The Library (Where Life Checks Out)
When Mark Waters decided to be a
detective, he didn't plan to investigate ghosts.
But as he sifts through evidence of a
supposed suicide by train, he learns a murder that took place eighty years ago
may directly affect his case.
Six months after the strange
occurrences at The Depot, there’s another murder. This time, The Library holds
secrets of several murders, and the dead won’t rest until the murderer checks
out too.
If you haven't read The Depot, you can download it here free. If you have, please enjoy the first three chapters of The Library.
Wade inserted the key into the
deadbolt the same time he did every night. Only this time, the door glided open
as though some unseen force had invited him inside. The house was quiet. Too
quiet. Usually he’d hear the sound of the TV, a kitchen timer alerting that
dinner was ready, or the constant boom from the stereo upstairs. But this
evening, tomblike silence greeted him.
She’d threatened to leave; he
just hadn’t believed her. After all, she’d been grumbling that same nonsense
for twenty-two years. A romantic getaway for two would straighten her out.
Their only child was going off
to grad school in a few weeks. So for the first time in their marriage, they’d
be childless. His life had changed the night she told him she was pregnant two
weeks away from high school graduation, but it hadn’t stopped him from working
his butt off to accomplish his dreams. Yeah, he had to work two jobs, go to
night school, and function without sleep, but they’d made it. They had a
beautiful house in Edenbury, Pennsylvania, two stylish vehicles in the
driveway, and their daughter was heading off to Harvard.
And as soon as he finalized
the contract he’d been working on for the last year, Wade could take Vanessa on
as many getaways as she wanted. He’d cashed the first check on his way home.
Just the first installment was more than they’d made their first ten years of
marriage. That’d get her eyes twinkling again.
Burnt meatloaf singed his
nostrils as he ventured into the kitchen in search of his wife. She killed
their dinner again. His wife would get so busy typing she’d forget everything
around her.
He turned off the oven, but
left the charcoaled mess inside. Last thing he needed was the new smoke
detector he’d installed to go off, once again alerting the neighbors how often
his wife nearly burned down their house.
Wade emptied his pockets of
his money clip, keys, and receipts onto the credenza by the stairway, as his
wife had always requested, then started upstairs. “Vanessa honey,” he called as
he trudged up the wooden steps, knowing she wouldn’t hear him, but he tried
anyway. He gripped onto the banister, pulling himself forward. He was too tired
to climb stairs before eating. But since she always wore her headphones when
she worked, she wouldn’t hear if he screamed at the top of his range.
Tugging at his tie, he pushed
open their bedroom door. Maybe they could have a quick romp before dinner, get
a taste of what it’ll be like to be empty nesters.
Not believing his eyes, he
launched headfirst toward his wife. “No!” he screamed.
Out of his peripherals, he saw
the long black rod, but it was too late to react. The light extinguished the
moment the object made contact with his skull, leaving him in a pit of
blackness, a nightmare he’d never escape.
Detective Mark Waters slammed
the phone onto his desk after he hit ‘send’. He’d added a heart and smiley
face, but he knew Ashlyn saw through him. No, he wasn’t happy that she’d gone
to stay with her mother. Especially since the two of them didn’t even get
along.
But what could he say. He
wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t even her unborn child’s father. He wanted to be,
though. He’d asked Ashlyn to marry him last week, and though she’d accepted his
ring, she’d run off to her mother as soon as she’d gotten the time off work
approved.
He understood she felt guilty
that she was pregnant, blamed herself for the father’s death. But he’d told her
a hundred times she was innocent, and he didn’t care that she was carrying
another man’s child. Plain and simple, he loved her. He didn’t care about anything
else. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to convince Ashlyn.
Mark took a pull off the stuff
the station called coffee, nearly gagging. He’d skipped picking up his normal
brew in his urgency to pick up Ashlyn and take her to the train station. The last
thing he wanted was her second-guessing how he felt about her, even though he
was wondering if she returned his sentiment.
“Waters,” Captain Andrew Davis
shouted before he even entered the detective’s division. Davis had such a
booming voice he could have called from his office on the other side of the
police station and Mark would have heard him.
Knowing how Davis demanded
respect, Mark stood to greet him. “Yeah, Cap’n?”
“You got a stiff.”
Mark narrowed his eyes in
confusion, wondering why Davis was delivering the report, not dispatch. But
instead of questioning his superior, he waited for him to finish.
