Page 69 of Serial Love

“If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget how scared I was,” he confessed. Leaning forward, touching his forehead to hers, he forced his heart rate to return to normal, giving a little nod.

With a nod from Jack, Monty began, “When all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, it appears that Stan began killing when he saw his father bang—uh…having sex with a young woman that he knew. Whether his mom asked him to get rid of her or he did it on his own out of spite to his father, who knows.”

Luke added, “We assume that started his journeyinto killing. He thought of her as a good girl and was upset that she was being…well, in his mind…being a slut.”

“But he was married! He had kids!” Bethany exploded. “And he seemed so nice!”

“It’s a myth that most serial killers are loners and completely antisocial,” Luke continued. “From what we can tell, he had to leave college after stalking a woman who spurned him.”

“He worked for a marketing company selling advertising and would continue to go to campuses, try to pick up women he had watched and determined were good girls. Maybe he wanted sex with them, and if they turned him down, that’s when he would go after them. We have no idea how many he may have watched, but when he would come across one who changed their patterns, like going dancing or to bars, or one-night-stands. He would kidnap them, and then…um…”

Chad had taken over the explanations but hesitated at this part of the story. His eyes darted to hers and his voice faltered.

“He would rape them, torture them, and kill them,” Bethany finished for him. “What about what I found? In the bathroom?”

Bart replied, “It appears those were souvenirs. He would…um…” he stumbled over his choice of words, looking to Jack for guidance when he saw Bethany’s wide eyes.

Jack, hating the conversation, squeezed her shoulders. Sucking in a deep breath, he said, “Babe, you’ll go over all this with your counselor, but I’m trying to get theseimages out of your head. So, this is the last of it. Some killers keep something to remind them of what they’ve done. For memories, for a power trip, for the hell of it.”

“But why here? Why not at his house? Or that…that…place?”

“Don’t know, but if I had to guess, it was because he felt safe at the cabins. He always asked for the same one. Figured no one would find them. If they were found, it wouldn’t be tied to him since you have lots of guests who stay there. It was…safe.”

The room grew quiet, each to their own thoughts while attuned to the young woman, so close to the same fate, that had come to mean so much to their boss…and to them.

After a few minutes of reflection, she said, “While I never thought it was one of my guests, I would have assumed Horace over Stan.”

“The writer?” Blaise asked.

“The who?” Bethany asked, in surprise.

Chuckling, Blaise continued. “Yeah, when he was checked out by the FBI, he was indignant he had to leave his cabin. Seems he lives in a very noisy building so he would come to Mountville at least once a month for the quiet and solitude to write his mystery novels under a pen name.”

Before Bethany could respond to that, Jack interrupted her thoughts and said, “You’re also going to have to talk to Roscoe.”

Jerking her gaze to his, her brow furrowed in question. “Huh?”

“He’s been keeping some hooch stashed in the tool shed,” Bart laughed.

“Hootch?”

“Uh, moonshine,” he explained. “He’s been buying some locally distilled whiskey and found the storage shed to be a good place to keep it.”

The idea that one of her favorite guests was a serial killer, one of her unusual guests was a mystery writer, and her handyman was storing his bootleg whisky in her shed had her falling back against Jack’s body.

“So much for my idea of a wedding venue,” she mumbled. “So far the press hasn’t come around, but I know they will, and I’ll be ruined.”

“It’ll be fine, baby,” Jack murmured against her hair.

Monty shook his head slightly, saying, “Bethany, don’t worry. The FBI is keeping Mountville out of the press.”

Jack’s eyes darted to his friend as she jerked her gaze toward Monty.

“How?” she asked incredulously.

Chuckling, Monty looked down for a few seconds before lifting his gaze back to hers. Softening his tone, he just replied, “Called in a few favors. Racked up quite a few while I was with the Bureau, so it was time for a little payback. Press gets the story, but Mountville is kept out.”

Her throat clogged with emotion as she mouthed her appreciation to him.Thank you so much.

---