8. Kennedy #2
I ended the call and stared at the phone for a moment. The silence in my little house felt heavier than before, like the air had thickened somehow, settling over everything like a dark cloud.
I pulled on a jacket, grabbed my keys, and headed for the front door. It was time to get groceries. Time to pretend, for a few minutes at least, that the world hadn’t cracked open beneath my feet.
As I stepped outside, I waved at the patrol car parked on the street. One of the officers rolled his window down. “Afternoon, Kennedy,” he said. “Heading out?”
“Yeah, just to the store,” I replied. “I thought I should come and let you know first.”
“Thanks. Just make sure you follow the safety guidelines we gave you. Be aware of your surroundings, don’t take any weird detours, and if anything feels off, you call us immediately.”
“Got it.”
I turned and stepped into my garage. The patrol car stayed where it was as I backed my car out onto the street, its presence both comforting and unnerving.
The grocery store was busy and filled with the regular hum of life: a couple arguing over cereal brands, teenagers loitering by the refrigerated drinks, a toddler having a full-blown meltdown in aisle four.
The ordinariness of it all made me feel weirdly safe despite everything else that was going on in this city right now.
Back in the parking lot, I loaded the bags into my car.
The sun was just beginning its slow descent behind the skyline, and as I slammed the trunk shut, my stomach growled, loud and insistent.
I was planning to make a chicken traybake for dinner when I returned home, but a tempting sight across the street was making me strongly reconsider.
A warm, golden glow spilled from the windows of the Driftwood, a popular restaurant and pub on the Corwin Bay waterfront.
The place was packed, with groups spilling out onto the boardwalk as servers weaved around tables holding trays with burgers, beers, and baskets of fries.
The scent of the delicious fried food wafted toward me on the breeze, and my stomach clenched in response.
I hesitated for only a second.
It was a crowded venue right on the main strip, and I could see a boardwalk security guard’s car stationed at the far end of the street.
It felt safe. As safe as anywhere could feel these days.
And honestly? I needed a little comfort.
A small reward for surviving the last few days without falling apart.
Decision made, I locked the car and crossed the street, heading toward the golden glow and the promise of the best loaded fries in the city.
Inside, the Driftwood buzzed with low laughter, clinking glasses, and the distant rumble of music vibrating through the old wooden floorboards.
I stepped up to the bar to place my order: one basket of loaded fries and a soda.
While I waited, I scanned the room for a free table, but they were all occupied.
Except one.
Right near the back window, overlooking the boardwalk and harbor, was a small two-top. A familiar face looked back at me from the table directly next to it.
“Kennedy?” Dr. King rose to his feet, lifting one hand in a wave. He stepped over to me, seemingly not noticing the lingering gazes from the women at another nearby table. “Fancy seeing you here!”
“Hi, Dr. King,” I said, flashing him a polite smile. “Nice to see you.”
He returned my smile. Not the overly gentle therapist smile I was used to, but something a little more real. “You’re not stalking me, are you?” he said, tone teasing. “I only just read your email about twenty minutes ago, and now suddenly you’re right in front of me.”
I laughed. “I swear this is purely coincidental. The only thing I’m stalking right now is a basket of loaded fries.”
“I always order that when I’m in here too,” he said, grinning. “Oh, and by the way, you can just call me Jacob. We’re not in the office anymore.”
He glanced around the busy restaurant. Then he turned and gestured to the free table before returning his gaze to me.
“Listen, if you want to eat alone, I totally get it. But seeing as that’s the only free table left, and it’s right next to mine…
” His smile turned sheepish. “I promise: no therapy talk. Not unless you want to. We can just talk about the game. Or the weather. Like two total strangers who’ve met up for a first date. ”
I raised a brow.
“A platonic date,” he added. “Obviously.”
I bit back a smile. “Well, I guess it would be super awkward if I took the free table and sat two feet away from you all evening. So… sure, why not?”
I slid into the chair across from him just as a server dropped off my order. The basket was piled high with golden fries smothered in carbonara sauce, melted cheese, bacon bits, and onions, and for a few blissful minutes, I didn’t think about serial killers or severed ears. I just ate and chatted.
