Fatal Fiction (Harbour Bay Book 5)

by Camille Taylor

  “Yes?”

  Nick brought out his identification. “Ms. Smith my name is Detective Nicholas Doyle, this is my colleague Senior Constable Watson, may we come in?”

  “I guess,” Addison Smith said, uncertain.

  Nick and Cade followed Addison into the small sitting room to the left of the door. She motioned for them to sit and perched herself on the armrest of the opposite chair.

  “So, what can I do for you, Detective?”

  Nick brought out the three photographs he had shown Candice, the barista and handed them to Addison. “Do you recognise these women?”

  Addison flicked through the six by four colour headshots. “This one yes.” She indicated to Brittany Hudson. “But only because she was featured front page in the Tribute. She was murdered, right?”

  “Actually, they all were.” He glanced around the room, noting several things he had read in Act Two. They were definitely in the right place. “And we believe you to be the next victim.”

  Addison’s eyebrows drew down. “What?”

  Nick leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. “What I’m about to tell you Ms. Smith doesn’t leave this room, understand?” He continued when she nodded. “The three victims were all killed first in a novel before their lives were actually taken.”

  “I don’t understand.” Addison looked from Nick to Cade with questions in her golden eyes.

  “It’s hard to explain Ms. Smith. But it appears the man we’re looking for has been in his victims’ houses prior to their murders. He took the time to write a novel detailing how he would kill each one and it was pretty specific.”

  “And you believe he’s after me why?”

  “As I said he was pretty specific, he wrote a detailed description of his victims. We had a sketch artist give us a face and we ran it against HB drivers’ licences. You’re one of three potentials.”

  Addison let out a deep breath. “So, I have a one in three chance huh?”

  “Wish I could say yes but looking around here I say we just narrowed it down.”

  She looked around her place. “He wrote about my place? Are you sure?”

  Nick nodded to Cade who produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He handed it to Addison and she quickly read through the words that hadn’t been blackened out. Addison’s caramel coloured skin turned white and her hand shook slightly as she looked up at them.

  “Why me? What did I do?”

  “We can’t answer that, Ms. Smith. We haven’t yet been able to establish a link between the women. But we are taking this threat seriously. Senior Constable Watson here will be your permanent shadow if that’s all right with you?”

  Addison nodded.

  “Don’t worry you won’t even notice I’m there, I’ll just blend into the background,” Cade reassured her in an attempt to put her at ease. “We’re in the process of finding a safe house for you to stay in until we catch this guy.”

  “Thank you. I never thought my life would ever be exciting enough to warrant police protection. I’m studying to be an accountant which is about as boring as it sounds.”

  “Have you been approached lately by strange men or has anyone been giving you undue attention?”

  “No. I don’t get out a lot, between school and work—I work as a waitress at Philomena’s down on Weston. I don’t have much of a social life.”

  Nick’s heart sank. None of the victims had much of a social life. So where did it leave him with the case? They might have found the target but by the looks of things she wouldn’t be much help in identifying their man.

  “It could be anyone, Ms. Smith. So please if you could make a list of anyone who’s been in your house over the past month or so, maintenance and repairmen, furniture delivery men, neighbours. Anyone,” he repeated, stressing the word.

  “Of course I’ll do anything I can to help but really there’s no one like that who’ve been in my house—at least to my knowledge.”

  “Where do you keep your keys?” He remembered a similar conversation. Was he going to have just as much trouble with this woman as he had the other?

  “My purse—on my keychain. I don’t even have a spare.”

  “I assume you have a locker at work?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about at school?”

  “My bag is with me the whole time. I don’t see how anyone can remove them.”

  Nick stood. “Well thank you, Ms. Smith, you’ve been extremely helpful. Watson will stay with you tonight. Another officer will arrive tomorrow; they’ll be working twelve-hour shifts. I’ll also arrange to have a patrol drive by occasionally for extra protection at least until we move you but for now, just go about your daily routine and try not to let it get to you.”

