And just waiting to strike again.
CHAPTER
TEN
The beamof Olive’s flashlight sliced through the darkness as she and Jason moved down the hallway. The wooden floor creaked beneath their boots, each sound amplified in the heavy quiet.
The storm outside battered the windows, wind rattling the panes. The inn felt older now—different without light and laughter. Its charm had turned to shadows.
“There are eight bedrooms, right?” Jason asked.
“Eight,” Olive confirmed. “Four down here, four upstairs.”
They began with the rooms on the ground floor. The first door groaned as Jason opened it, his flashlight sweeping across empty beds, neatly folded quilts, and small wooden nightstands.
The room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and cinnamon.
The second was colder but still held the faint warmth of recent use—JJ’s duffel sat on the floor, half unzipped, clothes spilling from the top.
Olive hesitated in the doorway, her chest tightening. “He didn’t even unpack.”
Jason rested a hand lightly at the small of her back. “I know.”
“We should look through his things—just in case,” Olive said. “Don’t you think?”
“It’s a good idea.”
Olive carefully pulled everything from his duffle while Jason checked the dresser drawers and bathroom.
When Olive saw his favorite Pac-Man shirt, her heart lurched.
He would never wear this again.
“Anything?” Jason’s voice snapped her from her thoughts.
She put the shirt down, her throat still tight. “No, nothing. You?”
“Same.” He nodded toward the door. “Come on. We’ll finish the sweep.”
They moved to the third room.
The air was different here—colder, sharper. Olive’s light skimmed across the bed, then froze on the far wall.
A window was slightly open, the curtain barely fluttering.
They crossed the room together to examine it.
The sill was dusted with snow, and meltwater trickled down the wall in a thin line.
Olive peered outside, but the wind had picked up. Any footprints that would have been on the deck had blown away.
“The killer could have gotten in or out through this window,” she murmured, pushing it shut and locking it. “I doubt we would have noticed it’s cracked open from the outside. It’s barely open—but it’s definitely not locked.”
They swept the light through the corners, under the bed, inside the closet.
Empty.
But the room still felt wrong—like someone had been there only moments before.
