22. Kennedy #3
“Sorry… Mingle Hour?” I said, brows furrowing. “What’s that?”
“Oh, right, you probably didn’t know,” she said.
“Each book club meeting technically ran from seven to nine, but only the first hour was an actual literary discussion. From eight to nine, we had what we called the Mingle Hour. Wine, snacks, a chance for the members to socialize. That was part of what made the club so popular.”
My spine straightened. “So… my dad always left the library at eight on Saturdays?” I asked, heart pounding. “Not nine?”
“Like clockwork. Said he had to get home to his wife and daughters,” Marla said. “I’d say at least three-quarters of the members stayed for the Mingle, but not him. I always thought it was so sweet how he just couldn’t wait to get back to his family.”
I cleared my throat. “Did Heather Voss ever leave with him?”
“No, he always walked out by himself. But come to think of it… Heather always left around eight as well. She walked out with Silas, though. Like I said, they were friends from their children’s school, so they were always chatting to each other.”
I glanced over at Dec, whose brows were knitted in silent thought. Then I turned my attention back to the call. “Do you happen to remember if Christopher Miles and Brian Delgado left early too?” I asked Marla. “Or did they stay for the Mingle Hour?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Actually… now that you mention it, they always left soon after the discussion was over as well. I don’t think I ever saw either of them stay for the Mingle.”
I took a deep breath. “When the police were investigating the book club’s possible connections to the case, they asked about my dad and the other victims, right?”
“Yes. They confirmed which evenings each of them attended and which groups they were in. Who they usually talked to or seemed close with. Things like that.”
“But did anyone ask whether they stayed the full two hours? Whether they left at eight or nine?”
Another pause. “No, I don’t think they did. They just wanted to confirm attendance. I suppose they assumed everyone stayed for the full session.”
I suddenly felt dizzy, like the floor had just violently shifted beneath me. “Marla, I’m sorry, but I really have to go,” I said. “Thanks so much for your help. If I have any more questions, can I call you back?”
“Of course, honey. Anytime. Anything to help.” She paused. “I’ve been missing Theresa for ten years. So if what you’re doing gets us one step closer to justice…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Well, that would mean the world.”
I murmured my thanks again and ended the call. Then I stared at the phone in my hand, barely able to muster a single breath. I felt like I’d just been punched right in the gut.
“What is it?” Dec asked, leaning forward with his eyes wide.
I looked up at him, my voice hollow. “My parents had an agreement. Every week, they both got a few hours all to themselves. No chores, no kids, no responsibilities. They said it helped keep them sane,” I said.
“My mom took a Friday afternoon painting class, and Dad went to book club on Saturday nights. He left at six-thirty every time, and he didn’t get back until nine-thirty. ”
Dec’s eyes narrowed. “But Marla said he left at eight.”
I nodded, my throat tightening. “Exactly. So he should’ve been home by eight-thirty at the latest. But he wasn’t. Ever.”
“That leaves a full hour missing from his schedule every Saturday night.”
“Yeah. An hour he was lying to us about,” I muttered.
“Shit. That’s a big deal.” He rubbed his jaw. “And from what Marla said, Heather, Brian, Silas, and Christopher also left early. That sounds like a pattern to me.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “And now I’m wondering if the Carver saw that pattern.”
“Me too. I mean, that cannot be a coincidence. The first five victims just so happened to leave the book club early every single Saturday?” He paused, shaking his head. “Nah. It has to mean something. But… what?”
“I have no idea. It could be anything.”
“Maybe they were all just grabbing food, or sitting in their cars decompressing,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “That seems unlikely, though. Right? It’s just too weird. Too coincidental.”
“I think so too,” I said in a low voice. “So… what if the five of them were going somewhere else? Together?”
“I’m wondering the exact same thing. Like some kind of secret club.”
“For what , though?” I asked. “That’s the real question.”
“Whatever it was, the Carver could’ve found out about it. Then he could’ve decided to punish them for it, like you said earlier.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I exhaled hard, pressing my palms against my thighs. “I really can’t believe the police missed this.”
“Well, it’s like Marla said. They only confirmed that the victims attended the book club each week. They didn’t dig deep into the exact times each member left.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the discovery weighing on both of us like a slowly tightening vise. Then, in unspoken agreement, we returned to the boxes.
The next few hours passed in a blur of paper and dust. Old certificates. Hospital letters. Thank-you notes from patients. Newspaper clippings. Vacation photos. Birthday cards. Frayed lecture notes in my dad’s neat, meticulous handwriting.
Dec and I kept glancing at each other every time we pulled something new out, hoping to find some hint that would link my father more concretely to the other victims. But there was nothing.