  “Thank you again, Detective. I truly appreciate it.”

  Chapter 24

  An hour later, Nick parked his car at Dean’s and Megan’s house on Cotter Road. The two-year-old, three-bedroom brick house was in the new development area of the city which the council had granted due to the overwhelming number of people migrating to Harbour Bay and was called Tulip Ridge. The subdivision was perfect for growing families with a park complete with swings, slide and a barbeque station which sat beside a small contingent of convenience shops in the centre of the development and the houses fanned around them. In a couple of years when Heather Matthews was old enough to attend, the new school currently in the works just outside of Tulip Ridge and the neighbouring subdivision, Violet Flats would be completed.

  Nick opened his car door and breathed in the cool night air mixed with smells of home-cooked meals, the rich aromas causing his stomach to rumble. He made his way around the hood of the car and took Riley’s hand as she stepped out. Dean had left the porch light on for them so Nick could see the street clearly and as always was amazed at how much the street reminded him of his parents’ house. The yard across the street was littered with an oversized ball of indeterminate colour, a scooter and a small tricycle. The streetlight flickered above the lawn, spilling a golden glow over the house and its neighbours.

  Lights illuminated each house on the block, behind closed curtains and blinds. Megan’s and Dean’s house was no different. A warm glow peeked through either side of the door, telling them silently that they were home; a psst psst sound came from their lawn as the sprinkler system he and Dean installed back in February sprayed the lush green grass.

  Silently, Nick and Riley walked up the cobblestone driveway and stood in the small confine of the portico. Riley rang the bell and was immediately rewarded with a shrill girlish scream of delight. Riley grinned at Nick. “Sounds like someone’s happy to see us.”

  The door opened and Dean stepped back allowing them entry. Nick and Riley didn’t waste time entering the warm dwelling, the night’s temperature dropping to a frigid three degrees which for the coastal town was considerably cold. Riley swung around and hugged Dean as soon as he closed the door. Surprisingly to Nick, Dean hugged her back, tightly. Nick ground his teeth together.

  Dean released Riley. “How’s the case coming?”

  “It’s coming along, but so far we’re no closer to finding the son-of-a-bitch.” He removed his coat then reached to assist Riley before hanging both jackets in the hall closet.

  “I heard he struck again.” Dean glanced uneasily at Riley and Nick knew what he was thinking: One more and then it was Riley’s turn.

  “Heather-Feather,” Riley exclaimed as she saw the six-month-old crawling slowly along the sandstone tiles of the foyer that led to the joint kitchen, family and dining area. Kneeling beside the mahogany-haired baby with big brown doe eyes, she lifted the giggling child into her arms for a hug. Planting a kiss on the chubby cheek, Riley glanced over at Dean. “Is Meg in the kitchen?”

  Dean nodded as Riley planted Heather on her hip.

  “I’ll go see if she needs help. You two can talk shop without worrying about my delicate sensibilities.”

  Nick scoffed, mumbling, “Delic
ate sensibilities my arse,” as Riley and Heather turned right at the end of the foyer into the kitchen.

  “How’s she handling all this?”

  “About as expected I suppose, although I really can’t judge. I haven’t seen Riley in any other situation except socially. Maybe you can tell me once the night has ended.”

  “She seems okay but then Heather always puts her in a good mood. I’ve seen her so pissed even I didn’t want to be anywhere near her but then she sees my little girl and I swear she’s a different person. It was amazing.” He gave Nick a hard look. “If you want, after dinner you and I can run over the case, go through it step by step.”

  “Sure.”

  They slowly moved down the hall and joined the women in the kitchen. Megan, donned in a pale blue apron with ‘world’s best mum’ printed in white on the front was carving up the roast pork. Her collarbone length hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail and her green eyes sparkled under the bright light that shined directly above the kitchen bench.

  “Nick, so glad you could make it.” Placing the knife she held on the bench, Megan hugged him, kissing him on the cheek before stepping back.

