Page 89 of Tourist Season
I google a VIN lookup service and enter the code for the vehicle, followed by my credit card information for a full report. My finger hesitates for a beat before I hit the return button. A report comes up with eight previous unnamed owners, the location of the title transfer, and the service history for a 1985 Chevy G20 camper van. The last change of ownership was five years ago, a private sale in Lubbock, Texas.
I frown at the screen. That vehicle has come a long way.
Though I might have a location and date of sale for what is a rather uncommon vehicle, that’s still not going to tell me who the last owner was. I run my fingers across my lips, thinking about the way Harper bites her own flesh when she’s nervous or deep in thought. If Sam had an interest in this particular Chevy G20 … maybe he’s said so.
The Sleuthseekers have accounts on a few social media sites, and though I check through them, I find nothing related to the van. What they post publicly is kept pretty vague. But they must have a place where they speak more openly with one another. Where they share secrets and theories.
With a little more hunting, I find mention of a Discord server.
I create a new account and try to tamp down the disappointment when I have to answer a number of questions and wait for an admin to approve my request to join the Sleuthseekers server. Who knows how long that will take. With a groan, I rise and put the kettle on, a text from Harper coming through on my phone as I’m waiting for the water to boil.
You’ll probably be happy to know that I’m thinking of you literally every time I move.
I smirk, starting to type a reply when an image quickly follows her message. It’s a photo of her naked upper body, the bars through her nipples gleaming.
I think I’m obsessed.
My cock hardens and I shift, trying to relieve the sudden ache of need.
You’re trying to torture me, aren’t you?
Absolutely. One thousand percent YES.
They’re a little tender but it looks pretty hot, don’t you think?
If they’re sore, maybe I should come and take a closer look.
I’m free after lunch. 1pm?
I check my watch. It’s not quite eight in the morning. The wait is going to be fucking agonizing.
12:30?
You know, I think I’m busy at 1pm, actually. How about 3pm?
I drag a hand down my face, ready to claw my skin off. She’s a fucking monster. And to drive the point home, she sends through two more photos of her breasts, one from the side and another a close-up of one nipple.
Okay okay okay. 1pm.
Fucking brat.
The kettle whistles and I pocket my phone. As I’m pouring the water, a notification comes through on my laptop. My heart lurches, a hit of adrenaline flooding its chambers. Tea in hand, I head to the table and wake the screen to find my request approved.
With a grim smile, I start exploring the information on the server.
First, I start with Sam’s recent posts. He’s been teasing his trip to Cape Carnage, posting the occasional image of the town or his film equipment or shots of him and Vinny as they focus on their work. I come to learn that Vinny is a trusted friend to Sam in his escapades to unearth the town’s secrets. Much of the recent discourse centers on La Plume and the interviews Sam has conducted to confirm his suspicions that Arthur is the infamous serial killer. Nothing of the latest posts tells me about the Chevy van.
So I start trawling the archives.
Once I search for a Chevy G20, a new picture starts to emerge.
The earliest posts referencing the G20 are from three yearsago, mentions of a van that had been refurbished before setting out on a road trip across the southern states, starting in Texas. “AC bought the G20 in September, and they spent the winter overhauling it,” one of the posts says, along with a photo of the old van that must have come from the used car dealership’s listing. I check the VIN report, and it lists a transfer of ownership in September six years ago. There are some questions in response to the post. And then, “His parents gave it to AB the October after Mead.”
I have no idea what that means, but the dates line up with the VIN report. It’s useless trying to search up “AB” or “AC.” I blow out a long breath, readying myself to start delving into the bigger picture to understand the context in which the van occurs. Just as I’m about to start trawling through the posts, a new message comes through on the general chat, and I click on it.
Anybody hear from Sam or Vinny?it reads.
A few replies confirm that no one has heard from either Sam or Vinny yet. Sam’s absence is no surprise to me, of course, but it’s odd that Vinny hasn’t checked in with the group if that’s what they would expect. Maybe Harper hit him harder than she thought and he’s spent the night in the hospital.
