Dark Pursuit

His gold Rolex watch—the special gift Kaitlan’s grandmother had given him in celebration of his first number-one bestseller. Kaitlan knew that watch meant the world to him, especially after Grandmother died. She’d stolen it anyway.

Spittle flew from his lips. “A twenty-five-thousand-dollar watch. How much did you get when you pawned it, huh? Five hundred? Enough for one lowly fix?”

“I didn’t … I was wrong. But I’m different now. I’m clean. I have a new life—”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Kaitlan’s mouth snapped shut. It was true. Cold-blooded manipulation then earned her no trust now.

Margaret took a step forward. “Maybe if you just—”

“Shut up, Margaret.”

Her head jerked as if she’d been slapped.

Darell Brooke’s eyes bored into Kaitlan. “You’ve got fifteen seconds. Either you leave or I call the police.”

“No!” Kaitlan flung out her hands. Her purse dropped to the floor. “You can’t. I need your help, please. They’ll never believe me. I came home and found a dead woman on my bed. Strangled. With a piece of black fabric with green stripes. And I’m afraid my boyfriend did it. But he’s a cop and the son of Russ Barlow, Gayner chief of police. No way will the police believe he’s responsible. They’ll arrest me for it; I know they will.” She leaned toward her grandfather. “You have to tell me what to do. You know crime; you’ve written suspense—all of a sudden I’m living it!”

Margaret’s mouth hung open.

Kaitlan sagged against the wall, drained of energy. Her heart thudded in her ears.

Her grandfather stared at her, emotions moving across his face. Shock … disbelief … suspicion. His eyes widened then narrowed, and his lips trembled. For the first time in her life, Kaitlan saw her grandfather at a loss for words.

No one moved. Outside a bird chirped. In some distant room a fluorescent light hummed.

Her grandfather’s neck arched like a snake ready to strike. “How dare you.” He shoved the front door closed. The slam rattled Kaitlan’s bones. He breathed in long and hard, nostrils flaring. “How did you do it? How?”

Kaitlan darted a glance at Margaret—what’s he talking about? Margaret lifted a shoulder.

Darell Brooke pushed his grizzled face into Kaitlan’s. His lips pulled back and his cheeks were mottled. She could smell his musty breath. “Answer me.”

“I … don’t know what you mean.”

“The cloth!” He spat the word. “How did you know? What have you done—hacked into my computer? Not enough to steal my watch, now you want to take my work?”

Kaitlan threw another helpless look at Margaret. The woman’s face creased in sadness. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

Oh. No.

The horrible truth sank into Kaitlan. Her grandfather was talking nonsense. Forget not being able to write—the King of Suspense was now nothing but a mindless old man.

Kaitlan’s heart folded up. She couldn’t bear this. She wanted to run out the door and forget she’d ever come.

“Kaitlan!” He shook his fist at her. “Answer me. How did you know?”

She licked her lips. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me!” He reared back, cheeks flaming. “I see what you’re doing. You’re playing with me. You want me put away so you can get my money.” He creaked around toward Margaret. “And you’re in on it. The two of you, planning against me. You told her about the cloth. You both want me to believe I’ve lost my mind.”

Margaret stuck her palms out. “Now calm down, D. You don’t know what you’re—”

“I know exactly what I’m saying! Strangled, using black fabric with green stripes—that’s what!” A ragged vein popped out on his neck. “I’m calling my lawyer. I’ll tell him you two are conspiring.” He jabbed his finger from Margaret to Kaitlan. “You won’t get away with it!”

Kaitlan started to protest, but her mouth snapped closed. A tingle started down in her gut. The cloth. Was there something here for real? Not just the raving of an old man?

“Wait.” She caught her grandfather’s bony wrist. “What do you know about the fabric? All I know is—this is the third victim in Gayner it’s been used on in the past year.”

“Third? In a year?” He gaped at her, eyebrows jammed together over his nose.

“Please. Lives may depend on it. Including mine. What do you know?”

Her grandfather’s forehead flattened. He pulled back and looked to Margaret. She nodded in encouragement. His eyelids flickered. In that little motion, Kaitlan saw his vulnerability. He wanted to believe them.

He straightened his shoulders. Lifting his arm from Kaitlan’s grasp with all the dignity he could muster, he raised his chin, surveying her with the haughty expression she knew so well. For a moment he looked like the grandfather she remembered.

Relief burst in Kaitlan’s chest.

“The fabric you spoke of. Silk, is it?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Of course. Because it’s straight from the manuscript I’ve been working on for the past year. My antagonist’s MO—the crazed killer who hears the dead knocking. He strangles his victims using a black silk cloth with green stripes.”

UNTITLED MS.