Captain ran his hand over his
chin. “We’re going together. My wife called me. Said she found the body as she
was opening for the day.”
“I’m sorry,” Mark said,
knowing Mrs. Davis was probably freaking out about now. The older woman had
always held a special place in his heart because of all the years he’d spent in
the library when he was a child.
Mark grabbed his radio and
keys off his desk, then knocked on the partition surrounding Tim Townsend’s
cubicle. His partner seemed oblivious that the captain was even in the office,
but then again, Tim was oblivious of most things. Well, except women. If a
beautiful woman had walked in, he’d have been on his feet in seconds.
“Let’s go, Townsend,” Mark
demanded, awakening his partner from his comatose-like state that he’d been in
for the last week. Even when he was here, he was rarely present.
Tim dropped his newspaper,
looking around as if he hadn’t realized he was at work. Based on his crumpled
shirt and loose tie, and the fact that his wife had kicked him out again, he’d
probably slept here. “What’s up?”
Mark cocked his head toward
the captain, who’d remained by the door. His silence made it clear that he had
no interest in talking with Townsend. Davis had warned Mark that Townsend was
almost through. Tim used to be a good detective. Saw things no one else saw.
Could pull a confession out of a witness or a guilty party. But he’d screwed up
his personal life so badly he was barely fit to be a meter maid, as Mark always
threatened.
“We got a dead guy at the
library,” Mark said, then added in a lower voice, “Mrs. Davis found him.”
“Ohh…” Townsend mused in a
breath that came out as a whistle. So Tim had a fraction of his wits left
anyway. He obviously understood that the captain would expect them to handle
this case swiftly and professionally.
Mrs. Davis loved her job as
head librarian, and she loved the library. She wouldn’t tolerate anything
tarnishing its reputation after she’d worked so diligently to get the landmark
listed as a historical monument so the city wouldn’t bulldoze it.
Mark followed Captain Davis to
the parking area with Townsend trailing behind him. The sound of the
middle-aged detective munching on popcorn irritated him. And Mark knew, just as
sure as he was walking, that Townsend would want to ride with him so he could
spend the time tapping away on his iPhone, which would further grate on him.
Though the man was in his late
forties, he spent most of the workday on his phone. Mark had a smart phone too,
but he rarely played on it. Too many important things to do. Tim was addicted
to surfing online dating sites, though, and when he wasn’t there, he’d play Angry Birds. Mark wouldn’t mind so much
if he’d just turn off the volume. But he had to remind Tim that the non-stop
squawking was nerve racking.
“You drivin’?” Townsend
mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn as they approached their unmarked patrol
cars. It wasn’t his vehicle, of course, but each detective had their own car,
which they treated as though it were theirs. And unlike Townsend’s vehicle that
smelled like day-old coffee and fried food, Mark kept his cruiser free of
fast-food bags and it always smelled fresh.
“Not if you’re eating,” Mark barked
over his shoulder. “It’ll take months for that smell to disappear.”
“Sheesh, Waters,” Townsend
grumbled. “So cranky this morning. Had it out with the woman?” he snickered.
Mark ignored Townsend, but
realized he was allowing his personal
life to affect his attitude at work. Only twenty-nine and he sounded like an
old man even to himself. Of course, having an eight-month-pregnant girlfriend
who didn’t know what she wanted was enough to drive any man insane.
Ashlyn was beautiful and
wonderful, though. One of the smartest women he’d ever dated. Even pregnant,
she’d finished her bachelor’s degree and was interning at a publishing house.
Her initial thought was that she’d wanted to run a business, but then a friend
offered her a summer internship, and she fell in love with the idea of
publishing. When they’d offered her a full-time position, even while pregnant,
she’d decided immediately to start her new career.
His thoughts traveled to their
time together this morning. He’d driven her to the train station as she’d
requested, but he hadn’t wanted to let her go.
He’d heard her mother’s snide
remarks when they’d visited her during a 4th of July cookout. Without him being
there, she’d be free to spew her rubbish. Ashlyn’s mother had insisted that she
could do so much better than attaching herself to “a cop”, as she’d so rudely
insinuated.
It didn’t matter that he’d
been running his own online business for years. He’d actually set up the
website for his widowed mother as something to do in her spare time. But the
couponing website had become so popular that he’d ended up having to manage it.
His mother hunted down all the promotions, and he took care of everything else
behind the scenes.
