Chapter 24
Nicole
It was early morning and cloudy. The smell of traffic drifted through my cracked window. I sat in my car, staring at the Dustin family’s trailer from across the street. Their white trailer with chipped paint was easy to monitor in the small trailer park.
A white truck sat in the driveway, next to a beat-up SUV. I had no doubt that this was the truck Zach’s killer used. Some “Myers” showing up out of the blue, using his friend’s truck for crimes. Then disappearing again.
And, still, the State acted like he had nothing to do with the murder, despite being caught on a nearby camera with blood smeared on him.
Bullshit.
If Nolan wanted to believe fairy tales, fine. But years of crime shows and real life had taught me better. Patterns mattered. People lied.
Billy Dustin knew more.
Which meant his wife knew more too.
I already knew which one would talk to me.
As if on cue, Mrs. Dustin opened the door.
A baby on one hip, a four-year-old boy gripping her hand.
Probably in her thirties. Like every mom I’d ever met with two small kids, she looked burned out.
Sneakers. Leggings. A thick sweater that had seen better days.
Her brown hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, loose strands sticking to her forehead.
She locked the door, walked to the SUV, and buckled her kids into their car seats.
When she pulled onto the road, I turned my engine on and followed.
We didn’t drive far. Peabody’s new space-station-themed playground came into view. Bright plastic rockets set against playground sand. A few swings. Children shouting and laughing.
I tried to look casual as I slowly approached the bench where Mrs. Dustin sat with her sleeping baby tucked against her chest.
I sat next to her, watching the kids as if one of them were mine.
We made eye contact, and I smiled. She smiled back. The kind of smile moms give each other.
For a moment, we just watched. Kids climbing the rocket tower, sliding down, hanging from the monkey bars. Laughter drifting through the air.
A million ways to do this ran through my head, but my mouth moved before my brain caught up.
“I can’t do this,” I said.
She turned, confused.
“What was that?” Her voice was soft. Careful.
“I said …” I sucked in a breath and exhaled. “I said I can’t do this.”
Her eyebrows pulled together as I scooted closer.
“I mean, pretend like I’m just some grandma making small talk.” I sighed. “Do you remember a detective stopping by your house not too long ago?”
The shift was instant. Her blue eyes narrowed. But for some strange reason she didn’t ask who I was. Didn’t question why I knew.
“Um … yes. I remember,” she said.
“Well,” I continued, “I don’t know if you overheard the conversation, but Detective Nolan came to ask your husband about a friend of his. Someone who borrows his truck sometimes. His name is John Myers.”
Her gaze flicked to the baby in her arms. Then back to me.
“I think I have to go,” she said, already grabbing her bag.
But before she could get up, I placed my hand on her knee. Light. Careful. “Please,” I said. “I’m a mom too. My daughter is about to die in jail for something this Myers did.”
She hesitated.
“You’re a mother. Can you imagine watching your child die in jail for something someone else did?”
Her eyes met mine. Worried. Sad. And also scared.
It hit me all at once. What if she wasn’t safe at home? What if talking to me could cost her everything?
“Do you feel safe at home?” I asked quickly. “Does your husband hurt you?”
She glanced over her shoulder. Then at her son, too far to hear us.
She sat there, staring at him as he climbed onto a plastic spaceship. A thousand thoughts must have been racing through her head. Her fingers tightened around the baby’s blanket.
“I’m sorry,” I said, standing. “I didn’t mean to put you in danger. I’ll talk to your husband directly. You don’t have to worry. Just don’t tell him I was here. I won’t say a word either, I swear.”
I had taken two steps when she spoke.
“That’s kind of you,” she said. “Worrying about me and the kids when you have so much to lose by walking away.”
I sat back down.
“Billy is mostly harmless,” she said in a dismissive tone.
“A sweet idiot. Most of the time.” She exhaled loudly.
“But John. That guy.” Her mouth tightened.
“He’s something else—I’ll tell you that.
He scares me. Scares the kids. Every time he leaves, I pray it’s the last time we see him.
But he always comes back. Sometimes it’s months; sometimes years.
It doesn’t matter. He always comes back. ”
“Do you know anything about him?”
Her eyes scanned me. Thinking.
“You’re the mom of that mute woman on TV, aren’t you? That woman who was found with the rich dead guy in the woods.”
I leaned back and sighed. Of course. My family was famous now, and not in a good way.
I nodded as my gaze dropped to the ground.
“That must be hard,” she said. “For you. And her kids. I mean … your grandkids.”
“Yes. It is. It’s like drowning.” The words spilled out before I could stop them. “Just to wake up underwater again. Like that Bill Murray movie in which the day repeats itself. Only, we just drown. Again and again. Nothing else.”
