Page 30 of Romance Is Dead

“Alright, uh. . .” Teddy ran a hand through his hair as he glanced toward the trailer. “We’re looking for clues, right? So let’s poke around and see if we find anything interesting.”

“I figured as much.”

“I wasn’t finished!”

“Ok, fine, finish.”

“So we go inside, and then”—he looked at me dramatically—“we look for anything that could tie him to the crime.”

I sighed. “You don’t say?”

“A written confession would be great, but bloody clothes or a murder weapon would also work.”

I rubbed my temples. This was going nowhere fast.

Motioning for Teddy to follow me, I approached the trailer. The door at the back end was locked, and a quick peek through the window didn’t net much information. All we could see were piles of junk—smaller items like alcohol bottles, a radio, and a Ouija board were lined on rows of shelves, while bigger props like chairs and an oddly large number of bikes were piled on the floor.

Tiptoeing through the grass, we moved to the door at the other end of the structure. A light shone through the window above, and I could hear whispers of classical music.

“He’s in there!” Excitement pumped through my blood and I hurried toward the door, eager to see what he was up to. I hadn’t made it two steps when Teddy grabbed the back of my shirt, yanking me to a stop.

“Wait.” Teddy gripped my arm, rooting me in place. “You could be sneaking up on a killer!”

“Weren’t you just saying you didn’t even think this was a murder? Let go.”

Reluctantly, Teddy released my arm. “I just don’t think we should be rushing into anything. We need to be careful.”

“Fine. I’ll carefully go spying.” I continued, slower this time, as Teddy trailed after me, grumbling. Standing to the side of the door, I carefully peered through the window.

Just like we’d suspected, Scott was inside. He stood at a makeshift workstation that had been pushed into the corner, complete with a workbench and lamp with a flexible neck for precise positioning. A radio sat alongside a bottle of paint, glue, and various solvents. Scott was facing away from us, bent over the bench. I assumed he was working on some kind of prop, but he was blocking the view and it was impossible to see what, exactly, it was.

“It’s him,” I confirmed to Teddy, who was hunched out of sight of the window.

“What’s he doing?”

“Working on something.”

“On what?”

Irritation sparked. “You know, I think he’s working on a murder right here as we speak.” I peeked back through the window, hopeful that Scott would shift enough to allow me to see his project. He was still crouched over, his arm moving in small, precise movements, clearly working at something delicate.

Come on, I thought.Get the hell out of the way!

Seemingly satisfied, Scott eased back on the stool. He shifted to the side, cocking his head as he examined his work. Only as he moved to get a better look did he finally reveal what he’d been so absorbed in.

A severed human head sat on the bench, eyes staring and mouth agape.

Unable to stifle my scream, I hollered as I wheeled back, my heart hammering as I braced myself against the side of the trailer.

“What happened?” Teddy moved between me and the door, grabbing my hips with both of his hands as he moved me out of the way. The unexpected contact took me off guard, and for a moment I forgot that mere seconds ago I’d been staring at a head on a desk. His fingertips pressed into my skin, the touch firm and protective. Soothing. But it just as quickly came back to me—the terrible staring eyes and the way Scott had reached for his weapon.

“There’s a head,” I gulped. “On the bench.”

Teddy’s eyes widened. He released my hips, instead sliding an arm around my waist as he pulled me away from the trailer. “We’re going. Now.”

But we didn’t have the chance. A second later, the door flew open. Scott stepped out, his eyes wild as he brandished a scythe high above his head, its blade glinting in the moonlight.

Chapter Eleven

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