Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Since becoming a journalist, I’ve learned to use my resources.
I decide to call Peter Kite, the newspaper reporter.
If I explain to him what I’ve discovered, he might agree to a collaboration into the murder of Susan Bright.
I’ve checked him out and he’s still single, has kept a steady job with the same newspaper for years.
Reporters can be animals, but I need to find someone to work with and at least I know this guy.
I call the moment I get home and back into my room.
My parents are at the club so I have a short window of time.
He answers on the second ring and I explain what happened.
“I need your help. What I haven’t told you is this case is personal.
It could be a really great story but right now, my life could be in danger for whatever reason I don’t know. ”
“Don’t dance around the edges, Alani.” Peter lowers his voice. Footsteps echo through the speaker and then a door closes. “Okay, I can speak now. There’s nobody here. How are you involved with all this?”
I pause, suddenly frightened to go on. Can I trust him?
Do I have a choice? I take out my recording device, put my phone on speaker and press the button.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Peter, but I’m recording this conversation.
I want your word that this is off the record.
I don’t want everything I say to you to be on the front page of your newspaper in the morning.
I believe there is more to this story than meets the eye. ”
“You have my word. I will not repeat any of this conversation to anyone or write a story unless you agree in writing for me to send it to my editor.” Peter sounds very serious. “I’m not recording our conversation, so I have no proof of anything we’re saying. You know you can trust me, Alani.”
I take the chance and decide to tell him everything I know, without including anything about the Boswells.
“This is what I know. My mother is Rachel Stackhouse. She was the teenager the felon Clifton Barnes raped and left for dead. She spent most of the pregnancy in a coma and I was born in Tallahassee. Shortly afterward a couple adopted me and I only discovered this the night before I went to college. My adoptive parents withheld all the information from me until recently when they told me my father’s name.
I needed to know my mother’s name, so I went to visit him in prison.
He gave me my mother’s name but when I went looking for her, I discovered she was the ‘Black Valentine’ murder victim.
That was around the time I called you. I went to visit Susan Bright and found she’d been murdered the previous evening.
The problem is two-fold. She told me she had a secret that she needed to tell me about the night I was born.
It must have been something important because I believe someone took her life for it.
I have reason to believe her death has something to do with my father.
When I went to visit him, he told me that I have a brother who is just like him.
” I suck in a deep breath. “I’m worried I might be next. ”
“Are you saying that monster has a son out there murdering people?” A chair squeaks as if he’s just sat down and rolled it across the floor. “What do you know about your brother?”
I sag against the wall. I’m relieved that he’s interested. “His name is Damon and he followed me to the mall.” I explain what happened.
“He’s threatened you already. This isn’t good.” Peter groans. “And you have no idea what Susan was going to tell you?”
I shake my head as if he’s in the room with me.
“No, and I don’t know why she was so secretive about it.
” I think for a beat and realize I need to tell him the entire story and damn the consequences.
“I’m ghostwriting Isabelle Croft’s memoirs.
It’s only by coincidence and because of a hurricane she ended up in the same hospital as Rachel, giving birth to her daughter Mia.
It was the closest medical facility available.
That’s not something to murder someone for, is it? ”
“I wouldn’t imagine so, no.” Peter sighs and taps away at his keyboard.
“I figure we need more information on Barnes’ son.
Although, now I think about it, when you add Barnes’ son’s involvement, and Linc Boswell’s song, into your mother’s murder, the implications are mind-blowing.
If there is a tie to the night you were born, something maybe your mother told Isabelle, and Barnes got wind of it, he’d need to wait until his psycho son was old enough to silence her, wouldn’t he?
Conspiracy enthusiasts would have a field day with that info. ”
I drop into my office chair and stare out of the window to the peaceful garden.
Palm trees and drought-loving plants fill the area.
My attention moves to the endless blue sky and the white caps dancing across the ocean in the distance.
Willow has built a tranquil place over many years but right now, it does nothing to soothe my nerves.
The last thing I want is to involve the Boswells.
It’s like no matter what I do, just mentioning Isabelle has lit the fuse.
I run a hand down my face to wipe the beads of sweat over my forehead.
“I don’t want to go there. I’ve spoken at length with Linc and I know at the time, he was across the country on tour.
He had a concert that night and even mentioned his family back in Florida with a hurricane bearing down on them.
It’s all on video. Anyone who tries to incriminate him is an idiot. ”
“Okay.” Peter laughs. “That’s the reporter in me—I’m sorry. Look, leave it with me. I have a ton of contacts and I’ll see if I can get info on Barnes’ son. Then we can take it from there.” He lowers his voice. “I’m glad you reached out, Alani. You can trust me. I have your back.”
Relief floods over me, at last someone on my side. “Thanks.” I hold the phone in my hand, staring at it for some time after he disconnects.
I open my laptop and research psychopathic killers again.
I need to know more about what makes them tick.
I dig deep, reading as much information as possible.
They have no empathy; it’s impossible to reason with them if they’re trying to murder you.
They don’t need a reason to kill but usually blame the victim or sometimes they’re just living out a fantasy.
I try to apply this information to the death of my mother and Susan.
It’s possible my brother is killing for Barnes.
I believe Barnes had my mom murdered for testifying against him.
Maybe Rachel was afraid after she testified against Barnes and she told Susan a secret?
What if Barnes’ son was with him when he raped her?
Susceptible minds can be twisted seeing something like that and Barnes is so evil anything is possible.
My mind is shifting in all directions as I read on.
Psychopaths can manipulate people; maybe that’s what he’s doing with his son?
I try and relate these characteristics with my own.
I get angry and I hate my parents for deceiving me and at the time I wanted to kill them but I didn’t—did I?
Another thing, psychopaths don’t always become killers.
It takes a trigger to make them kill—if they have a tendency to kill.
If my brother was a party to Barnes’ killing spree as a child maybe that triggered him?
I try and pull my thoughts together. How would my brother know Rachel was in that motel that night?
If my mom was a sex worker, maybe he’d been stalking her for a time and then hired her.
That would be a way of getting her alone.
My thoughts shift again. Maybe it wasn’t him at all and he just alluded to the murder to frighten me.
There’s a piece missing from the puzzle—who else could possibly know what happened the night Rachel gave birth to me?
The hospital nurses, the doctor—if there was a doctor; it was a small clinic run by a very small staff and still is today.
I stare at my open book of notes on Isabelle’s memoirs.
My familiar handwriting spills across the pages and I swallow hard, wondering how far Isabelle’s involvement goes in Rachel’s murder.
She is a narcissist and only cares about herself and her image.
If Rachel discovered something that would ruin Isabelle’s career but kept quiet until she fell on hard times and then tried to blackmail her, would Isabelle have her murdered?
So many questions. How did she know about my Aunt Susan?
A cold chill runs down my spine. I stare at my bedroom door and recall the shadow in the hallway—Linc.