Page 137 of Lethal Danger

Had he recognized Sam from obsessively watching the commune and following the Best Life members? He could’ve waited until Sam was alone at the smoking area and approached him.

Then what? Butch started a fight?

Hawthorne ran his fingers and thumb down the stubble on his chin. But why would Butch attack Sam personally? Maybe his anger had grown out of control, and he wanted revenge on the cult anyway he could get it. Butch wasn’t exactly the friendly or gentle type to begin with.

If he’d attacked Sam in the open, he could’ve been seen. Butch must have managed to get Sam behind the restroom facilities nearby. But how?

There were still unknowns, but enough fit into place. Butch would have had the key to access the storage shed. A shed where he could’ve hidden Sam’s body until the fair closed.

Then, since he had full knowledge and control of the security detail that night, he could’ve easily waited until no one was near and moved the body across the grounds to the Logboat Adventure ride.

A mixture of satisfaction and grim determination pulsed energy into Hawthorne’s limbs. He should call the police. Even without solid evidence, he was sure they’d want to know about a new suspect with a powerful motive for the fair sabotage. If Patch had lured Butch’s wife away from him, Butch would hate Patch enough to craft a plan that would incriminate Patch for terrorism, shut down his cult, and land him in prison.

Hawthorne wouldn’t mind it if that had been the result, but justice was more important than seeing Patch put away. And justice for Sam might finally be possible if Hawthorne could convince the police to look at Butch as a murder suspect. Maybe the detectives could get Butch to confess if he knew he was already going to prison for Joan Cracklen’s death.

Hawthorne went back to his nightstand to grab the phone he’d left on the silent setting for the uninterrupted sleep he’d intended to be enjoying right now.

When the screen lit, the symbol for a voicemail message caught his eye. He tapped to see more details. Left at eleven thirty p.m. From Rebekah.

His gut clenched before the message hit his ear.

“Hey, I’m going crazy just waiting around not doing anything. I never wanted to go to the fair after Sam. Thought it would be too hard, you know? But I realized when we talked that I should be the one to come here. I knew Sam best. I can figure out where he was. What he really did that night. I’ve gotta try.” She paused, and he heard something in the background. Music from one of the rides. The Spin and Roll. Her voice lowered slightly as she continued. “I’m staying here when they close.”

Hawthorne gripped the phone tighter, not believing his ears.

“I’m going to hide somewhere so they won’t know I’m here. I’m sure I can find something. Figure it out. This is where somebody killed Sam. I’m going to prove it.”

The line went dead.

Hawthorne’s breath caught. He’d glanced at the duty roster before he’d left, mostly verifying when Jazz was working. But he’d seen the overnight supervisor’s name.

Butch Klika.

Rebekah was there alone. Now. With Sam’s killer.

Thirty-Nine

Butch was the angry ex-husband?

Jazz pressed her hand to her forehead and stared unseeingly through the windshield as the shock faded and the facts became clear. It made so much sense, like at the end of a Carson Steele novel when the truth suddenly seemed so plain, like she should’ve seen it all before.

Butch had free access to all parts of the fair, all the staff-only areas. He knew the ins and outs of the fair after working there for fifteen years. He could go anywhere without raising suspicions. He could even control which areas would have security when.

Aunt Joan had never said anything negative about Butch, and Jazz didn’t remember ever seeing them argue. Didn’t seem like Butch had a motive to kill Aunt Joan. But maybe she’d simply been collateral damage like everyone initially thought. The unfortunate victim of bad timing, putting her in the pod that Butch had chosen to explode for sabotage. That he would then blame on Patch.

It would be a very satisfying way to get revenge on the man who’d taken Butch’s wife from him. If Butch’s plan worked, it would destroy everything Patch had built—his business and the cult. And land Patch himself in prison.

Jazz should call Nev.

The instinct hitched in her heart before her mind caught on. Nevaeh wasn’t an option anymore.

Pushing aside the pain of remembering she’d lost her best friend, Jazz naturally jumped to Phoenix K-9 next. Cora would usually be the one she’d call to give information if she didn’t go through Nevaeh.

Stupid habits. She’d gotten more used to being at PK-9 than she’d realized. She thought of calling them before the police every time. Because that’s the way Pheonix had wanted it.

Well, she didn’t answer to Phoenix anymore. Didn’t have to earn her approval.

Looked like she’d be calling the pol—

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