By the time we’d opened the final box and shuffled through the last bundle of possessions, my arms were aching and my throat felt tight.
“I guess that’s it,” Dec said, brushing dust from his hands and standing. “Unless your mom kept some other stuff somewhere else?”
I shook my head. “No. This was everything.”
He hesitated for a beat, then frowned. “Wait… the cops gave you and Freya access to certain Carver case files, right?”
My eyes widened. “Oh my god. Yes. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” I dug my phone out of my pocket. “I can check the family statements and police notes about the victims’ routines.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Dec smiled faintly. “You’ve got access on your phone?”
“Sort of. I took photos of the files we were given, just in case. But technically, I’m not supposed to show anyone else.”
He turned his back with a dramatic flourish. “Just tell me what it says. I promise I won’t peek.”
I scrolled until I found a statement from Heather Voss’s husband.
“Okay, here it is. He told investigators that Heather went to book club every Saturday night from seven to nine. The officers noted that they confirmed this with the library. Except we know they didn’t properly confirm it.
At least not her actual departure time.”
“So Heather lied to her family, just like your dad,” Dec said. “How about the others?”
I scanned the statements and investigatory notes on the other three: Silas Boone, Christopher Miles, and Brian Delgado.
“Same thing,” I finally said, heart feeling like it was racing a million miles a minute. “Their families or partners all believed they were at the library until nine every Saturday. None of them ever mentioned leaving early.”
Dec turned back to me. “So all five of the first Carver victims lied about what they were doing for an hour on those nights,” he said, slowly shaking his head. “It’s not exactly hard evidence that they were hanging out together in those hours, but…”
“It looks pretty damn suspicious,” I said, filling in where he’d trailed off.
“Yeah. If I was a betting man, I’d say the odds of all five of them independently choosing to leave early every Saturday and lie about it are slim to none.”
My chest tightened. “I guess that leads us to the same questions we had before. What were the five of them doing together in that hour every Saturday? What the hell were they hiding?”
“No idea,” Dec said, his voice low. “But if this isn’t a coincidence, then someone else figured it out too. Someone who didn’t like it.”
We stood in heavy silence for a beat longer, then began repacking the boxes. Our movements were slower this time, charged with a jittery kind of energy that came from knowing we were brushing up against something big. Something no one else had seen before.
When we finished, I walked Dec to the door, thanked him again, and promised to keep him posted. He gave me a quick, one-armed hug and told me to call anytime.
The late afternoon light was streaming through the windows of my living room when I arrived home, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floor. I sank onto the couch with a groan, kicking off my shoes and folding my legs beneath me.
My thoughts wouldn’t stop churning through the same questions. Why had my father lied to us all those years ago? What was he doing in that missing hour every Saturday night?
Maybe it was just a midlife crisis thing after all, like Dec suggested earlier.
An hour to decompress without a wife or kids around to remind him of all his responsibilities.
An hour to go to a bar and pretend to be single for a while.
An hour to walk on the beach or listen to music in his car like he did when he was a younger man.
Unfortunately, given our discovery, it seemed far more likely that our newer theory was right—that he and the other first four victims were involved in something that got them targeted and kidnapped by the Carver, and the police never saw it because they never looked close enough.
After a quick dinner I barely tasted, I called Freya to tell her everything. She was shocked, unsurprisingly, but also thrilled that I might’ve discovered something that could lead to a break in the case.
Once we were done talking, I tried calling Malachi, hoping he might help fill in the blanks. He didn’t answer my first call, or the next two either. Buried with casework, no doubt.
Just after I’d showered and collapsed into bed, my phone finally buzzed with a message from him.
Hi, Kennedy. Sorry for missing your calls. Things have been hectic here. Will call back when I can. Are you okay? Remember – you can always go to the security detail outside if there’s an emergency. Hope everything is all right, though.
I stifled a yawn and tapped out a reply.
No emergency. But I need to tell you something about my father.
He and the other first four Carver victims weren’t just connected through the book club.
They all left the library an hour early to hang out together, every single Saturday.
The police never noticed because they only confirmed attendance, not exit times. You should look into it.
After I hit send, I set my phone down on the nightstand and collapsed against the pillow, too tired to even pull the covers over me.
For a moment, I just lay there in the dark, watching the ceiling fan spin in lazy, creaking circles as my thoughts unraveled into fog.
Sleep finally claimed me, but it wasn’t the peaceful kind. It dragged me under like black water, deep and disorienting, and when I woke up again, I wasn’t alone. I could tell because of the weight crushing down on my chest.
My eyes flew open. It was him.
The familiar skull mask. The gloved hand over my mouth. Knees braced on either side of my waist, pinning me to the mattress.
The Carver was back again.