Of course, Ashlyn’s mother had
the ridiculous idea that Ashlyn needed to marry a doctor or lawyer. The scorned
woman couldn’t imagine that Ashlyn didn’t need a man to take care of her, even
though she had one who wanted to with everything he had. If only Mark could
make her mother see. Though he knew Ashlyn didn’t care about her mother’s
opinion of him, he knew it’d be one less stress on her. He supposed the only
way to convince her mother would be to wave his bank statement in front of her
face.
Despite the fact that Ashlyn’s
previous boyfriends had been ultra wealthy, she insisted that Mark was
everything she wanted in a man. As well as Mark did financially, he couldn’t
compete with their ultra-wealth, but at least he had some competition in the
looks department.
Ashlyn had always told him how
much she loved that he kept in shape but didn’t have the physique of a
bodybuilder, just tall and lean. And she’d always commented on his green eyes
and insisted on running her hands through his dark hair, which he’d let grow
out a little for her benefit, but still kept it short enough that the cowlicks
didn’t get out of control. She loved his curls; he of course, hated them, as
most guys did.
And they enjoyed doing
everything together, so what else did she want? Why would a woman say you were
everything she’d ever wanted, but then run away days later? Granted, she’d
accepted his ring, but she refused to discuss a wedding date, insisting she
needed to take care of a few loose ends in her past first.
Forcing his attention back to
his job, Mark parallel parked behind the captain’s police-issued Crown Vic. His
eyes darted to the nineteenth-century structure you’d expect to see on a French
countryside, not a Pennsylvania city founded on coal mining. He had an affinity
for old buildings, but not as much as he used to after his last experience
inside an old train station turned restaurant, something Ashlyn and he had
promised never to speak of again.
He exited his cruiser and
glanced up at the edifice with its high slanted roof and dormer gables straight
out of the Renaissance era. No gaudy colors, just soft gray limestone and
medina stone. The old building emanated stateliness. The decorative trim over
every door and window beckoned passersby to come in and discover its mysteries.
Pushing through the black-iron
gate, Mark smiled as he remembered coming here when he was a young boy. Every
Saturday morning, Mrs. Davis would gather the students around a massive marble
fireplace for story time. But before she’d start reading, she’d pass the book
around to the students. Each child had to inhale the pages, thereby infusing
the scent and memory as one into their subconscious.
Mark recalled the scent as
having the same rustic aroma of an oak tree after it had fallen in the woods,
reminding him of the couple of times he’d sat next to his father while he’d
hunted. When the breeze had blown just right, a sweet pungent smell of the
rotting wood wafted into the tree stand.
As a boy, he’d thought the old
books were slowly rotting away too, and now the two memories would forever
share space in his heart and soul. He also distinctively remembered a delicate
hint of jasmine. Then again, he’d sat so close to Mrs. Davis, anxious to
receive every word, that it could have been her.
He’d recognized the scent
since his mother had planted jasmine in the backyard. The rambling vine had
spread across the patio and up the fence, filling his summer days with a
memorable scent that would forever remind him of his mother and father sipping
tea on the back porch before dinner.
Mark ran his hands down the
smooth worn wood that framed the door as he entered the library, relishing in
the intricate craftsmanship and design.
As soon as he stepped over the
threshold, though, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen then shot a
questioning look over his shoulder at Davis, holding his phone up as a request
before answering her call. “Ashlyn’s traveling, and I’m a little worried. Do
you mind?”
Davis waved him off. “Nah. Go
ahead. The old man’s dead. He ain’t going anywhere.”
Mark cocked his head at Davis’
lackadaisical comment, but said, “Thanks” and clicked ‘answer’, strolling
toward the walkway adjacent the library. “Hey, babe! Your mom picked you up
already?”
“Not yet,” she said, her voice
attempting to compete with the racket in the background.
Mark plugged his right ear so
he could hear. “She on her way?”
“Yeah,” she said. “She texted
me a couple seconds ago, saying she’d be here in a few minutes.”
He grumbled a half-hearted,
“Great,” his blood boiling at her mother’s lack of concern for anyone other
than herself. What woman leaves her eight-month-pregnant daughter waiting at a
train station? He knew he should have talked her out of going.
“Mark,” she broke him out of
his thoughts, “hang on. Let me get to quieter place.” He heard her breaths, and
then the noise seemed to lessen as if someone had turned off the volume with a
twist of a knob. “I’m fine,” she finally said, and he could hear the echo. She
must have gone in the restroom. “You really need to stop worrying about me.
