Chapter 14
Detective Castillo’s call came early in the morning and woke me up, just as the sunlight bled through my blinds, flashing my closed eyes. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand as I rubbed the grittiness from my eyeballs. I stared at my ringing phone, concerned about what she might say.
Can you please come down to the station to answer a few questions? That’ll be it for me. It’d be over.
I took a deep breath, answered it, and pressed it to my ear. “Hey, good morning.”
She didn’t waste any time. “Hey Lenny, I just wanted to provide you with an update on George St. Nicklaus’ case.
I know he was your employer and a friend of yours.
I’m sure it was very traumatic seeing that gnarly scene, along with Clara…
just despicable.” She sighed. “Look, George didn’t leave behind any indication that he could’ve been the Xmas Day Butcher,” she said, her voice low and steady.
“But I found something in his bedroom—a safe that I cracked open with another officer. There were several hundred-dollar bills wrapped with rubber bands, along with a confessional note inside.”
A confession? I never would’ve guessed. “I understand, Detective. Are you allowed to tell me what it was?”
There was a pause, and for a second there, I thought she was going to say “no.” “A lot of it was ramblings about how Mayor Hamonte is corrupt and how he’s in league with Doctor Tuttle from the Gibraltar Institute.
” I swore that I felt her rolling her eyes through the screen.
“But aside from that, he admitted to killing Henry Hamonte because he believed Henry was responsible for Clara’s death. ”
That I already knew, so no new information for me. I was hoping for something relating to Angela or even Clara. “My goodness. That is absolutely horrible. What about Clara? Did he confess to killing her?”
Her breathing was heavy, thick with exhaustion. “Nothing about Clara. The body’s being sent to the institute to be examined.” I thought that was odd. “Looks like that case is about to be closed.”
Why would they send a dead body to a mental wellness center?
“Why is Clara’s body being sent there?” I asked, suspicion present in my tone of voice.
“We have a special procedure that we do in Whisper’s Creek; it relates to Doctor Tuttle’s expertise.
That’s all I’m legally allowed to say. I was told to provide you with an update, per Mayor Hamonte’s orders. ”
I furrowed my eyebrows, not exactly believing what I was hearing.
It sounded like George was right about Mayor Hamonte and Doctor Tuttle.
There was something very wrong going on in Whisper’s Creek.
“Well, I appreciate that very much,” I said gently.
“Is there any update on the objects you took from me? The items from the gift boxes I was sent?”
There was nothing but silence. I already knew what the answer was. “No updates at this time. Roads are still blocked.”
I frowned, defeated. Thirteen days had passed, and I still had no idea where Angela was being held. I wasn’t even sure if she was still alive. “Okay, thank you for your help,” I replied as my heart dropped.
“Mayor Hamonte wants to see you, Lenny. He regrets not being able to see you earlier due to other commitments. May I come pick you up in thirty minutes?”
I found it odd that he had not written to me or called me ever since Angela’s disappearance. I found it even stranger that he wanted to talk to me now. I couldn’t pass it up—I needed to hear what he wanted to say.
“Yes, I’ll be ready.”
Detective Castillo didn’t say much as she drove me to Town Hall.
She seemed on edge; something must’ve been preoccupying her.
Perhaps seeing the dead bodies in the St. Nicklaus basement had shaken her to her core.
I couldn’t blame her. I was on high alert from the second I entered her cruiser.
I felt that at any second, she’d accuse me of murdering George, and that meant I’d be royally screwed.
I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief when she dropped me off. As I entered the building, I was hit with a cold wave of air. I walked along a long row of side offices across a shiny linoleum floor. It was all very government-like. This is where Angela worked.
The mayor’s office was at the end of the hall.
When I reached it, the huge double-sided wooden doors swung open.
Mayor Hamonte towered over me, looking down at me with a fake smile.
He was a tall, ghoulish-looking man with ice-cold blue eyes and a fading hairline, with only a few white strands hanging on for dear life.
