22. Kennedy #2
Dec blinked, tilting his head. “That’s a bit of a random question. Why do you want to know about military-grade VPNs?”
“Oh, um… it’s something Freya was talking about yesterday,” I said hurriedly. “Something to do with the podcast.”
A faint shadow passed over Dec’s face, and he studied me for a few seconds too long. “ Freya wanted to know about that?” he finally asked.
“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “I think it’s something to do with a tip we got about the Carver possibly being a hacker. I can’t really remember the details, though.”
“Hmm. Okay.” He looked back down at the box beside him, brows furrowing. “Well, to answer your question: yes, it’s true. With the right tools, a person can make themselves totally untraceable online.”
My heart thudded in my chest. “So there’s no way of catching them at all?”
“Not through their computer, at least,” he said. “So yeah, if the Carver is tech-savvy, then that’s exactly what I’d expect him to do—use a high-grade VPN for anything he does online.”
I nodded slowly, fingers tightening around the edge of a notebook I’d just pulled from the box in front of me.
Dec’s attention drifted back to his own box, and his brows rose as he fished out a laminated card. “This must be all your dad’s book club stuff,” he said. “See? This is his membership card.”
I leaned over to take a look. “Oh, yeah. That’s cool.”
“Quite a few of the Carver victims were in that book club, right?” he asked, cocking his head again.
“Yeah, and the head librarian who created it was a victim too. Theresa Linwood,” I said.
“The police thought there could be some kind of connection there. Like maybe the Carver was a member. But they never found anything concrete. They just chalked it up to coincidence, because it was a massive club with sub-groups and rotating members.”
“Classic small-town overlap,” Dec murmured.
“Exactly.” I craned my neck to look at all the books in his box. “Dad was a member for years. He always said it was one of the very few things that was just his time.”
Dec grabbed a book from the top of the pile and flipped it open. “Kaylee made me read this once. That’s seven hours of my life I’ll never get back.”
I smirked. “Guess you’re not into slow-burn literary drama?”
“Only if the burn’s attached to something that explodes,” he said. Then his expression shifted, and he squinted down at the inside cover. “Wait… what was the name of that woman whose foot was dropped off at your house the other day?”
My stomach tensed. “Heather Voss.”
“I thought so,” Dec said, still frowning. “This was her book.”
I blinked. “What?”
He turned it so I could see. A name was scribbled in loopy cursive inside the front cover. Heather Voss. “Was she in the book club too?” he asked.
“Yeah, she was. Maybe she got her copy mixed up with Dad’s during one of the sessions,” I said, shrugging.
“Yeah, she must’ve.” Dec leafed through another couple of books, and his brows rose. “Hmm. Seems she did it more than once.”
I scooted closer, peering down. Sure enough, Heather Voss’s name was written in the front again. “That’s kind of weird,” I murmured.
“Maybe they sat next to each other a lot,” Dec said, shrugging. “It’s pretty easy to pick up the wrong copy when everyone’s got the exact same book, right?”
“That’s true. But…” I trailed off, heart thudding.
“That brain of yours is whirring,” Dec said, side-eyeing me. “I know that look.”
I hesitated, then exhaled. “This is going to sound crazy, but… do you think it’s possible that my dad and Heather were having an affair?”
“An affair?” Dec’s brows shot up. “Just because they mixed their books up a couple of times?”
“I know it sounds pretty far-fetched when you put it like that. But there’s that whole thing you mentioned about my dad being in some sort of mid-life crisis mode.
And my mom said they’d basically let the romance part of their relationship fizzle out,” I said hurriedly.
“So maybe that’s the motive. Maybe the Carver targeted people who were having affairs. He was punishing them.”
Dec scratched his jaw, clearly uncomfortable. “I get where your head’s going. But that’s a hell of a leap to make,” he said. “Also, do you really think all of the victims were having affairs with each other?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Some of them could’ve been doing other things the Carver disapproved of. Lying. Theft. Addiction.”
He lifted a palm. “Not to crap all over your ideas, but remember, you’re basing all of this on the fact that your dad and Heather Voss mixed up their stuff in book club a couple of times,” he said gently.