My eyes burned.
Goddammit, Nicole. Not now.
She nodded.
“If it means anything,” she said, “I don’t think she did it. Your daughter, I mean.”
My head snapped up.
“Do you know anything?” The plea was raw. I was clearly begging.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I couldn’t talk to the officer in front of Billy, but I also don’t really have much. I woke up that night and heard Billy and John arguing in the kitchen.”
Her jaw tightened.
“John showed up out of the blue after more than two years of absence. Borrowed Billy’s truck. I hate it when he does that. It’s never for anything good.”
Her eyes drifted to her son. He’d found a friend and was racing him down the slide, both boys laughing hard. For a moment, warmth softened her face. Then it was gone.
“When I walked into the kitchen that night, John was there. Covered in blood.”
My stomach dropped.
“They stopped talking the second they saw me. Something bad had happened. I could feel it. Billy told me to go back to bed. So I did. I’m scared of John. But Billy … he’s too soft to cut ties with him. Says we need the money.”
“Do you have his phone number? Or address?”
She shook her head.
“Anything else you remember from that night?”
Another shake. Slower this time.
“No. Nothing specific. Think he lives in Florida. Or North Carolina. I’m not sure.
But I know he did something really bad that night.
” Her arms tightened around the baby. “There’s something wrong with him.
He’s the kind of man who could kill someone and then go watch a game at a bar, cracking jokes.
” Her eyes stayed on the playground. On her son.
“I begged Billy to cut ties with him. But he brushes me off.”
My hand reached for her arm.
“I’ll put him behind bars,” I said. The words came out steady, even though I felt so lost. “I swear it. Soon you won’t have to be afraid of Myers anymore.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Small. Fragile. Hope, maybe.
All of this made me so angry. What kind of idiot husband lets a man like Myers anywhere near his kids? And leaves it to his wife to keep them safe?
“I don’t know if this helps,” she said, leaning forward as her voice dropped to a whisper.
“But Billy told me that some developer is paying folks in cash for some construction job in Newburyport right now. John sometimes drives up for these kinds of jobs. They pay more than jobs in the South. And whenever John is in the area, he stays at the Seacoast Inn near Manchester by the Sea. The owner owes him a favor. Keeps a room for him, off the books or something.”
Seacoast Inn.
I knew the place. Rough didn’t even begin to cover it. Hookers. Drugs. Guaranteed bed bugs.
I nodded and rose.
“This helps a lot,” I said. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”
“Do you think you can really get him locked up?”
The fear in her voice was real. She wasn’t just worried; she was terrified.
And she had every reason to be. Unlike Billy, she understood what men like Myers were capable of.
Borrowing a friend’s truck. Killing someone.
Letting an innocent woman rot in jail for it.
Killing Billy someday over a lost bet or a debt or nothing at all was absolutely in the cards.
And if she was unlucky, she and the kids would be in the way when it happened.
“I’ll do everything I can,” I told her.
I pulled a scrap of paper from my pocket, wrote down my number, then added Mom from the playground at the top. Just in case Billy found it.
“Call me if you need anything. Or if Myers shows up. If you feel unsafe in any way, leave and call 911.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
She took the number anyway and tucked it into her coat pocket.
Before turning away, my eyes drifted to her son. He was still laughing. Still chasing another boy down the slide. Carefree.
“Thank you,” I said again.
“Wait,” she said. “John drives a red truck and has a long scar across his forehead. That’s why he wears a baseball cap. To hide it.”
I nodded.
For a moment, we just looked at each other. Two parents. Knowing exactly what needed to be done.
Then I left.
I hurried back to my car, fingers already pulling my phone from my pocket. Nolan needed to hear this.
But reality stopped me cold.
What could Nolan even do? He’d already said the Myers lead was closed. The DA’s instructions. And this conversation, as important as it felt, proved nothing.
My car engine was running before I realized I’d turned the key.
I typed Seacoast Inn into the GPS.
I had no idea what I planned to do there.
Of course, I wasn’t going to confront the owner like this was some Chuck Norris movie.
And Myers most likely wasn’t even there.
But maybe I could ask around a bit. Discreetly.
And, who knew? Maybe life would show me an ounce of mercy for once and Myers would actually be there.
Then I could get a picture of Myers’ license plate.
With his license plate, we’d have something. A real name. An address.
I was already on the road before it hit me how dangerous all of this was. But what choice did I have?
The Seacoast Inn sat right outside Manchester by the Sea.
The GPS read thirty-four minutes.
If I hurried, I could check it out before my visit with Lacey today.