AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Let's make new ones this year," she suggests, a spark of resilience lighting her gaze. "For Mom, for us."
"Absolutely. Let's give thanks the way we used to." I promise, envisioning the warmth of our reunited family, a tapestry woven from threads of the past and hopes for the future.
"Hey, Tony, you get the Miami news out there?" Lola’s voice beats me to hanging up the phone with her to go check on Mom. I might have asked for a rain check, but there’s an edge of hysteria lurking beneath each word, and I find that curious, so I settle back into my bar stool and motion for her to go on.
"No. Why? What happened?"
"Do you remember Cindy from ninth grade?" she asks, her question hanging in the air like the flicker of a dying lightbulb.
"Of course I do." My response is automatic, but my mind races, weaving through memories of a girl with bubblegum laughter and scraped knees.
Lola exhales, and I imagine her sitting on the other end, wringing her hands, that nervous habit of hers when the world tilts off-kilter. "She was on the news yesterday . . . " Lola's words trail off, and the silence hums with tension.
Suddenly, every sound is magnified—the ticking clock, the distant bark of a dog, the unsteady rhythm of my own heartbeat.
"Apparently, she went out on a date with a guy she met online." Lola's voice breaks, but she regains her composure. "Atthe end of the date, the guy was trying to force her to go back to his place."
"Something about the guy gave her pause," Lola continues. "But she didn't want to upset him . . . he seemed so sweet, so nice."
I lean back against the backrest, the hard wood pressing into my skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through my veins.
"Then Timmy swung by the diner," she says, and I can almost see the serendipity of it, the hand of fate intervening. Timmy was Cindy’s “boyfriend,” though I doubt they knew what to do with it at the time. If she is the same age as Lola, then she was only fourteen.
" . . . Timmy convinced her to go home. To date the guy a few more times before going with him." Lola's breath hitches, and I know the bombshell is coming, ticking down to detonation.
"The guy was on the news last night, Tony. He's the buckle belt murderer of Kansas. Killed 17 women."
"Jeez, Lols . . . " The words tumble out of me, hollow and inadequate. "Damn. That is . . . wow."
"I know . . . wow." Her voice is a mirror of my shock, reflecting the horror of a narrow escape.
"Anyway, sis," I say, pushing away from the laptop, feeling the need to move, to do something, anything. "Gotta go check on Mom. We've been talking for a while."
"Of course." Lola's agreement is automatic, a veneer of normalcy in a conversation that's anything but.
I'll let her know if we're doing Thanksgiving here. I bid my sister goodnight, even though it is early afternoon where she is.
"Stay safe, Tony."
"Always, Lols. You too."
Chapter twenty-five
GHOSTS AND MURDERERS.
LIAM
The day starts like any other day . . . boring, perfunctory, uneventful and non-descript. Just your typical Miami day. As I pull out of my driveway to go to work, I spot a black sedan parked near the Winstons' house. It's suspicious, as the Winstons are away, and there shouldn't be anyone there, not even tradesmen. My heart races, and I can't help but think, "Is this related to that letter that was slipped under my welcome mat the other day, warning me to watch my back?" I was planning on taking it to the cops, but I let other things take priority. Should I have taken it more seriously?
"Get a grip, Bozo," I tell myself. "You're just being paranoid."
I drive toward the office, glancing at my rear view mirror. There it is again – the same black sedan tailing me. My palms sweat on the steering wheel.
"Am I being followed?" I wonder, my pulse quickening. Black town cars in Miami Beach are as common as flies on a rotting pig.
"Maybe it's just a coincidence," I try to reassure myself, but doubt lingers in my mind.
"Or maybe this is exactly what the letter warned me about . . . "
