Death Notice (31 page)

He increased the pressure on the scalpel until it sank into his neck. A thin line of blood leaked from the wound, rolling onto his knuckles and staining his hands. Then, assured that the blade was in deep enough, Arthur McNeil swiped the scalpel across his throat.

The first drops of rain hit Nick’s windshield as soon as he left Philadelphia. By the time he reached Perry Hollow, he found himself in a downpour. The drumming of the rain on the car roof was so loud it drowned out the Beatles song he was listening to: “Here Comes the Sun.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Nick as he drove down Main Street. It was Friday, and what should have been a perfect autumn evening was marred by the storm. The rain pelted the decorations that had been put up for the next day’s Halloween festival. It soaked the orange lights and black bunting over the storefronts. The pumpkins that sat on nearly every doorstep were now slick with it. And the wind that accompanied the storm rustled the pots of mums in front of Big Joe’s and skewed the ragged scarecrows standing outside Awesome Blossoms.

Standing in the deluge was Jasper Fox, trying to keep the scarecrows upright. Seeing Nick, he gave an exasperated wave. Nick returned the gesture. In the past four months, he had become well acquainted with many of Perry Hollow’s residents. Spending as much time as he did there had bred a certain degree of familiarity, which became more apparent after each visit.

In the Shop and Save parking lot, for example, he spotted Carl Bauersox. They sprinted through the rain together, taking shelter beneath the wide awning that hung over the front door.

“Back again?” the deputy asked, talking loudly to be heard over the rain. “You can’t seem to stay away.”

“You could say that,” Nick said.

Since July he had spent every other weekend in Perry Hollow. When people asked about his frequent visits, Nick told them he found the town quaint. That much was true. Perry Hollow’s charms had grown on him. And that’s what he told Carl as they parted ways inside the store. The real reason, however, was simple to understand but difficult to explain: he couldn’t let go of the case. Just not yet. Too much uncertainty surrounded the events of July, and Arthur McNeil’s confession was anything but conclusive.

A search of the funeral home after his suicide turned up nothing unusual. No dead animals stuffed with sawdust. No trace of the two other portable fax machines that had been purchased back in February. Even the formaldehyde was all accounted for, with purchase records provided by Bob McNeil to back it up.

Plus, Art didn’t fit Cassie’s profile. He was far older than most serial killers and much weaker. If he was the Grim Reaper, then he had help. But who was it? His son? Lucas Hatcher? The elusive Meg Parrier, who didn’t seem to exist yet managed to activate fax numbers and rent post office boxes?

Then there were the more practical questions. How did he do it? And why? Those led to dead ends that had frustrated Nick for months.

The killer was smart enough to make sure no footprints, fingerprints, or transfer were left at the crime scene or on his victims. Yet he purposefully placed animals filled with sawdust at the abduction sites. And the Grim Reaper brazenly left the portable fax machines on Henry Goll’s doorstep but had made sure there’d be no way to trace them back to him. He knew
how to embalm corpses, knowing there was no way they could find out when he had picked up that particular skill.

Each trip to Perry Hollow was spent doing as much investigating as he could. He pored over police records, looking for something he might have missed. He went to the locations where the bodies were found, interviewed anyone willing to talk. His collection of newspaper clippings and handwritten notes had grown so large that they now crept across a second wall at the good old Sleepy Hollow Inn.

Nick knew it all made sense—somehow. He just needed to put it together in the right way. And when he did, it would become clear that either Art McNeil had indeed been the killer or that it was the work of someone else. Someone still out there.

That’s why he kept investigating, even after the other members of the task force went their separate ways. Cassie Lieberfarb started her own private practice. Tony Vasquez was enjoying a recent promotion. And Rudy Taylor had joined the FBI, where he was no doubt the butt of many short jokes. Nick was now alone in his quest. And until he had all the answers, he intended to keep visiting Perry Hollow.

Inside the grocery store, Nick did his shopping in a hurry. He had promised to make lasagna for Kat and James. That meant grabbing the rest of his ingredients in a quick sweep of the store. Noodles. Cheese. Ground beef. Sauce.

At the checkout counter, the rain lashed the store’s front windows. Through the streaked glass, Nick saw that the sky had darkened considerably since he first arrived. Zigzags of lightning occasionally cut through the gloom, bringing with it another roar of thunder. One boom was so loud it shook the floor beneath his feet.

“That was a close one,” he said to the cashier, an amiable
woman named Pearl who seemed to be working every Friday evening.

“I hope it goes the hell away,” she said. “This is a summer storm, only it’s not summer. Something weird is happening out there.”

Beyond the window, the gusts grew stronger. Trees in the distance were bent at unnatural angles, and a rogue shopping cart did pirouettes through the parking lot.

“I wouldn’t worry,” the man behind Nick said. “It’s just remnants of that hurricane that hit North Carolina the other day. We should see some wind damage, maybe a little flash flooding.”

Pearl puckered her lips in distaste. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

The man chuckled. “I did the best I could. Right, Lieutenant?”

Lifting his grocery bags, Nick turned to see that it was Caleb Fisher standing behind him. He hadn’t changed a bit—still large, friendly, strong.

“I’m surprised you remember me,” Nick said.

“I’ll never be able to forget. It’s not every day that the state police comes to your door.”

“Probably not.”

