The Canceled Killer’s habit of leaving three skull emojis to taunt his victims soon went viral. Someone began selling shirts and overnight, it seemed, the Canceled Killers fans were visible all over Chicago and much of the nation.
—Crime Hivepodcast
Kenzie lived on her family’s palatial estate near the edge of town. They had an enviable, many-acre footprint on the lake and a fifteen-bedroom marble mansion, decorated across the front with Roman columns, once owned by Philip Armour, a famous Chicago meatpacker mogul from the mid-1800s. Back then, Lake Sanguis was the Martha’s Vineyard of the Midwest. The mansion sported four massive stories and oversized Roman columns up front. They had to sell a whole lot of chocolate waffle cones to afford the gorgeous, golf-course-sized grounds, peppered with trees bursting with red, gold, and brown leaves; a pristinely manicured lawn; and delicate flower beds filled with seasonal mums. The formidable stone mansion loomed on the hill above the lake, making it look more like a natural history museum than a residence.
As soon as we approached the front door and rang the doorbell cam button, I half expected a butler in tails to answer the door, but instead, Kenzie herself did. She looked stunning, per usual, her long, wavy blond hair cascading down her shoulders and herdesigner leisurewear pristine. Even in the comfort of her own home, she wore designer platform sneakers and full makeup. Kenzie was the daughter Mom always wished she’d had.
“Oh, Jude!” She flung herself into Jude’s arms for a consoling hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she cried into his chest, nestling her perfect button nose into his half-zip sweater, making me feel like I should maybe retreat down the walkway and give these two former lovebirds some privacy. They hugged for an uncomfortable amount of time, until Jude gently peeled himself away. Kenzie disengaged reluctantly, sniffling, as she turned to peer at me with 100 percent dry eyes, her green gaze sharp.
“Ella’s here to help, too,” Jude said. “She’s the best detective I know.”
Even better than Oscar? Huh. I was going to file that fact away for later so I could throw it in Oscar’s face at the perfect moment.
“Uh, yes. Of course.” Kenzie definitely did not want me here. I glared at Jude, and a guilty look flashed in his eyes. He’d lied about Kenzie asking me to come. Jude moved a little closer to me, and it was then that I realized he simply wanted a buffer. Even now, Kenzie was clutching his arm with her perfectly manicured, sharply pointed nails. “Come in,” she said, pulling Jude inside. I tagged along behind them as we walked into the decadent foyer with the crystal chandelier. The engraved wood walls and intricately painted ceilings looked, frankly, as if Marie Antoinette had thrown up on every available surface.
We walked through two sitting rooms before Kenzie decided to plop down in the third, a library study with darkened oak walls, a massive desk with a leather blotter, and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with gold-embossed leather books. Unfortunately, this wasalso the room sporting the bearskin rug, and I was almost certain I could see Allen Gordon’s stomach imprint in the fur.
I swallowed my nausea and focused again on Kenzie as I sank into the chair opposite her, in front of the fireplace large enough that you could burn a body in it. Kenzie patted the seat next to her, and Jude dutifully sat.
“Why do you think your dad is missing?” I asked.
Gordon owned a private plane. He could jet anywhere he wanted at any time.
Kenzie reluctantly pulled her attention from Jude. “He didn’t show up for dinner last night, which he wouldn’t have missed because it washisbirthday. Daddy lives for his birthday,” Kenzie said.
The way Kenzie singsongedDaddymade me cringe, and I hoped I was keeping my face neutral and not looking like I was about to retch.
“He looks forward to celebrating his birthday with family?”
“Yep. Just me and my cousins and uncles. It’s his time to make us all grovel. He lives for it. He orders ridiculously expensive wine and surf and turf and then tries to figure out who loves him most by pitting us against each other to figure out who pays the bill. He loves the little psychological game of watching us all fight each other to show him affection.”
“Sounds like a real gem,” I muttered. Jude gave me a look.
“It’s not easy for us, you know,” Kenzie continued. “Especially since Mom died last year.” I seemed to remember this. Cancer, I thought. Kenzie blinked at Jude, and he gave her shoulder a dainty pat. I tried to ignore how much she leaned into his touch.
“Was he seeing anyone?” I asked.
Kenzie shrugged. “He was on the Spark app.”
“Oh?” I pretended to be surprised.
“But I don’t think he was seeing anyone regularly.”
“Would anyone want to hurt your dad?” Jude asked.
Kenzie snorted. “Only everyone. You know he wasn’t well-liked.”
He might have been booed at the Fourth of July parade last year.
“Right, but any specific threats—other than from the Canceled Killer?” I wasn’t going to focus in too soon on a suspect this time. Even though part of me worried—would someone be interviewing my relatives when the Canceled Killer finally came for me? Would Oscar be dutifully taking down notes on the last time I was seen alive?
I pushed down the fear and focused again on Kenzie.
“I heard him have an argument with Dave Simpson,” she said.
“The president of Gordon’s?”
She nodded. “They were fighting about the listeria outbreak. About when Daddy knew about it. About the skull emojis. We all knew what they meant. I watched the Streamberry series.”