Okay?”
“That’s not going to happen
anytime soon, Ash. It’s what I do.”
She laughed. “I know. Your
mother warned me, said you’ve been worried about her since you were ten.”
“Well, I was the man of the
house. It’s what was expected.”
“I’m fine. I just need to
clear my head,” she said, touching on the subject she obviously knew really
worried him.
They’d been dating for six
months and everything seemed to be going well. Just the last month had been
rough. He’d stop by her house and find her crying. When he asked, her answer
was always, “nothing.” He’d done some research and had chalked it up to
hormones until she’d suggested spending the last month of her pregnancy with
her mother. Her announcement had floored him. She and her mother fought like
cats and dogs. Nothing Ashlyn ever did was good enough for her mother.
“I understand…” he answered
her, doing his utmost not to sound whiny. He hated guys who whined. Though
really, he didn’t understand, since everything seemed to go sour after he’d
proposed. He thought it was what she wanted. They’d spoken of marriage several
times in the last few months. It shouldn’t have blindsided her, but apparently,
she wanted to take care of issues created by her ex before she committed to a
date. Whereas Mark thought it’d be good to be married before the baby was born.
“I just wish you were—”
“Hey, babe,” Ashlyn cut in,
“Mom just texted me that she’s pulling in, so I should go. I’ll call you
tonight before I go to bed, okay?”
He gulped down his despair,
wanting to give her all the space she needed, but also wanting to understand
what more she wanted. “Sure. Love you. Oh, and, Ash…make sure she’s not texting
while driving.”
“Okay, worrywart.” She
laughed. “And I love you too, so stop worrying,” she replied, and then the line
went quiet.
Mark closed his eyes and
inhaled a deep breath, attempting to calm himself before going inside to do his
job. The sweet scent of jasmine hit him and he inhaled again, turning to look
for the source. He hadn’t seen the familiar vine around the entrance, and he
didn’t suspect that he could smell Mrs. Davis from outside unless she’d
suddenly started dousing herself in all sorts of jasmine products.
“Are you the detective?” A
soft voice at his six startled him. Rarely was someone able to sneak up behind
him.
Mark whipped around to see a
stunning redhead at the end of the stone walkway. She was leaning against the wall as if she’d
been standing there all morning, just waiting until he finished his phone call.
He thought back to his
conversation, wondering if he should be embarrassed about anything he’d said.
“Um…yeah. Mark Waters.” He always gave his entire name, which usually prompted
the other person to do the same. “And you are…” He left his words dangling,
hoping she’d fill in the blank.
“Jay. I volunteer here.”
He should have guessed she was
a librarian by the button-to-the-top white blouse and black skirt, her scarlet
hair clipped high on top of her head. The only thing that was missing was the
glasses. But based on her age—he guessed her to be about twenty-two—she
probably didn’t need them yet.
Not knowing where the man had
died, he gestured to the front door. “Did you know the deceased?”
She nodded, then released a
soft groan. “He was the sweetest old man. We started playing chess about six
months ago, but sometimes I’d just listen as he talked about his family. Why would
they kill him?”
“That was going to be my next
question.” He took a step toward her, thinking she was a good person to start
his investigation with, but in response, she stepped away. He stopped his
forward momentum, and instead, mirrored her pose, crossing his arms over his
chest. “You said ‘they’? Who’re ‘they’?”
Jay shrugged her shoulders.
“Whoever did this.”
“What was the man’s name?”
“His friends called him Buck.”
“Friends?” Mark uncrossed his
arms and sat on the edge of the brick wall, hoping she’d loosen up a bit.
Normally when he crossed his arms in reaction to a witness’ pose and then
uncrossed them, they’d follow suit. Jay remained where she was, however, her
arms folded over her chest to protect her from anyone getting too close. If she
were sitting, she’d have her legs crossed too, he suspected. “Did Buck belong
to a book club?”
She bit down on her lip, her
head lowering in her distress. “No. Buck was homeless. We have many homeless
people who loiter around the library, especially as the temperature starts to
drop. They stay as late as possible, then usually find a place to sleep for the
night, and then are here waiting for us to unlock the doors in the morning.”
“Did you find him?” he asked,
even though Davis had said his wife found the man.
“No. Mrs. Davis found him.”
“Do you remember anyone ever
arguing with him?” He rephrased the question she’d answered before he’d asked
her. Maybe she didn’t think someone would have wanted to kill the man, but
maybe she’d seen something she’d forgotten.
