Page 33 of Aftermath
He shrugged.“What was that guy yesterday looking for?” Barren asked, changing the subject.
“Who?” I asked, hoping I could avoid sharing more than necessary.
“The one asking Francis about you? Is he your boyfriend?” the old man asked, tilting his head.
“No,” I quickly answered.
“I heard he’s staying at Nelson’s place.”
How did information already make its way around Briarport on Agent Beck? He’d been here barely a day, and it was peak tourist season, yet somehow, the locals still managed to flag the newest stranger in town.
“Interesting,” I said, pretending to care.
I didn’t care.
I repeated that over and over in my head, yet somehow, a lump formed in my throat every time I thought about seeing him again the following day. I could’ve just emailed him the files, but he’d insisted I come to his place.
A door slammed out back, and Barren hurried off, terrified into starting work by our director’s arrival.
I swallowed hard to clear the feeling in my throat. One more day, and I’d see him again.
7
STONE
I barely slept,I couldn’t turn my mind off. There was no set time for Lenore coming over, but that didn’t stop me from spending most of the night preparing. I went over every single fact of the case, the documents I brought, and made sure I had food.
Guests expected snacks, right?
I never hosted. Working alone was always preferable, and my mind worked better when left to peace and quiet. What was I doing?
This went against every standard and routine I set for myself.
It was the early morning hours, and I caught a glimpse at the sun rising over the ocean from the back sunroom. The pinks and red were beautiful on most days, but I found them hard to admire anymore. Ever since that day, the color red just reminded me of blood.
So much blood.
Her body lying helplessly on the floor of that room. The same room I didn’t make it to in time. One miscalculation, and I’d failed her.
I turned away, focusing on making myself breakfast and coffee. I’d spent Thursday locating a grocery store and stocking my fridge with the essentials. My work was cut out for me, and I knew I’d need at least a week or two minimum in Briarport.
I grabbed a copy ofThe Briarport Chronicleat the store. I tried to crosscheck the articles in the latest edition with the journalist who wrote the final article on the Coastal Killer to confirm if they still worked at the paper, but I found myself at another dead end, not one worth pursuing.
There were other leads to follow.
If the FBI were opening the case, they’d first speak to the police. I needed to tread lightly with local law enforcement. I was uninvited and not acting on official FBI direction, so I needed to keep my contact limited.
The local sheriff’s office was where I’d go next after compiling Lenore’s document, once I perfected my ruse. A single FBI agent in Briarport, wrapping up some unfinished documentation for a cold case.It wasn’t perfect, but with refining, it would do.
My chest tightened at the thought of a less than perfect plan. Mistakes caused casualties; I needed to be nothing short of impeccable.
I walked into the dining room where I’d assembled my working evidence board and brought my coffee with me. The sticky notes and a stray pen sat on the table from my last batch of notes I hung. I found the picture I’d printed of the High Tide Pub and grabbed the sticky notes.
Hunting ground.
I scribbled down the two words and hung it directly beneath the photo. That would be another stop along my venture through town.
I added numbers beneath the names of the twelve total victims, including the final one, Jane Doe. I made sure each victim was placed in order; every small detail could matter in the end. The first victim to a crime always told me a lot, and the way the victims progressed helped fill in gaps.
