Page 60 of In the Dead of Night

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sara couldn’t believe Brett Stocker had found the manuscript. What was it doing at the Stocker estate? Had the old man been hiding it all these years?

She tried to call Nick twice on the drive to the mansion. Both times she got voice mail and left detailed messages. She tried not to imagine him climbing down some ravine to find his mother’s car…or maybe her body. Looking back, even though she’d been angry with him, she wished she’d gone with him. She wouldn’t have been able to help with the rescue or retrieval efforts. But at least he wouldn’t have had to face this alone.

The sky over the Pacific Ocean churned with purple thunderheads when she pulled into the driveway of the mansion. The morning was cool and crisp, but she knew a storm brewed over the sea and would soon make its way inland.

She let herself in through the front door and walked to the kitchen. Exhaustion tugged at her as she made coffee. She tried to figure out the best way to handle Stocker and the manuscript. First and foremost, she wanted possession of the book. She wanted its contents verified and made public. If her suspicions were correct, the book would exonerate her father once and for all.

But even with the case about to explode, Sara couldn’t stop thinking about Nick. About what he could be facing at this very moment. Of all the things they’d shared the night before.

Only fifteen minutes had passed since she’d spoken to Stocker. With another forty-five minutes to kill, she carried her mug of coffee to the patio and looked out over the sea. The storm clouds roiled threateningly on the horizon, as violent and unpredictable as the sea. Even though the sun had risen in the east, the sky remained overcast.

Reaching for her cell phone, she tried Nick one more time. Three rings and she got voice mail. “Nick, it’s Sara. I hope you’re okay. Call me. It’s important.” Sighing, she disconnected.

Sipping coffee, she wandered the mansion and found herself in her father’s study. She let her mind take her back to her childhood. She and Sonia had been incorrigible children. Standing alone in a room that had once been so filled with life, Sara could practically hear the laughter. She recalled the day when Sonia dared her to climb Daddy’s bookcases. Using the shelves as rungs, Sara had climbed all the way to the ceiling.

I did it, Sonia! See? Look at me! You owe me a quarter!

Twelve feet above the floor, looking out at the tops of her father’s bookcases, young Sara had noticed the loose board. Looking inside, she’d found a cache of papers and jewelry and she’d felt very grown-up and important. “Wow! Look at this!”

That was when her father had come in and lovingly called her his climbing little monkey. He’d reached out and Sara had gone into his arms. He’d tickled her until she’d cried uncle. Until this moment she’d forgotten all about the compartment above the bookcases.

Glad there was no one around to see her, Sara found the right bookcase, then grabbed onto the shelf and pulled herself up, praying it would hold her weight. She knew it was probably a waste of time. After all, Brett Stocker had the manuscript. But who knew what she’d find? More notes? A piece of her mother’s jewelry?

Reaching the top of the bookcase, Sara blew dust and removed the loose panel. Her heart tripped when she spotted the thick stack of paper. A manuscript. Was it the same one Blaine claimed to have? Or was there a second book?

Next to the manuscript, an emerald pendant winked up at her. She knew immediately it had belonged to her mother; Sara had been with her father the day he’d bought it for her. Mounted in a gold setting, it was one of the most exquisite pieces of jewelry she’d ever seen. Her father had given it to her mother for Christmas. Little did they know it would be their last Christmas together.

Shoving the melancholy thoughts aside, Sara dropped the necklace into her pocket and turned her attention back to the manuscript. The mound of paper was yellowed with age, but intact. Dust motes spewed as she lifted it.

The sheets had once been bound with a rubber band, but the band had long since snapped. The paper felt damp and heavy. Much of it was gray with mildew, the edges frayed. She almost couldn’t believe she’d found it.

Quickly, she skimmed the first page. Hollywood’s Darkest Secret: A True Crime Uncovered by Nicholas Tyson and Alexandra and Richard Douglas.

Anxious to take a peek at the manuscript, Sara climbed down the shelves, grabbed her coffee and went to the kitchen. At the counter, she set down the book and turned the first page.

In the acknowledgments, Nicholas Tyson went to great lengths to thank her parents for their expertise, insights and amateur sleuthing skills. He wrote: “By the time this book is published, Blaine Stocker will be incarcerated….”

The manuscript detailed how a talented Hollywood director of over fourteen films became a victim of his own dark desires. How, at an age when most men were about to retire, Blaine Stocker began preying on young women hoping for a glamorous Hollywood career, only to find themselves the victim of a madman.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as she flipped the pages.

The first chapter detailed the history of the first young woman to fall victim to Stocker’s trap. A young woman from the wrong side of the tracks who’d been trying for years to break into acting. She’d made a fatal mistake when she’d believed Stocker’s claim that he could help her. She agreed to a photo shoot in Hollywood and was never heard from again.

Tyson wrote: “Richard Douglas and I drove to Blaine’s so-called studio. I’ve seen a lot of things in the course of my true-crime-writing career, but I’ve never seen anything as horrific as what was left of one of Blaine Stocker’s victims.”

Shaken by the words, Sara closed the manuscript and stepped back, her mind reeling. From all accounts, it seemed as if she and Nick had been right. Her parents and Nicholas Tyson had written a tell-all book that promised to ruin Blaine Stocker.

“Is that why you killed them, you son of a bitch?” Her voice sounded strange in the silence of the old house. But she knew she was right. The only questions that remained unanswered were, who had contacted her and why? Who’d left the bizarre threats? And who had stolen the notes and nearly pushed her off the cliff?

Knowing she was close to some profound revelation, Sara resolved to take everything to Nick. For the time being, they were going to have to put their personal issues aside and work together to solve this thing once and for all.

She was in the process of shoving the manuscript into her briefcase when a voice from behind spun her around.

“I see you found it.”

Brett Stocker stood ten feet away. Water dripped from a dark raincoat. His hair was plastered to his head. For a split second she had the oddest sensation of déjà vu.