Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Audrey stepped into the kitchen, and John sent a warm smile her way. “Good morning.” She smiled in return. “Morning.” From his place at the table, he nodded toward the coffee pot on the counter. “It’s fresh. I just made it about half an hour ago.”
“Great, thank you,” she said gratefully as she pulled a mug down from the cupboard.
She stood at the counter, sipping the brew and waiting for the caffeine to send its familiar jolt of awareness through her veins.
Feeling a little more awake, she sauntered to the table and took a seat across from John.
The surface was scattered with various sections of newspaper, and he shoved them in her direction.
“I’m done with those if you want them.”
“Thanks,” she said. She wasn’t much of a newspaper reader, so instead, she turned her gaze out the sliding door to the verdant view of the backyard.
With the rain that had fallen yesterday, she hadn’t gotten a chance to go outside.
The backyard was well-manicured, filled with flowering shrubs and bushes, and a picturesque gazebo sat in the middle, practically calling to her.
Maybe she’d try to dig up a book and go outside to read for a while.
It had been a long time since she had more than just a few moments to herself.
She set her cup on the table, and her gaze slid over the rim to the headline on one of the sections of newspaper.
The word “remains” caught her attention, and she turned the paper around to read the article.
According to the report, the second victim had now been identified as a 56-year-old male resident of a neighboring suburb.
“Did you see this?” she tapped the newspaper, and John glanced up.
“I did. What a shame.”
She pressed her lips together, thinking of the day she’d found Mr. Tripp in the cornfield just a few weeks ago.
She wondered if the police had any leads yet and if this case was related.
The article didn’t say as much, but she wasn’t surprised by that.
No need to spark unnecessary panic if they didn’t absolutely have to.
She glanced at the man’s name again, committing it to memory: Merrill Keane.
She shook her head and pushed the newspaper away. “I hate reading the news. It’s so depressing all the time.”
He nodded in commiseration. “There is so much evil in the world.”
Eager to change the topic, she focused on John. “How have you been feeling?”
He tipped his head from side to side. “Getting old, Doc. You know how it is.”
She couldn’t tell if he was brushing her off or not. She studied him. “Have you been taking it easy?”
John huffed a laugh and set down the newspaper as he regarded her. “Are you kidding? My son won’t let me do more than lift a plate around here, like he thinks it’s going to break me.”
She offered a soft smile as she sat back in her seat. “That’s only because he cares about you. We both do.”
His dark, intelligent eyes met hers. “I appreciate that. It’s been nice having you around. I think you’re good for my boy. He’s used to being in charge all the time. It’s nice to see someone give him a run for his money. He’s always been a stubborn one.”
She barely managed to hold back a laugh. From what she’d witnessed over the past few days with the Cross men, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. “We’ll see what happens,” she said smoothly.
She wasn’t ready to admit the possibility of a relationship with Carter to herself, let alone anyone else. The last thing she wanted to do was get John’s hopes up. She genuinely liked the man, and she didn’t want him to be disappointed if things didn’t work out.
“What’s your plan for the day?”
He lifted an eyebrow at her change of subject but went along with it anyway. “Same as yesterday and the day before. I’ll probably watch some TV and relax.”
“I think that sounds like a good idea, actually,” she said. “I was thinking about doing some reading myself.”
They went their separate ways, and she found herself in the cute little gazebo half an hour later.
She’d pilfered a thriller novel from Carter’s office, but fifteen pages in, it still hadn’t grabbed her attention.
It wasn’t the author’s fault; her attention kept drifting back to the newspaper article she’d read that morning.
Merrill Keane. She didn’t know what it was that drove her, but she found she needed to know about the man. Maybe it was a sense of remorse at his loss, or guilt that they hadn’t been able to stop his murder. She closed the book and then went inside.
Carter’s downstairs office had been converted into the spare bedroom for John, so Carter had moved his computer and important files upstairs to his bedroom. He’d given her carte blanche to use whatever she wanted, and she picked up the laptop from his nightstand, confident that he wouldn’t care.
She googled the man’s name and sifted through several newspaper article accounts of what they supposed had happened. The exact cause of death was not disclosed, though the police suspected homicide.
Apparently badly decomposed, his body had been found near Oak Creek—less than two miles from Hartwell Road where she’d found Mr. Tripp, and a little over a mile from where the third body had been recovered.
On a map, they made a neat little triangle right around the small creek that coursed through the landscape.
Clicking out of the Miami Repository’s webpage, she went back to the main search bar.
Keane had several social media accounts, and curiosity prompted her to open them.
In life, it seemed like Keane had enjoyed a good laugh.
His page was filled with jokes and memes, and she couldn’t help but chuckle aloud as she scrolled down.
A photo at the bottom caught her attention, and she clicked on it to get a better look.
Four men in fatigues smiled at the camera, and despite the grainy, blurry photo, she immediately recognized Keane’s face.
Taken probably decades ago, he looked incredibly young and happy, his arm slung around another soldier’s shoulders.
She sat back in the chair, her eyes riveted to the photo. What reason would anyone have to kill Keane, or Tripp for that matter? Both had been military, but different branches. From what she gathered, they lived in different parts of the city, nearly thirty miles from each other.
She felt like she was missing something, but she wasn’t quite sure what.
Keane and Tripp didn’t look the same, but that didn’t really mean anything.
She didn’t know anything about modus operandi or victimology except what she’d learned in a criminal justice class she’d taken years ago.
She knew it wasn’t her job to figure out who killed them—that was for the police—but she couldn’t help the curiosity driving her.
She wanted it to make sense, and right now, there were so many unanswered questions. Could they have been saved, somehow?
With a sigh, she closed out of the browser and shut the laptop.
A dull ache radiated from her shoulder, but the wound felt significantly better than it had the past couple of days.
Pushing out of her chair, she went in search of some ibuprofen to take the edge off.
Within a few days, she figured she’d be almost back to normal, and she couldn’t wait to get back to work.
She hated feeling useless and cooped up.
She wasn’t even supposed to run, so she decided to take a walk around the subdivision.
It was sunny but scorching hot, and she returned to Carter’s house, exhausted. Just as she was jumping into the shower, a text lit up her phone.
Carter: I have another appointment after work, so I’ll be home late.
Me: That’s fine.
Carter: I hate leaving you there all alone.
Me: No worries. I’ll be fine with your dad.
Carter: You feeling better?
Me: Just took some ibuprofen, but it’s much better.
Carter: Good. I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you when I get home.
She tossed her phone on the bed. It looked like it was going to be another long night alone. She should be grateful that he was giving her space, but she kind of missed his presence. Yeah, he was overbearing, but he was also handsome and funny and… sweet.
She didn’t want to be falling for this man, but she was terrified that the way her heart plummeted in her chest meant exactly that.