  “I hope I’m not intruding, I know this is Riley’s day.” He watched Riley for a reaction, wondering if she resented him being there but she didn’t even look up as she stirred the gravy, Heather perched on her hip, grasping a red ringlet in her tiny fist.

  “Not at all. The more the merrier,” Megan assured him then turned around to finish preparing dinner. She looked over her shoulder at Nick. “I hope you’re taking good care of my girl, she’s irreplaceable.”

  “I’m doing my best, although she’s not making it easy on me.”

  Riley sent him a death glare. “She is in the room and can hear you.”

  Megan asked Dean to set the table and he immediately began fulfilling her wishes.

  Nick pitched his voice low so only his partner could hear. “Wow, Megan’s really got you domesticated.”

  Dean responded by shoving four ceramic plates with a deep blue ring around the outer edge into his hands before dumping four matching sets of stainless-steel knives and forks onto the top plate. Grinning, Nick moved over to the table working side by side with Dean to set the table. By the time they had put the last item—the mint sauce down, Megan handed him a plate filled with roast potatoes, pumpkin and crackling.

  Riley gently placed Heather in her highchair as Dean added the plate filled with sliced roast pork on the table and began dishing the meat out to the four plates.

  “Wine? Beer?” Megan asked.

  “I’ll go a beer thanks, Megan, and Riley will have a glass of wine.”

  Megan raised an eyebrow at his assumption but when Riley didn’t deny his request she shrugged and went into the kitchen and brought out two beers for the men and a bottle of wine and two glasses for herself and Riley, adding a Sippy cup filled with apple juice for Heather. He read the speculation in her eyes as she poured the wine into each of the glasses but he wasn’t about to enlighten her with any of the hundred thoughts or feelings coursing through him at any given time.

  They sat down to eat, keeping the conversation light, mostly about Heather and the cute things she did and as far from why Nick had accompanied Riley. He laughed, as he imagined Dean changing a nappy explosion. He’d dealt with a few of those over the years and knew how horrible an experience it was. Dean chuckled at the memory, revealing a soft side—something that had become more frequent since he’d met Megan and Nick was glad, if not a bit envious of his partner’s happiness.

  He only hoped one day he’d get to experience a little for himself.

  ***

  Riley leant against the doorframe to Heather’s room, the walls a soft yellow with white edging, moonlight filtered through the ivory Venetian blinds. The dark cherry cot stood in the centre of the opposite wall, in the corner was a matching large bookcase filled with teddy bears and children’s books and beside it was an old-fashioned rocking chair that Dean had repainted. During the first few months of Heather’s birth, Megan had practically been glued to that chair in hopes of settling her fussy daughter.

  To her left were the built-in cupboards with their floor to ceiling mirrors that gave a sense of space in the relatively small room. On her right was the cherry changing table that had come with the cot and bookcase, a large range of cleaning and soothing paraphernalia sat in the small section carved out for housing wipes, nappies and baby oils. The soft cushion that lay on top permeated the scent of baby powder.

  Her heart clenched. She was beginning to put her life into perspective. Her career may be important to her but not if that was all she had. She wanted it all. Marriage. Children. And she wanted them with Nick. Why could she not entice him to give them a go? Her personality wasn’t that abhorrent. So, maybe she was a little rough around the edges and self-sufficient. She’d heard men liked to be needed. Well, she wasn’t about to change who she was now just for a man. Been there. Done that.

  Surely Nick didn’t want a female dependent on him. He enjoyed teaching his colleagues—and anyone else who asked how to defend herself. He took the matter seriously.

  So that just left her. The same question which had run through her head since in the beginning hummed through her. What was wrong with her?

  Twisting the mobile attached to the cot, Megan sent the dangling objects into motion, a sweet melody filled the silence of the room. Riley smiled, her heart aching at the tender way Megan tucked her daughter in for the night. “Sweet dreams, my baby,” she whispered and turned to face Riley.

