“You’re right, Kyle. But sometimes it itches so much it’s hard not to.”
“Life is all about self discipline, Gwen.”
She nodded subserviently.
“So where did you get poison ivy?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. “Um … I’m really not sure. I must have gone somewhere I shouldn’t have.” She fixated on the oozing red bubbles spread across her forearm.
“I guess there are always consequences for going where we shouldn’t go.”
Gwen needed to regain control of the conversation. She reached into her bag and pulled out her camera. She focused it on Jones, and took a photo of him as he sipped his drink.
“What are you doing?” he asked with annoyance.
“I think I’m going to do a story on you for the
Gazette
. Rockfield’s superhero policeman relaxing on vacation!”
His face angered. “I thought you came here to be with me. But obviously you only care about your career.”
“All I want to do is get to know the real you—as would Rockfield. You never talk about your past … your family … your hopes and dreams. I’m your girlfriend, but you treat me like a reporter,” she said loud enough to purposefully make a scene. She hoped the patrons staring in their direction would remember this moment when she went missing.
Jones got his emotions under control. “I’m sorry, Gwen. It just takes me a long time to trust someone.”
“I’m sorry too. I guess the journalist in me gets the best of me sometimes. I know it can be a little overbearing.”
The waiter arrived with their food, interrupting the tense moment. They ate in silence, allowing Gwen to gather her thoughts. Since he’d brought up the topic of trust, she thought she would continue with the theme.
“You know how you said you don’t trust people easily, Kyle?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t either … so I’ve been debating whether I should tell you what I know about a certain subject. Can I trust you, Kyle?”
He perked up. “Of course, Gwen … of course.”
“Okay,” she said, acting as if she were in the midst of an internal debate. “I got a call from a source the other day. The Casey Leeds case from a few years ago … no I shouldn’t tell you … I’m sorry.”
Jones looked to be on the verge of springing out of his seat. “No, please tell me, Gwen. Maybe I can help.”
She feigned hesitance. “Okay, but this is only between us … promise?”
“Of course.”
“My sources have indicated that Leeds was set up by a member of your department.”
His face turned pale as a ghost. He took several sips of iced tea, which seemed to help him recover. “Go on, who did they say was involved?”
“No, I shouldn’t. I’ve already told you too much.”
“Gwen, if there’s a dirty cop on the force I have a right to know about it. I work with these people. My life could be in danger. Leeds took me hostage—I’m involved, whether I want to be or not.”
She paused to let him twist in the wind some more, before adding, “My source claimed it was Betsy O’Rourke.” She flashed a look of buyer’s remorse. “Are you sure this will remain just between us? At least until I have enough to go forward with it.”
“You have my word,” he said, looking relieved. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Gwen’s missing diamond earring. “If I wasn’t trustworthy I’d have already sold this on eBay.”
She looked stunned. “Where did you get that?”
“It must have fallen off in my car on our way to the restaurant the other night.”
Gwen looked at the earring and then at Jones. It was like trying to read a book with no words. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“Thank you, I do trust you,” she said, no longer feeling in control.
Chapter 51
Gwen spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around the island under a splendid, sun-filled sky with her pretend, murderer boyfriend. Not exactly every girl’s dream. When he would grab onto her hand she felt chills down her spine, and not the romantic kind.
They journeyed in and out of the many specialty shops, galleries, and historic island cottages that surrounded Silver Lake. Gwen stopped to take numerous photographs of the sailboats that were scattered throughout the protected cove.
They eventually reached the less populated northern beaches. The day eased into night, dropping the temperatures. Gwen suddenly felt very alone, and very vulnerable.
Jones stopped in his tracks, surprising her. He pointed at a typical beach house, and announced, “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“My house. Come on in, I want to show it to you.”
She held back, and he noticed. “What’s wrong?”
“I just think it’s strange that you’ve never invited me into your house in Rockfield, but now you want to show me inside your beach home.”
“Like I said, it takes me awhile to let someone in. In this case, literally,” he said with a disarming smile.
She knew when she agreed to come, at some point she’d have to be alone with him in his house. Still, it reminded her of that moment in every horror movie where you’re pleading with the character not to enter the house with the killer.
“We’ll just be a few minutes so that we can change to go sailing—the lake is beautiful at night, and really it wouldn’t be proper to change on the beach,” he added.
The fact that the lake was a much smarter place to kill her, rather than in the house, strangely made her feel better about entering. The sailing was another story—she pondered how dark it would be at night on the water.
An easy place to get rid of a body
. But she’d come this far and couldn’t turn back now.
“That sounds great, Kyle,” she mustered up enthusiasm as she followed him toward the weathered beach house. They walked underneath the stilts that held the place up, into a garage area. She noticed a red pickup truck already hooked to a small sailboat.
They climbed a rickety wooden staircase, arriving at a small deck with peeling green paint, and entered through a sliding glass door. Jones took off his docksiders to avoid tracking sand into the house. Gwen followed his lead and removed her sandals. The first thing she noticed was a similar sterility as inside his Rockfield home.
Jones played gracious host, offering a glass of water, which she declined, and then showed her to the bathroom, as she requested. He clicked on a radio and a twangy Tim McGraw song filled the house.
Gwen tossed water on her face and stared into the mirror.
C’mon, Gwen, you can do this
, she muttered. Like the Little Engine that Could (get herself killed), she found the resolve. She strolled back into the small living room and plopped down on the couch. In front of her on a coffee table sat a newspaper called the
Ocracoker
. She noticed the date on the paper was from last summer.
She skimmed the front-page story entitled:
Kingsbury Suspect Cleared
. The suspect was a local police officer named Ron Culver, who was in charge of providing a secretive security escort for the Kingsburys that night. Gwen’s skim turned disinterested and she gently set the paper back on the coffee table.