She shrugged. “Not really.
Only the normal stuff. Homeless people tend to ramble on to no one in
particular, so most people don’t pay them any mind. As long as they’re not
tarnishing their area. Then there are others like Buck. Buck was a good man; he
didn’t belong here.”
Mark nodded, noticing the
woman had a soft spot for the homeless community, evidently from the time spent
with them. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a business card, offering it
to her. “Here’s my number. Call me—”
The young woman refused the
card, shaking her head. “I know how to find you. I don’t have any pockets, so
I’d just lose it.”
He couldn’t help but smile at
her remark, and though she struggled, her lips edged up for an instant and then
fell again. Her amber-colored eyes filled with sorrow. Sad. She was beautiful.
And too young to experience this kind of hurt, but he saw it all the time.
Her skin was a creamy ivory
color with a flush of pink across her cheeks that counteracted the grief in her
eyes. The young woman had a Gaelic look to her as Ashlyn did, except that she
was shorter, more soft spoken. And instead of Ashlyn’s strawberry-blond hair,
Jay had fiery red hair, a deep crimson shade that looked as if it might burst
into flames at any moment.
Not that he was interested. He
loved Ashlyn. But he still recognized a beautiful woman when he saw one. And
even if Ashlyn ended their relationship tomorrow, he wouldn’t date a younger
woman.
At twenty-three, Ashlyn was
only six years younger than he was, but it was the furthest he was going. If
Ashlyn were even a couple years older, she probably wouldn’t be thinking so
much about setting a wedding date. They were a perfect couple. They enjoyed
each other’s company, liked the same things, had similar goals and dreams. Or
maybe Mark just thought they wanted the same things in life.
He turned his attention back
to the woman in front of him, instead of the one who was hours away. “Can I get
your phone number, then, in case I have a question?”
“I live in a dorm and I don’t
have a phone.” She pushed herself away from the wall and walked toward the
entrance. “As I said, I know where to find you.”
“Okay.” Mark knew better than
to press a potential witness in public. Unless she was a suspect—and he had
evidence proving she was a suspect—all he could do was hope that she’d
cooperate. Behind closed doors, on the other hand, he’d get them to break, find
out what they were hiding. Even if they weren’t guilty, witnesses tended to get
scared, especially when it came to a murder investigation.
He watched for a couple of
seconds as the young woman walked toward the entrance, and then turning away,
lifted his phone to text Ashlyn. He just wanted to make sure she wasn’t sitting
in the train station. Train stations were some of the scariest places for a
single young woman to be alone. But being so far along in her pregnancy, she
hadn’t wanted to take even the short flight to her mother’s house. At least it
was better than a bus.
Ashlyn texted him back
immediately: In the car with Mom. Love
you, worrywart. :) <3
He sent back a smiley face and
heart in response and made his way to the front door again.
“’Bout time,” Captain called,
gesturing to the back doors. “Forensics is on the way. Everything good with
Ash?”
“Yeah, she’s spending a few
weeks with her mother before the baby comes,” Mark said as nonchalantly as he
could muster, but Davis and Townsend raised their eyebrows in unison. A shadow
of a smile crossed Townsend’s face, but Davis at least had the decency to look
concerned.
It wasn’t as though Townsend
and Mark hung out. The middle-aged man just liked to hear stories, and men in
relationships didn’t talk about their women the way single men did. When a man
loves a woman, he doesn’t share sweet or juicy details. The last thing a man
wants is for another man to think about his woman in that way. Not that men
wouldn’t anyway. He couldn’t imagine there was a man alive who would look at
Ashlyn and not instantly fantasize about her.
With her long legs, perfectly
proportioned curves, and flowing strawberry-blond hair, she was a walking
pin-up girl. The kind of woman magazines hired to advertise crotch rockets and
muscle cars. Not pregnant of course, but he hadn’t seen any fewer heads turn
after she started showing. If anything, he swore she got more attention.
Mark shot a glance around the
library for Jay, but she must have gone straight to work. Oh well, she didn’t
sound as if she was ready to talk even if she did know something. He’d give her
a couple of days and then show up unannounced. Mark followed the group out the
rear doors to the patio area.
Although bits of mortar were
yellowish and crumbling, the vine-covered brick wall surrounding the area stood
tall and sturdy. And he found the source of the jasmine. For a moment, he’d
wondered if it was Jay’s perfume.
