Chapter 12
Alex took me to Dorada for dinner, where we sat at a table by the water and enjoyed some great food. My mind wasn’t on the conversation we were having. It kept drifting to Lawrence Gearheart.
“Earth to Dahlia,” Alex snapped his fingers.
“What?” I snapped out of my thoughts.
“You looked like you were a million miles away. Am I that boring?” A smirk crossed his lips.
“Don’t be silly.” I laughed. “I was just thinking about the painting I bought today at the gallery, and you’re going to help me hang it when we get back to my house.” I smiled.
“Game on. I happen to be a master at hanging artwork.”
“Oh really?” My brow arched.
“Well, maybe not a master, but I can hang art. I’d be happy to help.” He grinned.
“By the way. I keep meaning to ask you. Am I ever going to meet your parents? They’ve been on their trip for months.”
“Funny you should ask that. My mother called me today. They bought a house in Hilton Head and are moving there permanently.”
“Really? But they have to come back here to pack up their house, right?”
“My parents are so wealthy, they hire people to do that for them. She told me they already arranged for a company to pack up the house and ship everything to them. They’re going to keep the house but rent it out.
She was thinking of turning it into an Airbnb for tourists.
But don’t worry. We’ll fly to Hilton Head when they get settled and visit. She’s dying to meet you.”
“What about FaceTime?” I asked.
“My mother despises FaceTime. She said it makes her look too old.”
I laughed. “Seriously?”
“Yep. My parents are very old-fashioned. They don’t believe in today’s technology or any form of social media.”
Alex paid the check, and we headed back to my place. I walked over to the painting leaning against the wall and unwrapped it.
“Yikes. That’s the painting you bought?” Alex asked.
“Yes. You don’t like it?”
“It’s kind of creepy, Dahlia.”
He tucked his hands into his pants pockets. “But yet, I can’t stop staring at it.”
“Ha!” I pointed at him. “That’s the beauty of this painting. It draws you in, and you can’t explain why.”
Alex and I hung the painting on the far wall in the living room. It felt good to have it back. Alex hooked his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “It’s still creepy.”
“Stop it.” I laughed.
“You’re thinking about him again.”
“I know.” I gripped the sink and lowered my head.
“You’ve already decided.”
I slowly lifted my head, and my eyes met hers in the mirror. Black skirt, cream blouse, wire-rimmed glasses, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, and an old book clutched to her chest. The Librarian.
“He needs to be punished for his sins,” I said.
“Perhaps.”
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“To remind you of consequences.”
“I’m well aware of consequences.” I breathed out a laugh.
“Do you remember New York?” Her voice was calm and composed.
“Of course. I remember everything.”
“You believe your greatest mistake was what happened in New York.”
“It wasn’t.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.
“It will be the next choice you make,” she said.
“What do you mean?” My brows furrowed.
“Detective Walker is looking for patterns. That is why she came to Key West after what you did to Kevin. And every choice you make now gives her another question to ask.”
“With the information I know, I just can’t stand by and do nothing. I can’t ignore men like him.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“So, you’re saying if I proceed, I’ll make a mistake?”
“You can’t help the ritual you created. It’s a necessity for you.
But if you proceed with the same MO, Detective Walker will be back, and she will eventually connect the dots.
Twenty-two is your number. It’s your compulsion.
You can’t help yourself, and I understand that. Use twenty-two in a different way.”
Suddenly, she was gone, and only my reflection stood in the mirror.
“Dahlia?” Alex knocked on the bathroom door.
“Come in,” I said, turning on the water.
“Did I hear you talking to someone in here?” he asked.
“No. Who would I be talking to?”
“I swore I heard you talking.”
“Are you okay, Alex?” I walked over and placed the back of my hand on his forehead.
“I’m fine. Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you’re hearing things that aren’t there.”
A smile perched on his lips as his hands gripped my hips. “Maybe I’m going crazy.”
“I think you are.”
“Crazy in love with you.” His lips met mine.
After we had breakfast, Alex left for the university. Today was my day off, and I had a lot to do. I grabbed my laptop, brought it to the kitchen table, and sat down.
I typed Lawrence Gearheart, Key West, into the search bar. Within seconds, I was introduced to him. A polished headshot, perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair, and a navy tailored suit. He had the type of smile that would make anyone trust him.
Lawrence Gearheart, CEO of Stonewall Financial Group.
I pulled up an article from six months ago.
Lawrence and his wife, Bethanny, host the annual Children’s Hope Foundation Gala at The Casa Marina.
I clicked on the ‘image’ tab and the page filled with photos. Charity dinners. Fundraisers. Holiday parties. Summer parties. To everyone outside their home, they seemed like the perfect couple. But inside, Lawrence Gearheart held a deep secret.
I picked up my coffee cup and tipped it to my lips as my gaze fixed on the smiling man on the screen.
A successful businessman. A generous philanthropist. The facade of a devoted husband.
The headlines only told the story people wanted to read.
This man was beloved by the community. If they only knew what a cheating scumbag he was.
I had to formulate a plan. The Librarian was right. If I weren’t careful, Detective Walker would blow back into town. I couldn’t risk it. The number twenty-two was embedded inside me. It had to be twenty-two. Stab wounds? Not this time.
“Search the Last Chapter Killer,” a voice whispered from behind. “Study it. Learn from it.”
I placed my fingers on the keyboard and typed in the search bar: The Last Chapter Killer.
Missouri. Ohio. New York. Michigan. Arizona. And now Florida. Multiple states. Multiple victims. All strangled first, carefully posed, and then carved into their abdomens: This is her last chapter.
His women weren’t cheaters. They were chosen for some other reason.
There was no pattern to the women as far as I could tell.
They didn’t all resemble each other. Not the same hair color, eye color, height, or weight.
He was good. So good that it made my skin crawl.
I was here in Key West committing murders, and so was he.
I wasn’t entirely sure if The Last Chapter Killer was a man, but I was pretty sure.
“He wants to be known,” I heard the whisper again. “He worked hard to earn his title. He doesn’t want to be forgotten. He wants to make history and remembrance a part of his life.”
I didn’t want any of that. The Last Chapter Killer and I were different. I wanted my victims to pay for their sins. He wanted to rewrite his victims’ lives and give them a final chapter. It all became clear now, and I knew what I had to do.