“Come on in, Lenny. Good to see you. Sorry it took so long to speak with you. I do have a town to run.” I smiled sheepishly as a strange mix of pine and antibacterial soap wafted through my nose as I stepped inside and sat on a comfy, plush chair.
The wood floors in his office gleamed brightly under the humming fluorescent lights, just adding to the unease I was feeling inside.
I noticed the photo on his desk with his son, Henry.
They were near a sunny beach, holding up their fishing catches—two salmon.
I was sure that Mayor Hamonte missed his son dearly; at least now he had an answer—George had murdered him.
Mayor Hamonte took a seat behind his desk, his posture stiff, his grin tighter than his black suit. His eyes had a glint of evil. The words of a dead man echoed in my ears: “He’s corrupt…do not trust him.”
“It’s such terrible business,” he said, his voice insincere with pity.
“Tragic, really. But at least I can rest easy knowing George St. Nicklaus was the monster behind my son’s murder.
I feel for Clara…all tangled up in that miserable mess.
” He leaned forward. “I know you worked for the man, but don’t worry—we know you had nothing to do with the atrocity that took place.
I know your mind is on Angela, but I assure you that Detective Castillo is doing all she can to find this depraved Xmas Day Butcher.
” He sighed heavily and stretched backward.
“It’s absolute madness, Lenny. A severed foot in the town square, a missing person reappearing—dead…
an evil game being played right before Christmas. I swear—this town’s cursed.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise; that caught my attention.
“Well, yes, sir. I’d have to agree with you.
I believe there’s a conspiracy involving Clara and Angela…
I think the Xmas Day Butcher has been involved all along.
He’s sent some “gifts,” as I’m sure you know.
I just hope they can be identified with some sort of DNA swab. ”
He nodded at me, half-listening. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the police department in Whisper’s Creek is able to accomplish that at this time, but we are actively trying to find Angela and the person responsible for her abduction.”
Why does that sound like a whole lot of hot air?
I didn’t know what else to say at the moment. “That is my hope as well.”
Mayor Hamonte stood up and stretched his legs.
He stared out his window, the one that gave a view of the town’s square.
“Angela’s a brilliant woman. She is a person with an amazing mind—someone who looks toward the future of this town.
Whisper’s Creek owes her a debt, and we must repay it by finding her. ”
To me, that sounded like a man who had no idea what was going on.
He seemed to be putting on a show to keep me and the town at ease.
In reality, I was sure he was freaking out internally, not knowing what to do.
Or, maybe it was something else entirely—a dark secret he was hiding.
Maybe it had something to do with his supposed connection to Doctor Tuttle.
When I saw a framed photo on the wall of Mayor Hamonte with Angela, Clara, Henry, Joseph, and a few other residents, my mind wandered back to last December’s Christmas party in the Town Hall—the one I had missed out on due to an illness.
I pointed at the photo. “Clara was there that night, wasn’t she?” I asked.
He turned around, snapping his finger at me.
“Yes, she was. It’s such a shame. It was a fun night, but now, it’s forever tainted by the memory of her disappearance followed by her mysterious death.
” He sat back down, the weight of his grief sagging his shoulders down.
“No one knows what happened to the poor girl. She must’ve slipped out before the party ended.
George believed that Henry did something to her, but that’s not the case.
Makes sense that he did it, just like how he killed my son.
You know how he was—controlling, angry…so much hate in his heart. ”
I nodded slowly, not wanting to disagree with him outright.
“Listen, Lenny—I’m planning on a press release detailing the formal investigation into the death of my son and Clara’s.
We’ll be concluding that George murdered them both, due to his confession, but we wanted you to make a statement concerning his character, since you worked with him for quite a while. Is that alright?”
I thought it was a very strange ask, but then I realized that’s why he wanted me to visit him in the first place.
He wanted me to help him form a narrative that George had not only murdered Henry, but he had also murdered his own daughter, Clara, even if there wasn’t any concrete evidence that supported that.
A ball of dread formed in my gut, telling me something was very off. The way Mayor Hamonte stared at me—he made it seem like I didn’t have an option to say “no.”
