Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
She shook her head. Her shoulders were stiff, same as her neck. Were those tears in her eyes? Why was she so tense? It had been a little under a year since Grayson died. Everyone grieved on their own timelines, but she seemed to still be in the early stages of it.
“Amoura, it’s okay, you can talk to me.” I put on my therapist hat, sitting back and making myself as unimposing as I possibly could. I wanted to give her the space to talk because it looked like she really needed to.
She went back to chewing her nails before looking at me and letting out a heavy breath. She stood, holding her elbow tight against her body, her eyes looking everywhere but at me. For a moment, I thought that was all I would get, but she sat back down again, apologizing before explaining. “I’m just going through a hard time right now, and, well, it’s my husband. Ex-husband. And you just, you look like him. That’s all.”
Oh. That wasn’t where I thought this would go. It was never about Grayson at all.
“That’s unfortunate, I’m sorry,” I said, unsure of how else to handle this. It really was just an unfortunate chance that I’d walk in looking just like the man who had walked out. But I definitely wasn’t going to let that be what derailed this, not when I felt like I was finally getting somewhere.
“But your brother, Amoura, did he ever mention dating someone else?”
She looked up at the ceiling, a dark yellow spot stained by an ancient leak. “He did say he was going to someone’s place the day he went missing. He joked it was a little creepy over text, that the roof needed some serious work. We were supposed to go play tennis that day, but he canceled last minute.”
I didn’t care about how imposing or not I looked; I sat up straight and honed in on what Amoura was saying. It felt like she had been digging in the dirt and her shovel just struck gold, a loud clang sounding off to start the celebrations.
“Did he say where this house was?” I asked. It must be where the Midnight Chemist took his victims. They were never found in the same spot, but it was always in either their own homes or random Airbnb. Those places were always bare of any forensic evidence, which would be difficult to do if he were actually murdering his victims in those locations.
That led me to believe he was taking them somewhere first—somewhere secluded—where he could drug and kill them once the clock struck midnight. He’d then take them to his “stage” and set them up, where he knew they’d be found days, if not hours, later.
Grayson may have gone to that house.
“I don’t know,” Amoura said.
“Any address, any identifier? A town, even?”
“No, I can’t remember him ever mentioning exactly where. Just that the place had a busted-up red roof. He mentioned it because he said it looked like the one we used to live under as kids. I told him to get the hell out. He should have listened to me.” A somber sigh left her lips.
“Those photos are of our old family house, actually. Grayson took them. He was an amazing photographer, really.”
I had to agree. I looked over to the framed black-and-white shots of their childhood home. I thought they were professional prints picked up at a museum, but hearing they were done by Grayson made me feel emotional, and I admired the way the photo was composed to show half of the home, broken but clean angles in the tilted roof and the dents in the wall, while the other half showed a large lake that glimmered and glowed even through the monochromatic pallet.
To die in a house that reminded him of home must have been another horrific layer to his last few hours.
That’s when it hit me. Maybe he wanted to recreate that shot. “Do you still have his phone or laptop? I know it’s been a little while, but—”
“I do,” she said. “I have his laptop. Probably needs a charge, but I’m sure it still works. The cops looked through it already, but, yeah, maybe you might find something else. Want me to grab it for you?”
“Yes, please,” I said, standing up from the couch. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. The connection between us was now established, and I felt like I got a good few pieces of information that could lead me somewhere.
Her two cats, Lacy and Macy, according to the tags hanging on their pink and black collars, both stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the windowsill, their tails flicking back and for, their bright green eyes staring daggers in my direction. They probably sensed I was a dog guy.
It didn’t take long for Amoura to come back with laptop in hand. “Here you go. I couldn’t find the charger, but you can probably order one online.”