Page 44 of The Murder Club

“The Murder Club. None of it felt real. I mean, I knew logically that we were discussing the evidence of a person who’d died. And even when I hoped we might expose the person guilty for committing murder, it was more like winning a challenge than revealing a coldhearted killer.”

“It’s human nature to enjoy a mystery,” Dom tried to reassure her. “There are entire networks devoted to true crime.”

Bailey pressed her hand against her stomach. She felt nauseous. She didn’t know if it was from the anger that suddenly churned in her gut or sheer fear. Probably a toxic combination of both.

“It might be human nature, but when I started getting the strange messages I should have realized the person was dangerous,” she muttered. “Instead, I treated them like they were just another annoying jerk who couldn’t let a woman be on the Internet without harassing her.” She clenched her teeth, her gaze locked on Dom’s profile as she considered the possibility that the deaths had been carefully planned and executed by a lunatic. A lunatic who was obsessed with her. “But that’s not what this is, is it?” she spoke her fears out loud. “Whoever sent those texts isn’t trying to solve the murders, are they?”

“No.”

“They killed Nellie and Pauline and Gage.” Dom’s knuckles turned white as he clutched the steering wheel, revealing he’d already come to the same conclusion.

“It seems possible.”

Bailey muttered a curse. A part of her wondered why she’d been so blind, while another part realized that she was more resigned than shocked to accept she was being stalked by a killer. As if she’d sensed there was something ominous about the strange messages from the very beginning, but her mind had refused to believe it was possible. After all, how many times could lightning strike in the same spot?

“How could this be happening again? Is Pike cursed?”

“I don’t believe in curses,” he said with a certainty that eased her apprehension that bad things were fated to happen in Pike. “But it’s very likely that the history of this town would attract someone fascinated with death and violence.”

Bailey shuddered. “That’s a disturbing thought.”

He shrugged. “If you’re a sun lover, you go to the beach. If you love the snow, you hit the mountains.”

“And if you love murder, you go to Pike?”

“Something like that.”

His words made sense, as much as she hated to admit that her beloved town was forever stained with blood. And more importantly, if he was right, it would narrow down the possible list of suspects.

“Then we need to look at anyone new to Pike,” she said.

He sent her a wry smile. “Or the history of murder in Pike might have inspired a current resident who isn’t completely stable.”

“Great.” She rolled her eyes as he squashed her hope they could quickly track down whoever was committing the crimes. At the same time she pointed toward the dirt pathway that branched away from the main road. “Let’s go that way.”

Without hesitation he followed her direction, not even grimacing when the expensive vehicle swayed and rattled over the bumpy track.

“Do you have a particular destination in mind?” he asked.

“The old hunting lodge is a couple of miles from here,” she told him.

He sent her a startled glance. “That’s where Ford Smithson is staying, right?”

“Yes. I want some answers.”

He paused, as if choosing his words with care. “Me too, but are you sure we shouldn’t wait for Zac? He’s the professional, after all.”

“I can’t just sit around waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. I need to feel like I’m doing something.”

“Yeah, I get that, but—”

“Turn here,” Bailey interrupted his protest. She wasn’t in the mood to be sensible. She was in the mood to pretend she had some control over her spiraling life. “This path will take us to the back side of the lodge.”

Dom obediently took a sharp right onto the road that had overgrown with weeds to the point it was barely distinguishable, but his jaw was clenched with frustration. He might have accepted there was no talking her out of her reckless plan, but he didn’t like it.

They drove the remaining few miles in silence, the SUV slowing to a mere crawl as they approached the two-storied log building with massive windows and a patio that wrapped completely around the structure.

Pulling to a halt in the thick line of pine trees that framed one side of the empty parking lot, Dom switched off the engine and leaned forward to peer through the windshield.

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