Walter, were college roommates. I think I mentioned that. When they were juniors, they moved out of the dorm and into a house with some other classmates. During the summer between Walter’s junior and senior year, I went to stay with him for a couple of weeks. Train, who was two years younger than Tank, had started at the university the previous fall, and it seemed as if he was either just about to move into the house, or maybe he had recently moved into the house. Anyway, we were both the little brothers, and we were expected to hang out with each other, so we didn’t annoy the guys too much. And we did, although I will say that I was not at all a fan of Train. I started out wanting to be friends with him, but by the time I left, I found myself avoiding him.”
“Did you tell that to Colt?”
“No. He just assumed I hadn’t met Train before I did at the poker game and didn’t ask about any past acquaintance, so I didn’t bring it up.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that he might want to know this information?”
He shrugged. “It occurred to me, but it was my job to answer the questions and his job to ask them. This isn’t the first time I have been involved in a legal matter, and the one thing I’ve learned along the way is to answer what you can honestly, but not to volunteer anything else.”
I supposed that I’d heard the same thing as well. “So, do you have a feeling for what might have happened the other night? You were there at the game; did you pick up any odd vibes?”
“I did pick up some vibes, and I do have a hunch.”
“Care to share?”
Dax paused. “Did you ever read The Huntington House Murder?”
“Sure. It was one of your early novels. A traditional whodunit about a group of people who went to a party on an island off the California coast. One of the guests turned up dead, and the others were all considered to be suspects.”
“And do you remember the character named Milton Pendergrass?”
I answered. “Milton was an accountant who considered himself to be an amateur PI. He had a hunch about who the killer was, but all it really was was a hunch, so for much of the book, he spent his time trying to find evidence to back it up. I seem to remember that when he couldn’t find the evidence he needed to solidify his theory, he basically made it up.”
“He did, but he didn’t set out to lie. He had a belief, but there were all these gaps in it, so to preserve his belief, his subconscious filled in the blanks. As time went by and Pendergrass kept clinging to his belief, he began to remember events that never actually took place. When Silvester Stonewall, the man who investigated the murder, questioned Pendergrass abo
ut his recollection of that night, Pendergrass told the truth, but it was his truth. A truth based on faulty memories. If you remember, Irwin Desmond was arrested based on Pendergrass’s recollections.”
“But he wasn’t guilty,” I added. “So, what is your point about all this?”
“Like Milton Pendergrass, I have a hunch that is not based in fact. I have decided that I will keep that hunch to myself. Once a belief is voiced, the pressure to support it comes into play, and I fear that, like Pendergrass, I might very well be put in the position of having to defend my hunch, which could, in theory, cause me to create memories to support what I’m already certain I know.”
“That’s crazy.”
He winked at me. “Maybe.”
“Okay, so if you had to take a wild guess based on nothing but a gut reaction, who would you choose as the killer?”
He hesitated.
“I promise I won’t make you defend your choice.”
“Okay,” He said. “If I had to guess, I would say Tank arranged to have his brother killed.”
I raised a brow. “Tank. Why would you suspect Tank?”
“I thought you weren’t going to ask me to defend my guess.”
“I changed my mind. Why Tank?”
“He is the only one to have seen the motorist he told everyone came to the door and went into the office to make a call. He is also the one who put the idea of taking a break in the game out there, although it was Hank who suggested calling for pizza. He is also the only one who says he went out to the back of the house, where Train was smoking, so in my mind, Tank was the only one who could have killed him.”
“Those are all good observations, but why would Tank kill Train?”
“I couldn’t help but notice that there was tension between the brothers. I suspect that tension arose from Train’s reactive way of dealing with life. As you and Colt have probably figured out, Train has been responsible for destroying friendships Tank had spent a long time building. It seemed obvious to me that Tank was not at all happy when Train showed up at his house the night he was killed and, in fact, even tried to get him to leave at one point. I noticed something similar when I visited my brother at college. Tank was a popular guy until Train started going to the same school. I don’t know if you’d ever met Train, but he definitely had a way of pissing people off.”