“I know. But think about it. The police have never been able to figure out this guy’s motive.” I paused, throwing my hands up. “So yeah, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s nothing. Or… maybe I’m really onto something. Maybe the Carver saw himself as some sort of punisher for sinners.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“I know how it sounds,” I said, shoulders tense. “But Heather’s name is in two different books that ended up in my dad’s boxes. That’s not nothing. And right now, we really can’t afford to rule out anything .”
Dec nodded slowly. “You’re right. Let’s look into it.
” He pulled his phone out and rapidly tapped on the screen.
Then he turned it to face me, displaying the local library’s contact details.
“You should call them. See if anyone remembers anything about the book club sub-groups. If your dad and Heather were always in the same one and seemed close… that’d be worth knowing. ”
I slowly shook my head. “The book club shut down after Theresa Linwood was murdered.”
“I know. But even though she started the club, I bet she wasn’t the only librarian running the sessions. I mean, it was a huge thing right? So she must’ve had help,” he said, forehead wrinkling. “One of the other librarians might still work there and remember something.”
“You’re right,” I murmured, heart hammering. “It’s worth a shot.”
I dialed the number on Dec’s screen and held the phone to my ear. It rang twice before a woman picked up.
“Corwin Bay Library, this is Marla speaking. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Marla,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m calling with some questions about the old community book club. Did you work at the library when it was running?”
“Yes, I did. I remember it very well, because it was a huge part of our programming for years,” she said. “Are you interested in joining a new one? We’ve been talking about restarting the program in a smaller format—”
“Actually, I’m just doing some research,” I interrupted gently. “My name is Kennedy Campbell. My dad, Mark Campbell, was a long-time member.”
“Kennedy Campbell?” she said, her voice lifting. “Oh my goodness. I’ve been listening to your podcast! You and your friend Freya are doing such important work.”
I blinked, a little caught off guard by her recognition. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”
“How can I help?”
“I was hoping to speak with someone who helped coordinate the book club,” I said, quickly setting the call to loudspeaker so Dec could listen in too. “Ideally someone who remembers which members were in which groups.”
“You’re in luck. I helped Theresa organize every session,” she said, a trace of fondness in her voice. “What would you like to know?”
“Well, firstly, I was wondering about the structure of the club. It was quite big, wasn’t it? So there were multiple sub-groups?”
“That’s right. We had hundreds of members, and that’s obviously far too many for one discussion group.
So when people joined, they were assigned to smaller sub-groups that worked with their availability,” Marla replied.
“Those groups were assigned to different evenings of the week from Tuesday to Sunday. Monday was our day off.”
“How many groups were there altogether?”
“Thirty, with each one containing around fifteen members, give or take. So five groups would have their sessions on Tuesday, the next five on Wednesday, and so on,” she said.
“Theresa would facilitate discussion in two of the group sessions per evening, and I facilitated two as well. Our junior librarian would do the fifth one. Each session ran from seven o’clock to nine o’clock. ”
I peered at the laminated card Dec had found in the box. “My father’s membership card says he was in group twenty-eight. Do you happen to remember who facilitated the discussions for that one?”
“I certainly do, because it was me. That group had their sessions on Saturday nights.”
I nodded slowly, recalling how my father had left the house every Saturday evening at six-thirty so he could arrive at the library by seven.
“Was Heather Voss in group twenty-eight too?”
“Yes,” she said, and then added softly, “I’m sure you already know this, but several Carver victims were in the book club. Eight in total, if I remember right.”
My pulse quickened. “Were any of the others in group twenty-eight?”
“Silas Boone was. And Christopher Miles and Brian Delgado were in group twenty-nine, which I also ran. That’s probably why I remember them all so clearly.”
“Was group twenty-nine run on Saturdays too?”
“Yes.”
Holy shit.
I took a breath. “My next question is a little… delicate.”
“Honey,” Marla said, her voice warm and without judgment. “You’d be amazed what librarians see and hear. Ask me anything.”
“Do you remember if you ever saw anything during the sessions that made you think my father and Heather Voss might be having an affair?”
“No, not at all,” she said, her tone kind but firm.
“First of all, Heather always sat with Silas. They were friends from their kids’ school PTA, I believe.
She barely spoke to your father during the meetings.
And secondly… well, I just don’t believe your father would’ve done something like that. Not ever.”
“What makes you so sure?” I asked quietly.
“He was one of the most devoted family men I’ve ever seen,” she said. “He always left the minute the discussion wrapped up. Never attended a single Mingle Hour.”