AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Parker
The hardest part of any investigation was getting started. The first steps could make all the difference, or they’d send an investigator on a wild goose chase. Since I couldn’t jump into blatantly interrogating people about the accidents, I had to get a read on the community and the industry.
The timber business was complex, but luckily, the Gagnons were giving me full access.
It wasn’t that far-fetched to believe that Frank Gagnon’s death was related to the rampant drug trafficking happening on the logging roads. Rural areas like Lovewell had been decimated by the opioid crisis. Maine, as a whole, had suffered tremendous losses. Many of my investigations with the state police involved opioids, so I had more than enough background to get started.
So I continued on my mission: getting to know the town, both the pleasant exterior and the unpleasant underbelly. But first, I needed a workout.
Forest Fitness was nothing like I expected and everything I could have ever wanted. The gym lacked any kind of frills and was set up in an old warehouse filled with weights and people minding their own business. Perfection.
It was cheap and none of their equipment was state-of-the-art, but it was clean. It was off the highway about ten minutes outside of town, near a collection of shady-looking storage facilities.
I’d been in town for less than forty-eight hours, but already, I needed a break from that house. It was gorgeous, with far more amenities than I was used to, of course. But Paz Gagnon was too surly and moody for his own good. The air inside was thick with tension and anxiety so stifling that I had to escape, at least for a little while.
The town wasn’t much better, honestly. I was social by nature, and I was here to gather information, but the nosiness was off the charts. People were already dropping by or even stopping me on the sidewalk. This morning, I’d walked to the pharmacy to get toothpaste—Paz only had the weird natural kind—and several people openly stared at me while whispering. Though a bit rude, I preferred it to the way others stopped me and asked intrusive questions. Alice was right. It was tough to be new in this town.
So the internet led me to this place. There were racks of weights to lift and things to punch. That was all I really needed. Liv had tried to get me into Pilates over the years, but I’d found it epically boring. Ditto with yoga and all the other trendy workouts.
Hip-hop cardio and bootcamp and all those other things.
At the academy, I started lifting weights. And it had changed my life. I could be strong and badass and still get in a good workout. Strengthen my heart and bones while not running to nowhere on a treadmill—though I’d stick with the bare minimum of cardio for the endurance, I supposed. And a few yoga poses here and there to get my muscles warmed up. I could blast music and work out all the frustration and anger that came with the job.
After signing in and paying a bored teenager at the front desk, I headed to the weight area.
I snagged a yoga mat from a bin against the wall and laid it out to stretch.
Headphones in, I prepped myself to work through a few yoga sequences to warm myself up. But instead of cuing up my gym playlist, I tuned into the conversation going on between two young guys near the weight racks.
They were in their twenties, covered in bad ink, and rocking homemade tank tops. Meathead One had on a backward hat, and Meathead Two hadn’t even bothered to tie his shoes. After thoroughly checking me out, they returned to their conversation and bicep curls.
I stretched and foam rolled while they debated video games. I had almost given up on these dolts when one of them mentioned getting “lit” the other night.
“Fuck, bro. Stinger really came through. That ox beat the hell out of the homemade crank,” Meathead Two said, racking his dumbbells.
My ears perked up, but I kept my expression neutral and focused on stretching, praying these idiots could give me some helpful details.
“Yeah, dawg. That shit was epic. Got me so fucked up. That guy’s a dick, but he’s got the hookups. And his bike? Fuck me.”
“He’s friends with Knuckles, right?”
“Yeah. They’re always drinking at the Hanger.”
“Maybe he’ll hook us up with a discount. So we can impress those girls.”
They fist-bumped like the meathead douches they were and loaded the bar secured above the weight bench.
I hung around, hoping for a few more tidbits. Hanger, Stinger, and oxy. Good start. I considered discreetly taking photos of them in hopes of putting names with the faces but decided against it. It’d be difficult to do it here without setting off red flags. Instead, I continued to observe and listen for any more tidbits of info that could help me get this investigation started.
But after listening to them talk about college football for a solid fifteen minutes, I was giving up hope. I’d decided to move on to a little weightlifting of my own and was working through my last set of stretches when Adele Gagnon walked in. I had only met her once, but like the rest of her siblings, she was hard to miss. We made eye contact, and she gave me a friendly smile. I was mid-wave when her face fell and her body tensed.
It was as if all the air had rushed out of the room. A man walked through the front door, and immediately, Adele turned her back to him, pulled her phone from the side pocket of her leggings, and put her head down.
From my position on my mat, I attempted not to stare. But it was a challenge, because this man was easily six and a half feet tall and built like a goddamn Viking. He had a full sleeve of tattoos up one arm, and his dark blond hair was shaved except for a man bun on top of his head.
“Adele,” he said, his voice several octaves deeper than the human ear could hear.
She glanced up from her phone and gave him a bored look. “Stretch.”
