Chapter 62
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
NEW NEIGHBOR
One by one and in pairs, people start to arrive around six o’clock. I invited all of our friends and family over to celebrate. At least that’s what I told MacKenzie. There’s more to this evening than she knows. Much more.
While I’m making the salad, Diane, Mac’s coworker, steps into the kitchen and asks, “So, did you find out anything more about the serial killer?”
I nod. “Yeah, we know a lot now. His name was Conrad Anthony Page.”
“Why do serial killers go by all three names?”
“I think because the authorities or the media like to use all three names. Not sure.”
“Do they know why he was killing women with auburn hair?”
“We know he grew up in Atlanta, Georgia. He had a long history of mental illness, and his mother abandoned him when he was about six years old. Apparently she ran off with some guy—literally leaving him by himself.”
“That’s terrible,” she says sadly.
“It is. A neighbor found him rummaging through the garbage for food. Instead of calling the police, he took him into his home, and that’s when shit got real bad.”
“Got bad?” she asks hesitantly.
“The guy was a sexual deviant. He was physically and emotionally abusive.”
“Oh my.”
“It went on for several years until Page killed the man while he was sleeping.” I pull the steaks out of the fridge as I tell her the story.
At some point in the conversation, Theresa has stepped into the room and is listening as well.
“He called the police and waited for them to arrive. When they did, he confessed. He told them the man had hurt him for the last time.”
“Did he go to jail? He must have been”—Diane looks up in the air like she’s calculating—“Nine or ten?”
“Nine. The police took him in for questioning. Child services got into the picture and placed him in a mental hospital.”
“Did his mom ever come back?”
“From what I’ve heard, they looked for her but never found her. They did find photos of her in some of his belongings. She had red hair. She also used to work as a clerk in a little upscale shop in Atlanta. They believe that’s where she met the guy she ran off with.”
“It all makes sense. But the mental hospital didn’t help him?”
“The feds haven’t been able to get his medical files from the place. They know he was released when he was eighteen.”
“How old was he when you, uh, when he died?”
“Thirty.”
“That means he’s been out for twelve years. Why do you think he started killing this summer?”
“They’re not sure it just started recently. The FBI is looking into other cases with the same MO, starting in Georgia.”
“Oh, that’s awful. They think he’s killed other women?”
“They don’t know yet, but it’s unlikely he just started recently.
He knew what he was doing; well, that is until he met up with Bobby and MacKenzie.
” I chuckle. I don’t think it’s funny, but if I take it too seriously, it will get in the way of tonight.
And I don’t want that to happen. Tonight is too important.
“Well, thank goodness Mac got away,” Theresa says quietly.
“Thank goodness for Bobby,” I add. “He saved her life, and for that, I’m forever in his debt.
” I was wrong about him. I’ll be the first to admit that.
Since I’ve been home, I’ve talked to him several times on the phone.
He’s here tonight, and it’s going well so far.
He’s already calling me bro, and Mac is sis, so that’s a start. I can live with that.
After Theresa and Diane leave me to my meal prep, I step out into the living room and yell, “How does everyone like their steaks?”
Without pause, everyone in the room shouts out his or her preferred meat temperature. I hear medium, medium well, well, burnt, and even one “kicking and mooing.”
“Who said ‘kicking and mooing’?”
Lauren raises her hand and smirks. Gill wraps his arm around her and pulls her to him. “That’s my girl. I’ll take it rare as well, Sam.”
God, they’re sickening. I’ve never seen Gill this happy. He sings. All the fucking time. I smile, because no one deserves happiness more than that guy. He’s had a messed-up family life, but that’s a story for another time.
“How does your mom like her steaks?” Mac asks me. “She said she’s running late. How does she like it cooked?”
“Probably medium,” I say without much thought. Medium is always safe. I have all the steaks on my platter prepared with love when I realize I’m out of salt. “Shit,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong?” asks my sweet girl.
“I’m out of salt and nearly out of pepper.”
“Really? I thought I just bought some.” She looks through my cupboards but comes up empty.
“I can’t grill these without the necessary seasonings. My man card will be ripped from me.” I shiver.
Giggling, she says, “I’ll just run down to the shop on the corner. It’ll take me ten minutes.” She starts to walk away, but I say, “Just go next door. Borrow a cup of salt and pepper.”
“Next door? There’s no one living there. Besides, it’s a cup of sugar, not salt and pepper, dork.”
I chuckle. “Sure, there is. Just go knock on the door. You’ll see.”
“Fine. Be right back.”