“I understand, Mayor, but what about George’s murder?” I dared to ask. “Is the investigation still open on that?”
He nodded strongly. “Oh, absolutely. We still don’t know who sunk that axe into him.
It’s a very messy, horrific situation all around, and we’re trying to keep our ducks in order.
I’ll have an assistant visit you in your home in the coming weeks to prepare that statement.
” He stood up and stuck out his hand to be shaken.
I obliged him, even if I felt like he was a man who was completely full of shit. “Okay, that sounds good with me. Hopefully Angela has returned by then, and this Xmas Day Butcher has been apprehended.”
Mayor Hamonte waved me off with a fake smile. “Thank you very much for your cooperation, Lenny.” He walked around his desk and opened the door for me as I walked out. He quickly closed it. I didn’t trust that guy one bit.
I wasn’t planning on leaving just yet. I wanted to check Angela’s office. I took a sharp right, down a short hall, and found the door that said: ANGELA FROST. I opened the door quietly and got inside, slowly shutting it.
The air inside was familiar; it smelled like a sweet aroma of flowers. That scent followed Angela everywhere, and I recognized it anywhere. I scanned around her office, and everything looked untouched. I wondered if Detective Castillo had even bothered to check anything.
As I looked at the framed picture of us on her desk, the past came rushing back. A joyous memory—one I was happy to remember.
She’d come bursting into our house three winters ago, her rosy cheeks red from the cold, a gust of snow and sweet perfume trailing behind her. Angela’s dark eyes had that gleaming light in them—the kind that made you lose yourself in them.
“Lenny,” she said, voice full of excitement. “I got the job. I’ll be working with Mayor Hamonte. I’m going to make a difference.”
I wrapped my arms around her tightly. “That’s so wonderful, honey. Congratulations, Angela. You deserve it more than anyone.”
She talked about reform and change—rebuilding Whisper’s Creek into a thriving small town. I’d believed her, too. I wanted change, for things to be better; that’s all people want.
Only weeks later, she’d sat across from me at our dinner table, shoulders slumped, her eyes tired. “The politics here…” she whispered, “It’s filthy. The mayor plays it better than anyone; that’s how he consolidated his power. But I won’t stop pressing for change.”
I came back to the present, now standing in her silent office, her words sounding ominous in my head.
I walked forward and brushed my fingers across her desk. The dust-covered wood was as cold as ice. Memories rushed in—her warm laugh, her sparkly eyes, and the soft hum of her favorite Christmas songs under her breath.
Then I saw it—directly behind her desk. A small, metal safe with a numeric passcode. I went around and examined it. I felt it all around before inputting the code I figured she’d use: 0905. That was her birthday.
It clicked open. I pulled on the tiny latch and searched what was inside. There was only a single white envelope. I picked it up and slipped out a note that was inside; it hadn’t been sealed yet.
It was a letter that had been addressed to the Ethics Commission.
It was Angela’s handwriting—neat and strongly worded.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. She was accusing Mayor Hamonte of siphoning public funds—diverting money into his own salary and into the Gibraltar Institute.
She found it suspicious that he hadn’t been able to allocate funds for a restoration project that she wanted to implement for the town.
My eyes saw the date: December 1st.
That was the day she vanished. My mouth went dry. I whispered to no one, “What could this mean? Could Mayor Hamonte be behind her disappearance to silence her?”
Before I could think about it further, an ear-splitting scream shattered the calm outside. It was sharp and guttural, tearing through the winds like a knife.
I stumbled to the window and looked down at the town square. For a second, I couldn’t process what I was seeing. I thought my eyes were deceiving me.
But there it was, swaying in the wind, tangled in a mess of Christmas lights—a body…with no head. Just a dark shape hanging from the streetlamp, as some folks gathered around to take photos, while others ran for their lives—screaming.
My stomach felt nauseous as I started to lose sensation in my legs. My eyelids became heavy as I felt myself slowly falling to the ground—the world turning pitch black.