Pearl eavesdropped on their conversation as she rang up Caleb’s sole item: a roll of plumber’s tape.

“Expecting a leaky roof?” Nick asked.

“Closing the house up for winter. I’ll be heading back to Philadelphia after the weekend.”

Caleb paid Pearl, wished her a safe drive home, and followed Nick out of the store. Beneath the overhang, both men surveyed the virtual monsoon falling over the parking lot. Every few seconds brought another flash of lightning and a gust of wind, although the shopping cart had finished its ballet and sat overturned next to a utility pole at the parking lot’s entrance.

“I guess I need to make a run for it,” Nick said.

Caleb raised an umbrella. “I’d be happy to share.”

Under the shelter of the umbrella, they trudged to their vehicles, which luckily were parked next to each other. Nick tossed his bags in the trunk and extended a hand.

“Thanks for the assistance,” he said.

A bolt of lightning cut him off. It streaked directly from the sky to the utility pole, striking the transformer on top of it. The contact first created a boom so loud it was like cannon fire. Next came a spray of sparks, shooting out of the transformer.

Nick averted his eyes, looking instead at Caleb Fisher’s pickup truck. When the transformer exploded—as he knew it would—the flash brightened the sky, casting a blinding white glow on the rain-soaked asphalt. It was so bright, it allowed Nick to clearly see inside the truck.

And there, sitting discreetly on the passenger seat, was a pair of gloves, a white handkerchief, and enough rope to tie a man down.

Henry held the phone close to his ear, straining to hear the voice on the other line. Because his office was located directly under the eaves, even the smallest storms sounded loud there. But the downpour currently beating the roof was another story entirely. It was so loud and incessant that Henry felt like he was inside a snare drum.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m having a hard time hearing you.”

Deana tried again, all but shouting into the phone. “I asked you where you were taking me tomorrow night.”

She didn’t normally call Henry at the office. After months of dating, she had learned he preferred to work in peace. When they did talk during work hours, it was because their jobs necessitated it, and even then they kept it mostly businesslike. But
a special occasion was coming up, so Henry didn’t mind the intrusion.

“I haven’t given it much thought. I was thinking the Perry Hollow Diner.”

“That’s perfect,” Deana said, voice thick with sarcasm. “I want nothing more than to celebrate my birthday at a diner.”

In truth, Henry had reserved a table for two at Maison D’Avignon, the French restaurant that had spurred Perry Hollow’s rebirth. After that, the two of them would move to the restaurant’s balcony for their own private view of the Halloween parade. Henry knew she would love the entire night. He just wanted it to be a surprise.

But Deana wasn’t giving up. “Seriously. Where are we going?”

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow night.”

“Six o’clock, right?”

“On the dot. That is, if this rain ever lets up.”

“Even if it doesn’t, we’re still going,” Deana said. “I don’t care if an ark is needed. We’re going out on my birthday.”

That was Henry’s cue to end the call. “I guess I should hang up and check the phone book for ark rentals.”

In reality, he needed to get to Awesome Blossoms and order flowers for the next day before the store closed. Only he wanted that to be a surprise, too. Deana made him appreciate life’s little surprises. After all, she was one of them.

Despite their passionate night together, both of them agreed they needed to take things slowly. At least Henry needed to, and Deana grudgingly went along with it. He still thought of Gia often, although not as much as before, and the nightmare haunted him with less frequency. That, he guessed, was progress.

The only person not making progress was Deana’s brother. Martin Swan still frowned upon the relationship, and he rebuffed every attempt Deana made to include him in their plans.
When Henry bumped into him at the
Gazette,
Martin acted like he was a stranger, not the person dating his sister.

To his credit, Martin never told Deana about Henry’s past. Henry assumed it was for Deana’s sake. But the threat remained, which Henry remembered every time he saw Martin at work.

On their last date, Deana had asked him if their relationship would ever progress into something more permanent. Henry couldn’t answer. He had no expectations for the future. If he had learned anything in the past five years, it was that fate didn’t give a damn about your expectations. Still, he was grateful for the time spent with Deana. And he wanted to thank her for teaching him that, hence the birthday dinner and the flowers.

Checking his watch, Henry saw it was almost six. Awesome Blossoms closed at six thirty, which didn’t give him much time to pick out a bouquet. He had no choice but to leave work early.

Not that any late obituaries would show up in his absence. Business had slowed considerably for McNeil Funeral Home ever since its owner killed himself during a viewing. Bob McNeil was now running the show, with increased help from Deana. But most of Perry Hollow’s bereaved now looked out of town for their mortuary needs. They didn’t want to risk something similarly gruesome happening on their dime.

Just as he was heading for the door, Henry heard the fax machine start up, proving him wrong about a late obituary. At least he knew it wasn’t from Deana. She would have given him a heads-up. That meant it was from one of McNeil’s new rivals, who offered Henry no such courtesy.

Sighing, he plopped back down at his desk and waited for the transmission to finish. When it did, he grabbed the obituary and took a look.

As rain pounded the roof and thunder shook the building, Henry saw a name, a time, a date. And just as he realized what
it all meant, the lights went out in his office, his building, and the entire town of Perry Hollow.

James was trying on his Halloween costume when the power went out. The costume itself wasn’t difficult—just a white sheet with two holes for eyes and one for the mouth—but the trickle of dim light that came from the office window left him struggling.