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I’m about to head to her boss’s office and demand he find Mara for me, when a woman I’ve never seen before steps in my way.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I raise my brow. “Do I know you?”
She places her hand on her hips, shooting off an attitude of don’t mess with her. “No, but I know you.”
“And you are?”
Her eyes narrow as she stares at me. “I’m Mara, Cain. But my question still stands. What are you doing here? I thought you were with Layla.”
“Why would you think I’m with Layla?” I ask.
“She told me you guys were together.” I lift my hand, signaling her to go on. “You guys were going to Somerset together.”
The blood whooshes in my ears, and I swear the room starts to fucking spin.
What the hell is happening?
I grab Mara’s arms, not hard, but enough to startle her. “Tell me everything,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“I-I—” she mutters.
“Spit it out.” My voice is harsh, but there is no time for this shit.
“She wanted to look into The Compass Killer. She decided to—”
“To what? Word for word. What did she say to you?” I cut her off. Why the hell would Layla go to Somerset? What is she hoping to find there?
“Layla went to find out more information on one of the victims. The one that started the cycle again. Cynthia Richards.”
At her words, my chest tightens. Layla can’t go there. She absolutely can’t look into this case. “Why?”
“She thinks Cynthia’s the key to the story.”
“What story?” I know the answer, despite my question. But I need to hear Mara say it out loud.
“The story she’s writing on the case.”
“Son of a bitch.” I storm off, grabbing my phone from my pocket and dialing.
“Cain, what’s up? I’m in the middle of meeting with some people to—”
“Jim.” Before he can say more, I cut him off. “I have to go to Somerset.”
“Okay, what do you need?”
“I need you to locate a woman. She’s twenty-five, blonde hair”—I take a breath—“blue eyes, fair skin.” I hear the inhale of breath when I describe her.
“Is this about the murders?” he says quieter so whomever he’s with cannot hear him as easily.
“Yes.” I want to scream out more of what I know, but I can’t find the air to speak.
“The police are saying it’s not a copycat.” I nod, even though he can’t see me. My mind is reeling, and my chest feels tight.
It feels like I can’t breathe, and I’m not sure what to do. How did we get this far where Layla is now investigating something I can’t have her looking into?
“There is a woman there digging around. I have to stop her before she gets hurt.”
“Jeez, Cain. Fuck. I don’t want to get involved in cleaning up messes again.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” And without another word, I hang up.
40
Layla
I decide to head down the road and stop in each store I find. It’s a small town. Someone knows something, somewhere.
The first store looks like a craft store, and I decide to start there. Maybe Cynthia had a hobby. You never know.
I pretend to shop for a while before picking up a scrapbook.
Not one for this type of thing, but I’m not sure what else to buy. At least with this, I can use it as a journal or even jot notes in it one day.
When I step up to the register, an elderly lady with gray coiffed hair looks me up and down.
I’m preparing myself for another person like the sheriff, but after she observes me for a few seconds, she smiles. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“Nope.”
“What brings you to these parts? We don’t get a lot of visitors. Well, not until recently.”
This could be useful. “Ohhh, were they here about the girl?” I pry.
“Cynthia? Yes. But like I told them, I didn’t know her. Will that be all for you?”
“It will.” I hand her enough cash for the book. “Thank you so much.”
“Mary at the shop next door might have some more answers. Be careful though, she can be a little mean spirited to outsiders at first.” She winks at me.
And I can’t help but chuckle. “Guess I stick out?”
“Yes, dear. You stick out. Mary likes to gossip more than be mad, so you may be in luck.”
Laughing a bit, I turn and make my way outside, then head into the next store. This is a small furniture store. One that is light on the furniture and heavy on the knickknacks.
Lamps, vases, and candles are some of the things I see at first glance. Seeing the lamps, I feel guilty that I’m not writing the articles I should be for Concept and Space. But this feeling down in my gut that says there is a story here won’t go away.
