Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room that looked like something out of a cozy Christmas catalogue.
“Theo, sorry to call you during the holidays, but I thought you should know that an admin assistant here at the agency has come forward with some information that might relate to the Hangman murders.”
A chill skated down my spine. “What kind of information?”
“We just handed it over to the police in charge of the investigation. I’m sure they’ll be in touch, but I felt awful at the thought of leaving you out of the loop. Because …” She sighed heavily. “Theo, it’s fan mail. Addressed to you. You know when we usually receive fan emails, we either forward them to the intended or delete. These were actual letters, and the assistant thought they were odd, so she just filed the letters away to be forwarded to you later. Except she’s been doing that for two years.” She sounded angry. “The letters are disturbing. The person seemed to believe that he was Charlie King and wanted to thank you for bringing his story to life.”
Dread coiled in my gut. “It could be him. The murderer.”
“Yes. The last few letters asked for your response to the murders. He was looking for praise,” she spat in disgust.
“Oh, hell.” I sank into the nearest chair, feeling a little light-headed. “Can I see them?”
“The police took them. I’m sorry, Theo. I’m sorry we didn’t catch this sooner. Rest assured the admin assistant will be dealt with.”
“Don’t fire her for a clerical oversight.”
“It was a big bloody oversight, Theo.”
“She wasn’t to know what was in those letters. And who sends letters anymore?”
Fern sighed. “I know. I’m just … I can’t believe this is happening. My clients have been making shows like this for over two decades, and … you never expect someone to take something they’ve created and use it for this kind of evil. I’m so sorry, Theo.”
I bowed my head. “I’m sorry too.”
“No. You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing. I just wanted you to know what was happening.”
I nodded, trying to speak around the sorrow thickening my throat. “I appreciate it … Merry Christmas, Fern.”
She laughed unhappily. “Yes. Merry Christmas, Theo.”
We hung up and I stared into the fire, all the peace I’d found with Sarah upstairs turning to ash.
A hand rested on my shoulder and I jerked in surprise.
Sarah stood over me, concern marring her brow.
I reached for her hand and pressed a hard kiss to the back of it.
“Tell me?” she whispered, brushing her fingers through my hair.
Thirty-One
THEO
The next day, while Jared worked on the farm, Sarah convinced me to spend Christmas Eve in the village.
That is until it began to snow and someone in Flora’s told us it was to turn into a storm. Sure enough, a quick check on our phones confirmed the snow was supposed to keep falling all through Christmas Eve and Day. There were weather warnings all over Sutherland.
By the time we returned to the farmhouse, the snow was beginning to lie on the ground, and Jared’s truck was parked outside the house. He was already home.
Sarah attempted valiantly to lift my mood, going on about how perfect it was that our first Christmas together was a white one. She was trying so hard while I was locked in my head about the murders that I didn’t see what else she was trying hard to forget.
Instead, I got through the day on autopilot. Distracted myself by cooking. Jared wasn’t one for idle chitchat, which suited me fine. The roast chicken dinner Sarah and I made was damn good, but much like the fajitas last night, I barely tasted it. I kept waiting for the phone to ring. For the police to tell me they needed me, or worse.
Sarah had arranged all the presents under the Christmas tree and stuck a few little ones in Jared’s stocking that hung over the mantel. Jared returned the favor, and I watched their traditions unfold, feeling half there and half somewhere else.
We all sat down after dinner to watch a Christmas movie and then another. The ten o’clock news interrupted the second one, and I was suddenly alert at the breaking news chyron that scrolled across the screen as the newscaster announced, “The Thames Valley Police are urging the public to stay safe this Christmas after the body of twenty-six-year-old Helen Miller, a dental technician originally from Hull, was found in Slough early this morning. The police released a statement confirming Ms. Miller is the latest victim of the Hangman serial killer.”
“Theo.” Sarah’s fingers curled around mine as I stared dazedly at the screen.
Urgency filled me. Urgency and restlessness and the utter horror that there was nothing I could do. “There are only two victims left,” I whispered hoarsely. “Charlie King murders his father and stepmother before he kills himself.”