  “You really lucked out, Meg. If I didn’t love you so much I’d be jealous.”

  “It’s strange to think that out of something so ugly I found something so wonderful.” Megan didn’t need to elaborate. Riley knew she referred to Stacey’s kidnapping and the daily fear she had lived in. If it hadn’t of been for that horror she would never have met Dean and fell in love in with him.

  Riley remembered the time only too well and the promise Dean had made her when she asked him to bring Megan and Stacey home alive. He had delivered that promise and a place in her heart forever, just as Nick had even though he pushed her away any chance he got. She still hadn’t managed to figure him out. Hot and cold, that was the only way to describe Nicholas Doyle.

  “I’m glad you’re so happy, Meg, if there’s one person in the world who deserves it, it’s you.”

  Megan fell into step with her as they made their way down the hall towards the kitchen. “What about you? Don’t you think you deserve happiness?”

  “Sure, it’s only a matter of getting over my irrationalities first.”

  “They’re not irrational. You’re just cautious which isn’t always a bad thing. Just don’t let it get in the way of something great,” Megan warned. “Dean was hell-bent on sabotaging us from the get-go. Don’t you dare follow in his footsteps.”

  They joined Nick and Dean in the family room, their conversation ceasing the moment she came into view.

  Like it wasn’t hard to figure out what they’d been discussing.

  Men of mystery they were not. Well, it depended on the topic. Nick could be hard to read when he didn’t want his thoughts known.

  Rolling her eyes, she sank onto the couch beside Nick. Meg topped off her glass with more wine and handed it to her. She took it gratefully, feeling relaxed.

  Megan turned on the radio, the volume low as not to wake the baby. A classic played and the beat awakened her body when she would’ve been happy to lay down and sleep.

  Returning to the group, Megan plopped down Pictionary on the coffee table and adjusted the table so it sat between the two couches and not off to the side. She sat down beside Dean and leaned into him, her hand casually resting on his thigh. Riley’s mouth twitched when the couple shared a look.

  As much as she was happy for her friends, her heart ached, feeling the loss of not having someone by her side. A man she could plan a lifetime with. To lean on and feel his stro
ng, reassuring embrace.

  While Nick may literally be by her side and would remain there until the case closed, he would never be there emotionally and she needed to move on. To forget about Nick. She would never find a partner if she remained hung up on him.

  Why did her heart hurt so much at the idea of giving up on him?

  Surely by now, even it wasn’t stupid enough to believe there could be a future?

  Her brain understood. Why did her heart not get the memo?

  Probably because it liked to see her suffer.

  “How about Dean and I against you two. I’d say that’s evenly matched?”

  Nodding, Riley smiled. “Should make things interesting.”

  Nick took a sip of beer. “Why not?”

  Ten minutes into the game, Riley had to admit, she and Nick were faring better than she’d anticipated. Their minds seemed to be in sync and instinctively drew the most likely match the other would get. They’d all decided two of three would determine the winners. Dean and Megan had won the first round. To her surprise, she and Nick beat them in the second. As the night progressed, the illustrations became dirtier and tears ran down her cheeks from laughter.

  Her body became limp as years of stress, tension, worry and fear dissipated. She had sudden insight. Everything would work out. May not be in the way she’d envisioned, but she could adapt. Her whole life had been about adapting to whatever was thrown her way. Her mother’s death. Her father’s. Declan moving away. Her grandparents’ deaths. Her ex.

  Never before did anything feel so right.

  When Megan guessed the final picture ahead of Nick, winning the third round and declaring her team the overall victors, she whooped and then flung herself onto Dean, taking his mouth with such passion Riley glanced away.

  Nick cleared his throat. “Looks like we better be on our way.” Nick’s cheeks were flushed. She yawned, her jaw cracking from the force. After collecting his beer bottle and hers and Megan’s wine glasses and depositing them in the kitchen, he helped her from the couch and threaded her arms through her coat sleeves. “Thanks for dinner.”