Page 12 of Lake House Killer

“He didn’t ask about his wife.”

“Not once,” I say as we head downstairs and make our way to the parking lot.

All the way back to Pine Ridge Falls, I wonder what could go so wrong in a marriage that you wouldn’t be bothered to ask if your wife was still missing.

The possibilities are endless. My imagination can run forever.

But whoever did this won’t be running for very long.

We’re going to hunt them down just like they did Cornwall and Cynthia Beck.

7

Special Agent Jack Stone

The morning light filters through the clouds as Fallon, Buddy, and I head to Bea’s Diner for a late breakfast.

The drive down Main Street affords a view of the majestic falls that rush down the mountain just north of the lake, and it never gets old.

That’s the reason I moved to this one-cow town. I needed slow, safe, and boring, but that waterfall wiped all three of those descriptions right off the table.

Pine Ridge Falls is magic compared to the armpit I grew up in. And Whispering Woods called to me like a siren song when it came to picking out a neighborhood, with a view of both the lake and a hint of the falls from the back of my cabin as well.

It was win-win, a no-brainer, and now with Fallon living around the bend from me, I wonder if it was fate. I’ve never thought about fate before, but then Fallon has my thoughts shooting in all sorts of different directions that I would never have suspected just a few months ago.

The two of us are still processing the mountain of information we dug through last night at her place. Fallon and I, with Buddy sprawled out between us, scoured every piece of digital life belonging to our four victims.

We were in contact with Nikki all night as well. It was a deep dive into the lives the Coles and the Becks led online, sifting through their social media for anything that might give us a lead. Nothing groundbreaking popped up—Cornwall’s DUI was the only smudge in a sea of clean records.

The pieces of this puzzle may be scattered, but I have a feeling they’re about to come together, revealing a truth more twisted than we’re prepared for.

Owen Marcus comes to mind. We did a deep dive on him, too. He’s the neighbor with a penchant for trouble who seems to thrive on chaos.

His list of grievances isn’t just extensive, it’s practically a playbook of petty neighborhood tyranny. Noise complaints filed against anyone who dared host a barbecue, multiple disputes over property lines, and several tense altercations regarding unsightly yard decorations that supposedly lowered property values.

His presence looms large over this case, and it might just be a potential catalyst for something far more sinister than simple neighborly disagreements. The guy’s got a temper, and whoever massacred that couple, shot Damien, then kidnapped Lydia has one hell of a temper, too.

We park in front and step into Bea’s Diner and the familiar clash of black and white checkered floors greets us. Fallon’s mother owns this place and she makes it feel like an extension of home.

The place is busy enough, easy-listening music plays overhead, and the scent of bacon makes my stomach rumble ten times harder than it already is.

A long counter sits next to the open kitchen that’s already bustling with morning activity. It’s pretty much the landmark of this local eatery, while the red Naugahyde chairs and booths enliven the landscape with splashes of color. It’s safe to say this place drips with more than its fair share of nostalgia.

And judging by all the red and yellow leafy garlands strung around the place, it’s clear the season has changed. Autumn decorations are in full swing here. Each table has a small pumpkin dotting the center of it, and fall leaves are strewn about every which way. There’s a scarecrow propped up near the door, and even he seems to welcome us with a silent nod to the season.

Down by the kitchen, I spot Jet bussing tables—a sight that irks me more than I care to admit. I frown his way just as Fallon’s sister, Riley, comes over.

“Riley!” Fallon pulls her sister in for a hearty embrace.

Riley is Fallon’s older sister, a blonde who stands a few inches shorter than Fallon. And she happens to own a junk hauling business called Pick It Clean. But for today, it looks as if she’s donned an apron.

“Morning, Jack, Fallon,” Riley greets us before making a fuss over Buddy who wags his tail in response. “Mom’s short-staffed today, so I’m pinch-hitting. Come on, I’ve got a great spot for you.”

She leads us to a booth near the light-filled window, which has the perfect view of the falls, and lands a couple of menus down with a smile.

“Let me know if you want the usual, or maybe try something pumpkin-spiced. We’re all about fall flavors right now,” she says while patting Buddy once more before sucking in a quick breath. “Hey, did you hear about that couple that was slaughtered out in Sugar Pine?”

Fallon nods. “The case is ours.”

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