Page 48 of Our Darkest Summer
“I’m planning a trip to the post office,” I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure it would lead us anywhere. If there was nothing on the letter, no sender or delivery company, only that stamp, it was probably hand delivered.
That fact just scared me more. Whoever left thatinvitationplanned this very thoroughly.
“Does this mean the rest of us should just sit around?” Aaliyah asked. “While someone is threatening you?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to contact the police?” Samantha asked, but Thomas shook his head.
“But there’s one more thing.” He looked over at Kevin, his voice hoarse, like it was physically challenging to him to form the words. “Think you could help us out again?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kinsley
The last thingI did before everyone went home was slip the camcorder’s hard drive into Braxton’s hand. If anyone could’ve made it worth something, it had to be him.
“I can’t believe we took the oath of secrecy,” Connor said, sprawling across Thomas’ bed.
I snorted. “We colored our fingertips with ink and pressed them onto a white paper. That’s not really the oath you think it is. And we only did so, because you and Braxton wouldn’t stop insisting…”
“We also signed them,” he reasoned. “And I think it was fun.”
I swept a hand over the notes in front of me on the mattress.
“Do you have any theories?” He pushed himself up to his elbows.
“Just guesses,” I replied without taking my eyes off the papers. “The mask is very specific,” I said. “It’s the Ancient Greek theatre mask of comedy. Whoever we’re looking for definitely has some very twisted humor.” I sucked on the inside of my mouth.
I thought back at what I learned in class about the basics of criminal profiling.
“Do you know where he stores his pens and papers?” I asked, and Connor climbed off the bed, walking to Thomas’ desk and holding up a piece of paper and a pen.
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”
He dropped them down in front of me, and I turned over onto my stomach, writing down what we already knew.
I pressed my lips into a line as I concentrated. “What about the eyewitnesses?” I asked, playing with the pen in my hand. “Thomas mentioned someone spotting Lizzie at the bus stop the day after she went missing.” I glanced at Connor, who was sitting behind me, his legs crossed.
“He said they were unreliable. But I don’t know who they were.”
I scribbled down to ask Thomas about it, then pulled out the folded town map from my pocket and drew an arrow pointing at the bus stop. It wasn’t far away from here, just up on the highway. While I did so, Connor suddenly hurried out of the room.
“Will be right back,” I heard him say.
What bothered me the most was that we still didn’t have an UnSub. I knew what I needed to do, I just didn’t know how to start on it.
I scribbled upUnSubon the top of the paper and glanced at the handwriting on the notes. The letters were thick, and rushed it looked like they were written with anger. Climbing up to the window, sneaking around under the safety of the night, these all indicated that we were looking for a man. Probably a lower-class man, because wealthy people in most cases sat too high on their horses to be sneaking around. This wasn’t their type of act, they preferred threatening you eye to eye, or throwing money at you to make you disappear.
“Dad collected all of our photos in the house into this box,” Connor walked back into the room and when I looked up I found Thomas leaning against the doorframe. He must have finished searching the house to see if anyone was inside, but how long could he have been standing there?
He lifted the board in his hand stopping his brother. “From now on, we make sure every door and window is locked.” He walked to his window and placed it there the same way he did in the guest room.
“In crime shows?—”
“Connor.” Thomas cut him off.
“Alright, yes, I heard you,” Connor groaned. “Locking doors and windows.” He put down a box onto the bed and handed mean album. “As I said, in crime shows they always look through the pictures to see if there is anyone suspicious in them.”
He handed me an album and I sat up, opening it. The first picture was of the Rhodes family. My eyes landed on Thomas. He couldn’t have been over eight years old. His waves were curlier, his smile wider than I’ve ever seen it, but his eyes were watching me with familiar darkness. In the middle was a woman. Her golden hair was a shade darker than Connor’s. She must have been Lizzie. Her two arms rested around the shoulder of her sons, as she laughed into the camera. My eyes shifted to her shoulders, where Joshua’s hand was resting.
