Elias - 35 Years Old #5
I stood there for another few seconds. Trying very hard to determine whether I was witnessing exhaustion…
Or insanity. Either way, she wasn’t getting that suitcase into the trunk alone.
I stepped out of the shadows making myself known by moving the gravel beneath my boots trying not to scare her but she was so focused she didn’t hear it.
“One…”
She picks up the suitcase struggling.
“Two…”
She bends over almost looking like she is going to fall over.
“Three.”
With a grunt, she shoved the suitcase into the trunk, and it landed with a heavy
THUD.
She stood there breathing hard. Why the fuck was she wearing heels?
“Well,” she said.
“That could’ve gone better.”
The night answered with silence.
I cleared my throat, maybe now she would focus on her surroundings now that the suitcase was in the trunk.
She froze.
Slowly, she turned. Our eyes met beneath the flickering streetlight.
And for a single heartbeat… everything else disappeared.
Honey. That was the first thing I noticed, not the exact shade.
Just that her eyes had the shade of honey.
Eyes far brighter than the streetlamp deserved.
Curious and unapologetically expressive.
The kind of eyes that revealed every thought a second before their owner realized it.
Then she smiled, not politely or nervously but fully.
Like she’d already decided I wasn’t dangerous.
It struck me as reckless and strangely disarming.
There was something about that smile and how it reached her eyes.
Most didn’t, most smiles were practiced, measured and calculated.
Hers looked accidental. Like happiness had simply found its way onto her face before permission could be granted.
FUCK ME SHE’S GORGEOUS.
“Need a hand?”
I nodded toward the trunk.
“That sounded heavy.”
“It was.”
Her voice wrapped around the silence with surprising ease. Warm, rich and lightly amused. Like she’d found life entertaining long before everyone else caught on. It wasn’t high or overly soft. It carried the easy confidence of someone entirely comfortable occupying space.
“What is it?” I asked.
Fuck me she smiled again.
“Books.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Books?”
“I’m very committed to literacy.” She kept smiling and walking closer. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“No.”
“You live around here?”
“I do now.”
“Huh.”
I extended my hand and she took it.
“Detective Elias Reed.”
Her fingers slipped from mine. For the briefest moment, something flickered across her face. Not fear but something else. It was gone before I could put a name to it.
She smiled. A little too brightly.
“Well…I’ll let you get back to your books.”
“I should probably do that.”
“You should.”
I gave one final nod before turning toward my cottage.
The gravel crunched beneath my boots with every measured step.
I didn’t look back, not immediately. People had a way of revealing themselves when they thought you weren’t watching.
The night settled around me once more, cool and quiet beneath a sky scattered with stars.
A breeze stirred through the maple trees, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine.
Soft laughter followed by what sounded suspiciously like another conversation. With the garden gnomes. I resisted the urge to turn around.
Barely.
Instead, I unlocked my front door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind me. The house felt even emptier than it had twenty minutes earlier.
Silence. At least… Until I found myself looking through the front window.
She was still outside. Still talking. I couldn’t hear the words anymore.
Only the animated movements of her hands as she pointed accusingly at the dashboard before throwing both arms into the air in dramatic surrender.
I stared for a moment longer than I intended. Then pulled the curtain closed.
Well, that was fucking strange. That was the only word I could settle on. Not dangerous. Not yet.
Just strange.
I’d met all kinds of people over the years.
Liars. Killers. Soldiers. Victims. People who smiled too much.
People who never smiled at all, but I’d never met someone who argued with ceramic lawn ornaments as though she expected them to answer.
Maybe she’d had a long day or she was eccentric. Women were simply built differently.
The suitcase, though… Heavy. Far heavier than a suitcase full of books should’ve been. I frowned, books. She’d answered too quickly. Almost rehearsed it. Most people, when asked what was in a suitcase, laughed. They shrugged. Said, “Clothes,” or “Too much junk.”
She’d answered with certainty.
Books.
As though she’d anticipated the question. Interesting, not suspicious.
Just…
Interesting.
I rubbed a hand across my jaw. The first rule of any investigation was simple. Don’t invent mysteries where there aren’t any. There were already eight missing women in Blackridge. I wasn’t about to add a crazy lady to the list of things keeping me awake.
Still, as I switched off the kitchen light, one thought lingered longer than the others. My first night in town and somehow, I’d already met the crazy lady of the town and the craziest neighbour I’ve ever had.
Something told me Blackridge wasn’t going to be as quiet as it looked.