The conversation with Jacob was surprisingly easy, and much lighter than I expected. He told me about the local trivia league he’d recently joined with a group of fellow therapists, and I told him how Freya and I used to dominate our shared family game nights.
About forty-five minutes into our ‘date’, he eyeballed my now-empty basket. He still hadn’t seemed to notice that there were at least five women in his vicinity who were eyeballing him.
“So, I know we already demolished one set of fries each, but I don’t think it was quite enough for me,” he said. “How about you?”
I hesitated. “Honestly? No. I’m still a little hungry.”
“It’s that sauce. I just can’t get enough,” he said, grinning. “Should I get another to share? Or one each?”
“One to share should be enough, I think.”
“All right.” He rose from his seat. “Be back in a minute.”
He ended up being gone for almost twenty minutes. When he finally returned, he grimaced over at the other side of the restaurant.
“Sorry I took so long. I went to the bathroom after I ordered, and the line was twenty people deep.” He slid back into his seat. “I was half-convinced I’d come back and find you gone.”
“I considered it,” I said with a teasing smile, pointing to the fresh fries between us. “But then these showed up.”
He chuckled, but the sound faded as his eyes drifted past me. Then his expression darkened.
I turned to follow his gaze. The TV mounted near the bar had switched from a hockey game to a news segment. Carver Killer Returns: Police Confirm New Victim .
I let out a quiet sigh and turned back to face Jacob. “Guess we should talk about the giant elephant in the room, huh?”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s fine.” I waved a hand. “I don’t mind.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “Well… I have to admit, I’ve been curious about what’s going to happen with your podcast now that the Carver is officially back.”
“Me too,” I said, raising a brow. “We’re going to continue it, but things are a bit messy right now.”
“How come?”
“Well, for one, the show’s called After the Carver , but he’s back now, so we’re no longer in the ‘after’, are we?” I said. “And that’s all anyone wants to hear about right now. The return. The investigation. The body.”
He nodded. “Right.”
“On top of that, the next two episodes we were supposed to record this week… they’re scrapped. Both of our guests canceled. They’re afraid the Carver might target them if he hears them speaking about him.”
“Understandable, but that’s rough for you and Freya,” Jacob said, tilting his head. “Who were the guests? If you don’t mind sharing.”
“One was Heather Voss’s sister.”
“Oh, Marilyn something, right? I think I saw an interview with her on TV last year.”
I nodded. “That’s right. Marilyn Feuer. She’s done a lot of media stuff over the years, trying to keep the case in the public eye. She’s never stopped fighting for Heather.”
“Poor woman,” Jacob murmured, shaking his head.
I nodded again, letting out a sigh. “The other guest was a woman named Hannah Wilson. She’s the niece of Elijah Dougherty,” I said.
“Anyway, she reached out last week to say how much she appreciated that we didn’t trash her uncle like so many other true crime shows have.
She was really eager to talk to us about him then…
but now she’s backed out. Like I said, she was scared, and apparently her husband was worried too. ”
Jacob’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t Elijah Dougherty raise his brother’s other two children as well?”
“Yep, another niece and a nephew. Cameron and Kai.”
“Could you contact them? See if either of them are willing to do an interview now that Hannah’s dropped out?”
I nodded. “Freya thought of that, but we haven’t been able to find contact details for them,” I said. “No socials or anything like that. Looks like they both moved interstate a while ago and then dropped off the radar.”
“I get that. I’m not really much of a social media guy myself.”
“I get it too. Especially after what they went through with their uncle being accused like that,” I said. I sighed and went on. “But… it just sucks. We were really excited to have Hannah on the show. Marilyn too. And now—” I mimed an explosion. “Everything’s up in the air.”
“Yeah, it’s disappointing. But I’m sure you and Freya will think of something.”
“Actually…” I sat up straighter. “I just remembered something. Freya wanted me to ask if you’d be willing to come on the show to talk to us about some psychology-related stuff.
But I totally understand if you aren’t interested in it, given everything that’s happened with the case over the last few days. ”
Jacob didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “The Carver might have everyone else in this city in a chokehold, but not me. I’m not scared of him. At all.”
There was something sharp in his voice when he said it. Not cocky, but personal. Like he had a score to settle.