Chapter Forty-Three Savannah
| Forty-Three |
Savannah
Her mind raced. After an hour, she gave up.
Tomorrow she’d drive around and see if she could find it.
She’d write down the license plates of all the green Jeeps she saw and then figure out how to look them up.
There must be a way without going to the police.
Or maybe she should go to the police? She would sleep on it.
The morning would bring clarity. She headed home.
The next day Savannah planned to go back to the dog park and see if the woman showed up again.
She decided to wait until the afternoon, since that was around the time the woman had waited for her there yesterday.
Sitting on the sofa with Finn snuggled up against her, she stroked him absentmindedly, thinking of her next move.
Opening up her laptop, she went to a browser.
She typed in Bennett Cromwell. Bennett’s family name—a fact she’d only discovered when they had applied for their marriage license.
The bio on his books never mentioned that Bryson was a pen name, though she knew that not all authors disclosed whether they were writing under a pseudonym.
She clicked News and held her breath. The page populated with a series of articles, most of them from over ten years ago and focused on various charity events his family had hosted.
She smiled when she saw a picture of a young Bennett, maybe eighteen or nineteen, as the escort of one of the daughters of the vice president at the time.
She enlarged another photo of his parents and siblings and noticed a strong resemblance between Bennett and his father.
Everyone looked happy in the photos. It made her sad that he was estranged from his family, but she understood all too well that no matter how wonderful a family appeared, no one really knew what occurred behind the walls of their home.
She was about to close the browser when she saw an article about a missing girl from a Williamsburg, Virginia, paper.
She clicked on it and read with growing apprehension.
Body of Missing Virginia Teen Found
The body of local teen Louisa Matthison was discovered early Sunday morning in a stream behind Central High School.
Louisa Matthison was last seen alive by her boyfriend, Bennett Cromwell, at a party at his home celebrating the football team’s recent championship.
According to Cromwell he and Matthison had an argument, and she left his house on foot to walk to her nearby home at approximately 11:30 p.m.
The autopsy revealed blunt force trauma to her head, but the cause of death was drowning.
The police theorized she was struck and fell into the stream unconscious.
They had no suspects at this time. Matthison’s death had left her family reeling.
“She had her entire future ahead of her. Someone took that from her,” her heartbroken father said.
Savannah sat back in stunned silence, then did a search for Louisa Matthison to see if there were more articles.
She found several from other outlets, saying essentially the same thing.
Then she typed Was Louisa Matthison’s killer ever found and hit enter.
An AI overview generated saying that the murder was still unsolved.
It couldn’t have been Bennett. The police would have arrested him if they suspected him.
Plus, he had been hosting a party when she disappeared.
Someone must have grabbed her when she was walking home.
She thought about the money and connections his family had.
Could they have covered it up if he’d done something?
She was being ridiculous. She couldn’t let the woman from the park get into her head.
Of course Bennett hadn’t had anything to do with it.
It was a terrible tragedy, but these things happened.
It was time to go to the park. Savannah had to find this woman again. She would prove to be some nut, and then Savannah could put all this worry to rest.
She stood and Finn jumped off the couch, following behind her. She bundled up and she and Finn got in the car. Once they arrived at the park, Savannah wrapped her scarf around her face as the wind whipped at it. After two laps, she hurried Finn back to the car.
“Sorry, buddy. I’m frozen.”
She cranked the heat and looked around, hoping to see the Jeep pull in.
After fifteen minutes, she sighed and decided to cruise around and see if she could spot it anywhere.
She looked for the next fifteen minutes, becoming more frustrated with each passing minute.
This was useless. She headed back home and took Finn inside.
Grabbing her laptop, she went back out and drove to the Mast Café. She didn’t feel like being alone.
She got a table right away this time, and she put her things down before going to the counter and ordering.
“Large coffee with almond milk, please.”
It was the same man who’d stared at her last time. He looked around, then leaned closer to her.
“Are you married to Bennett Bryson?”
She nodded. “Yes. Do you know him?”
“Yeah. He was married to a good friend of mine. I didn’t know he got married again until last week when that lady talked to you.”
He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he turned and made her coffee. When he handed her the cup, she held his gaze for a moment, then asked, “You knew his wife well?”
“She was the best. Um, be careful…”
“Everything okay here?” An older woman walked over; the manager, Savannah assumed.
“Yep,” Henri said. Then he turned to the customer waiting next to Savannah and took her order.
Savannah sat down, glancing over occasionally, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
When the counter was clear of customers, the woman called him over to the other end and Savannah could tell she was angry.
It looked as though she was reaming him out.
He kept nodding as she spoke. He wouldn’t even glance in her direction after that.
Savannah wanted to ask him what he meant about being careful, but she didn’t want to get him in trouble.
Maybe tomorrow when she came in, if the manager wasn’t around, she would talk to him.
She tried to concentrate on writing, but her mind kept going back to the article she’d found and Henri’s warning to be careful.
Did Henri think Poppy’s accident was Bennett’s fault?
She had been to enough author talks where the moderator jokingly asked a thriller or horror writer if their spouse slept with one eye open.
Maybe that was all this was. Bennett seemed like he’d been heartbroken after Poppy’s death.
He’d told Savannah he never intended to open his heart again.
Certainly if he was some crazed killer the body count would be much higher.
Stop it! she chastised herself. She was thinking like her character, Darcy.
This wasn’t some murder mystery. It was her life.
There had to be a reasonable explanation for everything.
She couldn’t be living with a killer. Unconsciously, she started rubbing her neck.