“Cards,” I repeated, and you nodded a few times. I laughed as I got to my feet and went to the desk, pulling open a drawer and fishing around for the old deck of cards I knew were somewhere in the back.
Once I found them, I sat across from you once more and laid the deck on the table between us. You looked giddy as you snatched it up and began shuffling them. One by one, you dealt our cards out.
“Know how to play rummy?”
My brows rose.
“I do.”
“Great.”
And for the next hour, that’s what we did. We played. You won sometimes, other times I did, but it was fun—something I couldn’t say I’d felt in this office many times before.
“Did your parents own this place before you?” you asked.
“My aunt.” I spread the cards between my fingers. “I inherited it from her when she died a few years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” you said softly. Genuinely.
“Thanks,” I said, watching as you looked at your cards, lips twisting to the side. “Have you always been a writer?”
“For as long as I can remember.” You put a card down. “I’ve always loved investigating and learning the truth.”
My stomach twisted painfully.
“Are you a journalist?”
“Novelist.” You glanced at me like you were contemplating telling me more. “I write mostly true crime stories.”
Fuck.
That was the only word bouncing around my skull.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“So, why are you here?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.
“I’ve heard about…” You waved dismissively. “You probably don’t want to talk about this.”
“I do.” You bit your lip, and my eyes zeroed in on it immediately. “Tell me what you’ve heard.”
“Well,” you scooted closer, dropping your voice to a near-whisper, “I’ve heard that ten women have gone missing from this area over the last few years.”
“Really?” I stared at my cards, though I wasn’t reallyseeingthem. “That’s awful. What happened to them?”
“No one knows.”
My heart relaxed slightly.
“But I think there’s a serial killer out here.”
A card slipped between my fingers and floated to the floor, landing right between my boots.
“A serial killer?” I repeated, brows raised, throat tight. “That’s…that’s ridiculous.”
“They’re a lot more common than you think,” you said.
“It’s not that I don’t think they’re common, but…” I grabbed the card from the floor. “A serial killer? Here, of all places? I don’t think so.”