Only one exit existed on the
far right side of the courtyard. The shiny black-iron gate appeared to have
recently received a fresh coat of spray paint and looked solid, so they must
have left it unlocked.
He quickened his pace to catch
up with Mrs. Davis. When he placed his hand on her forearm, she jumped. But the
moment she made eye contact with him, she looked as though she wanted to
collapse in his arms. Her eyes were bloodshot, but a gentle smile creased the
corners of her lips and eyes.
“Markey,” she said through a
sigh, giving him a sideways hug. “I don’t see enough of you, young man.”
He smiled at the woman and her
sweet nickname for him. Few people called a six-four cop ‘Markey’ and got away
with it, but she always would. He’d never understood why a woman like Margaret
Davis had married Captain Davis. She was so mild mannered, and Davis had all
the gentleness of a bull. Though, not around her. When Davis was with his wife,
he was a different man, as though her kindness slew the wild beast.
“I know, Mrs. Davis. I just
can’t seem to fit story time into my schedule. I miss it though.” He inhaled
deeply, thankful the cool September morning had preserved the dead guy enough
that he hadn’t begun to smell yet.
Her smile grew. “I told you
that you’d never forget. It’s calming, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is,” Mark agreed. “The
scent takes me back. I can almost hear you reading James and the Giant Peach. I think I was seven at the time, but I
can still recall the voices you used for each insect.”
Obviously remembering why he
was here, Mrs. Davis leaned against him as they approached the homeless man.
Mark focused his eyes on the
closed gate again and then scanned the rest of the patio. “Is the gate locked?”
“Yes. We usually open it in
the morning and then lock it before we leave. That’s what I was coming out to
do when I saw him.”
“But it was locked when you
got here?”
Covering her mouth, she nodded
her answer.
“And according to your
husband, there’s a security system attached to all the doors and windows, but
not the patio gate, right?”
“Yes,” she choked out.
“Is it possible someone locked
two people out here, and they fought and then one slipped by you this morning?”
Mrs. Davis quickly moved her
head back and forth. “I checked, Markey. I locked up last night, and I opened
this morning. I may seem old, since you were a child when I read to you, but
I’m only fifty-three, young man,” she tapped her temple, “and my mind is as
sharp as it was when I was twenty-three. No one was on the patio either time.”
Mark inspected the walls
again. Ten feet, he’d guess. Some people could scale them, but… Mark
scrutinized the man on the ground. He appeared to be in his seventies. Long
tattered overcoat, shabby work boots. His hands were tanned dark with years of
dirt embedded under his fingernails. But there were no scratches on his hands
from the vine, no dust from the crumbling brick.
He couldn’t envision this
seventy-year-old homeless guy climbing the wall. Why would he? The patio held
nothing special, no salvation from the elements, no fire pit to keep warm.
The brick-lined courtyard just
had a few picnic tables and shrubbery. Marble chess pieces sat on a painted
chessboard atop one of the concrete tables. That must have been where Jay and
the old man had played chess.
How could someone have
murdered the man inside the enclosure and then disappear? More than likely,
Mrs. Davis had been mistaken about locking someone out here, but Mark would
never challenge her assertion.
Jay went to the patio as she
did every night after everyone else left, but she wouldn’t be playing chess
with Buck anymore. The thought choked her up more than all the other secrets
she’d carried. Instead of leaving though, she huddled in a corner of the
courtyard and waited. Not sure what she’d hear or what she could do, but
somehow, she needed to end all the secrets forever.
Her only friend other than
Buck had told her that Detective Mark Waters was the key. If he could find out
what happened, he could fix everything she was sure. She just wasn’t certain
how to go about telling him what she’d found.
The familiar creak of the gate
opening made her smile. The maintenance men hadn’t thought to fix the eerie
squeal when they’d given the iron a new coat of paint. If anything, it stuck
even more, sending a shrill through the area.
Since the weather was still
nice in September, the homeless community liked coming here. They enjoyed the
minimal privacy of being able to talk amongst each other without business
owners shooing them away for loitering.
Buck had always kept everyone
in line, made sure they were all gone before the sun came up. And then, when
the nights turned colder, his band of misfits, as he called them, would head
out to an abandoned mill Buck had found for them.
Murmurs filled the concreted
area, but Jay remained in her spot. She knew what they were discussing, knew
they wanted justice, but also knew they wouldn’t get it. Only one person had
any knowledge of who killed Buck, but unfortunately, that person was dead.
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