Jones noticed her reading the old paper, and explained, “That was from the last time I was here. I like to leave a paper or magazine so it feels more lived-in when I return.”
Gwen nodded, remembering when Stephen first moved out of their apartment, and she used to leave the television on so it seemed like someone was home when she returned from work.
“I can’t believe they haven’t solved this case yet. What’s it been, three months?” she said, pointing at the paper.
“It took place on the Fourth of July. Biggest fireworks these parts have ever seen.”
“How close to here did it occur?”
“It happened on the Oregon Inlet Bridge. About twenty miles north of Hatteras, which is where people pick up the ferry to come to Ocracoke.”
Gwen forced a smile. “I guess they need Officer Kyle Jones to come down here to solve it for them.”
He didn’t appear to be listening. He was staring intently at his watch, as if time was suddenly critical. “We better hurry, Gwen. You can change in that room over there.”
His urgency struck her as strange. The whole day he wouldn’t let her get an arm’s length from him, yet now he showed an eagerness to get rid of her. She knew that whatever the reason, the only way she would find answers would be to play along until he was in a more vulnerable and weakened state. She stood with her overnight bag, which contained the tools she hoped would do the weakening, and entered the bedroom.
She pulled a fuchsia-colored string bikini out of her bag, thinking that it was more string than bikini. All was fair in love and war, and this certainly wasn’t the former.
Chapter 52
When he stepped into the master bedroom he became Batman. He overloaded with anticipation and began to sweat profusely. He opened a window and the breeze cooled him.
He was convinced that Gwen had no idea that he was aware of her betrayal when he found her earring in his yard, in a patch of poison ivy.
Leave me a note? Do I seem that stupid, Gwen?
But it was to his advantage to keep it that way. He also knew he had a weak spot for her that he’d never had for anyone before. He would have to fight off the temptation she provided. It would be his toughest test in completing his mission.
He walked into the closet and parted the clothing. His necklace began to vibrate—his warning system working perfectly.
Once he completed the code for the combination lock, he opened the heavy door and strutted into the musty room. He flipped a light switch and the room filled with dim light. He took a plastic, three-ring binder from a small bookcase. As he held the sacred book, his hands began to shake. He waited for the shaking to cease, and then added his new entries into the binder, which told the cautionary tale of Noah Warner.
He understood that he’d be hailed as a hero in future years, which was why it was so important to chronicle his journey. But until that day of acceptance, he faced the reality of having to do his work in the dark, just as Batman had.
He moved to the pictures on the wall, once again feeling the heavy burden of responsibility. He removed the cap of this black pen and proceeded to mark a large
X
over the photograph of Noah Warner. He did it in slow motion to prolong the ecstasy.
He only had a brief moment to savor the accomplishment. There was so much more work to be done, and he immediately focused on his next mission. It would be less than two weeks from today, on October 10.
He knelt down in ritualistic fashion, as he always did during the “Crossing Off Ceremony.” He thought of the Spargo family and wished they could have shared this moment with him.
A knock on the bedroom door stunned him back to reality, followed by the sound of Gwen’s voice, “Kyle, are you in here?”
He wiped the tears off his face and raced out of the storm room. But before he did, he grabbed a small box. A gift that would give Gwen the surprise of her life. What was left of it, anyway.
Chapter 53
Carter removed his wraparound sunglasses to view the sign before him:
Hatteras Ferry
.
JP sat in the passenger seat, asking questions like a nervous mother. “Are you sure you got the directions to his house? … Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? … Do you want to go over the plan one more time?”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“This isn’t funny, her life could be at stake.”
Carter couldn’t contain his laughter. “I haven’t seen you this in love with a woman in … well, actually, I’ve never seen you this in love with a woman.”
“She’s out there all alone with a murderer. I’d do this for anybody.”
Carter raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Whatever you say, boss.”
He thought that Plan Gwen would achieve similar results as JP’s genius idea to break into Jones’ house. So he offered what he thought was a better solution, which would be to just kill Jones and hide the body. But he got outvoted—confirming his belief that democracy was overrated.
JP added his own amendment to Gwen’s plan by sending Carter as her personal bodyguard to shadow her. A change that Gwen knew nothing about, and if they wanted to continue to live, it was best it remain that way. It was clear to Carter that Cupid’s crossbow had delivered a direct hit so far up JP’s ass that he couldn’t think straight.
They’d departed Connecticut over twenty-four hours ago with the cover-story of going to visit Byron. They were pretty sure Gwen bought it. They stopped Friday evening in Washington DC, before continuing on the next morning.
“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” JP said.
Carter sighed. “I got it. Take the ferry over and hitch a ride to the village. Spy on Gwen and her boyfriend until Sunday. Then we meet up Monday night over there.” He pointed at the small, replica sloop pirate ship that was anchored to the dock. It had been converted into a restaurant/bar called Sloopy Joe’s.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”
“Never been more sure about anything in my life. Besides, they’ll probably spend the whole weekend cozying up in his bedroom.” Carter took pleasure in his friend’s wince, then mercifully—for JP—changed the subject, “I can’t believe you’ve never been to Charleston.”
“I think it’s the only place on the planet I haven’t been to. I’m looking forward to my first Mama Jasper’s meal. Although, I’m not sure it could ever live up to the hype that Byron has bestowed on it.”
“Like myself, Mama Jasper’s is one of the few things in this world that lives up to the hype.” Carter began to drool just thinking about it. “And so does Charleston. My dad, rest his soul, used to take me down there all the time—a lot of military history in those parts. We used to always go to Fort Sumter, and tour the aircraft carrier the Yorktown.”
JP slid over to the driver’s side, while Carter exited the vehicle into a drenching Saturday sun and the smell of low tide.
“And be inconspicuous,” JP yelled last instructions.