Chapter 1 The Inciting Incident #2
I enter the cozy, cluttered room, with shelves crammed full of books and folders stacked haphazardly on every available surface. “Sorry I’m late, it’s been a crazy—”
“Wow, you look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I say flatly. She’s always impeccably dressed, today in a tailored charcoal suit.
I don’t know how she does it—not with a husband and two kids—but she always finds time for makeup, too.
If you showed anyone in town a picture of thin black-rimmed glasses and bold red lipstick, they’d say it was Celeste. “Didn’t sleep much.”
She hums. “Someone interesting keeping you up at night?”
“Four men, actually.” I take out The Midnight Gentlemen from my bag. “Murderous but distinguished.”
She laughs, turning slightly in her chair. “Don’t worry. Love will come when it’s time. And then you’ll wish it had taken longer to find you.”
I’m not worried, but I’m tired of pointing it out. “Everything good at home?”
“Oh, absolutely. Steve is my rock.” She turns to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the town center, then to the bookcase, locating the mug she’s abandoned on a top shelf.
“Last night’s episode was your best yet.
The Thornwood Butcher. Couldn’t agree more with your review—we need more voices like Slate. ”
“Best book I’ve read in a while,” I offer, fidgeting with my hands. “So, hmm… you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, right,” she says as she focuses her attention on me. I’ve known her my whole life, but under her scrutiny, even my hands turn clammy. “Twenty-three, huh? Can I say happy birthday?”
Oh God. Seriously? “Mrs. Brattle already wished me a happy birthday and gave me an envelope filled with cash I’m sure the whole town contributed to. So…” I stand, motioning to leave.
“Wait—I want to give you a raise!”
I turn to her, eyebrows skyrocketing. “Oh.” I walk back. “In that case…” I say as I slump back into the chair.
“Here. How does this sound?” she asks, holding out a paper.
I read through the contract, my mouth opening as I notice this is far more than a raise—this is twice my current salary. Does this mean…
“I know you’ve wanted to come on full-time for a while now, but what I said remains true,” she rushes out. “We can’t afford more weekly episodes of Murders & Manuscripts. You know the podcast hasn’t exactly been thriving for the last couple of years.”
“Okay,” I say, excitement dampened. “Then why the raise?”
“Because I have an opening, and I’d like you to consider it.”
I watch as she walks to the big bookshelf beside the desk, then returns and drops a thick folder in front of me. Reading the words scribbled on it, I shake my head. “No. No way.”
“Scarlett, wait—”
“Romance books?” I squeal. “Do you want to kill me?”
“Passion & Pages is our best-performing podcast. And now that Tanya is leaving, I’ll need to hire someone else.”
“So do it. I don’t—”
She leans forward over her desk and grabs my hand. “You have a mortgage to pay, Scarlett. And I know that you’ve been picking up odd jobs around town.” She points down at the folder. “Is romance really worse than that?”
It probably is. I honestly can’t tell, because I’ve never read one. “Look, Celeste. This isn’t just about whether I like it. I don’t know the first thing about love.”
She leans back in her reclining chair with a dismissive gesture. “Well, it’s not like you’re a murder expert.”
No, but I’m the daughter of a cop and an assistant district attorney.
Other kids got fairy tales while I begged my dad to tell me about how the police caught the San Francisco Strangler one more time.
I read my first crime fic when I was ten, and I never stopped.
I’ve watched all the documentaries, listened to every single podcast out there.
You know what I’ve never done? Watched rom-coms. Listened to love songs or daydreamed about boys.
I’m not the right person for this job.
But the money, a tired little voice in my head says. How can I say no to stability? Celeste is right: I have a mortgage to pay. And it’s for a run-down mess that could be turned into a house if I had some money to invest in it.
“Look, why don’t you try it out? A couple of episodes—just to see how you do. And if it doesn’t work out”—she makes a decisive gesture through the air—“we forget all about it.”
I’m pretty sure I’ll regret this, but I can’t say no without even trying. I owe it to my back, destroyed after five years of on-and-off waitressing. “Okay.”
Celeste claps. “Oh, thank God. This will be amazing, you’ll see.”
“Your expectations worry me.”
“You’ll do great, Scarlett.”
Slapping my thighs, I stand. “Okay, well, it sounds like I have a podcast to study.”
“You do. I’ll make sure your salary information is updated.” She smiles. “Oh, and Scarlett?”
“Yes?”
“Make it ten times better than Tanya’s, please?”
I ignore the dread gripping my throat. “I’ll do my best, boss.”
I walk out of the office, hand already wrapped around my phone. In the main room, I expect to be hit by the usual activity, but instead of the crowd buzzing from one side of the room to the other, all my colleagues are clustered around Damien’s computer, their faces tense and focused.
Theo, standing a little apart, offers me a hesitant wave. His glasses are slightly askew, which always makes me smile, and a mop of curly blond hair falls just above the frames. “All good with Celeste?”
“Yep.” I check my latest notifications. Nothing from Ethan. “Did you know Tanya is leaving?”
“She told me yesterday.” His shoulder bumps against mine. “Hey.”
Happy birthday, his expression says. With a smile of my own, I thank him. Which reminds me… “Is Paige planning a surprise party?”
“Huh? N-no.”
I was wrong. Paige is a terrible liar, but Theo is definitely a worse one. “Theo?” I insist.
He sheepishly looks away, then shrugs one shoulder. “She’s planned that event for tonight. Single Mingle.”
“Which she wants me to work at?”
He holds on for about four more seconds before finally folding. “No. She just wants you to have a good time.”
There. I knew it. That doesn’t mean I get to skip it, though. I can’t stand the inhuman pitch of Paige’s voice when she’s disappointed. “Single Mingle? Good God.” I drop into the closest chair. “Are you going?”
He watches me through the thick lenses. “Do I have to?”
“Hell yes, you have to. Single Mingle sounds like hell, but one built specifically to bring me down. I could use a friendly face.”
He squints. “Not ready for love yet, then?”
After I make a “hmph” sound, my gaze drifts to our colleagues, still gathered around Damien’s desk. “What’s going on?”
Theo turns. “Oh, yeah. I still can’t believe it. There’s been a murder in town.” He gestures toward the computer. “The Willowbrook Whistle just ran their story.”
I stand and walk to the desk, leaning in over Damien’s head to read the article’s headline on the screen: “Police Respond to Horrifying Murder in Willowbrook.”
Stomach tightening, I quickly scroll through the text, grasping bits of information here and there about the victim’s background, until I get to the details of the murder.
In a shocking turn of events, Catherine Blake’s body was found tied to a chair in her home, her throat brutally slit and disturbing cuts surrounding her eyes. Authorities believe the horrific attack may have occurred once she came back home from work.
The victim’s body was littered with flowers and dirt, and a chilling message was scrawled in blood on the wall. Investigators are now exploring the possibility that Catherine’s murder was ritualistic, potentially linked to a local religious cult.
My blood runs cold as I absorb the details. Is it me, or… a slit throat, flowers and dirt, a message written in blood on the wall? Either I’m losing my mind or this is almost exactly the murder that happened in The Thornwood Butcher, the book whose review aired on my podcast last night.
Straightening, I look back at Theo, lips parted. “What the fuck?”