Page 15 of Darkwater Lane

I move on to the next name on my SuperSicko list: QP1113d, aka Forrester Blakeny. Where Salem had been one of Melvin’s early acolytes, Blakeny didn’t start falling down the Melvin Royal rabbit hole until a year ago. However, once he decided that I was complicit in my ex-husband’s murders, he came after me pretty aggressively. Not only did he send me vile, threatening emails, he also reached out to my boss late last year to ask her if she knew she was employing a serial killer.

J.B. hadn’t appreciated his tip and responded by using her agency resources to track him down and burn every contact of his she could. She took great delight in forwarding me an article from his small-town newspaper, indicating he’d been fired from his sales job once his online activity came to light thanks to an anonymous community member.

I run an updated search on his name and frown when I find another obituary. It’s short on details, and when I try searching for more information, I come up empty. I check the date of his death and realize it wasn’t long after J.B. blew up his life. For a moment, I feel a slight pang of guilt, wondering if there’s a connection between the two.

For the next several names on my list I don’t turn up anything interesting. Then I come across another two who died, one in what was assumed to be a drug deal gone wrong, and the other a gang hit. I discover two more who seem to have gone missing, though it’s unclear whether foul play was involved.

I sit back in my chair, looking at my final tally. There are over fifty names on my SuperSicko list, and four are dead. Another two are missing and presumed dead. Plus, Cooper Kuntz, who the FBI asked me about earlier. That’s over a 10% mortality rate so far.

Given that the US murder rate is around seven and a half deaths per one hundred thousand people, having that same number of suspicious deaths out of a group of fifty is alarmingly high.

I think about Special Agent Wren’s card on my kitchen table and consider compiling the list to send to her. But she made it pretty clear she isn’t a fan of mine and the feeling is mutual. Besides, I’m not sure what she’d do with the information other than conclude that I’m the common link, which would only fuel her suspicion of me.

Instead, I go back to the article I found on Salem Adams’ death and find the name of the police officer it quoted. I track down his phone number and give him a call. I’m surprised when he picks up on the second ring. I expected to be redirected to an operator instead.

It takes me a second to find my footing, but then I give him my name and explain that I’m calling for information about the Salem Adams case.

He hesitates for a moment before responding. “Do you mind if I ask what your interest is in the case?”

Over the years, I’ve learned that the best lies skew as much toward the truth as possible. “Of course. I’m a private investigator,” I give him the name of my company and my PI license number. “Mr. Adams’ name came up while I was doing some work for a client.”

“Unfortunately, ma’am, given that this is an open and ongoing investigation, I’m not at liberty to give out any details.”

I shouldn’t be surprised by the answer. I knew it was a long shot that he’d speak to me, but I’d still hoped he might. “I understand.” I pause for a moment, wondering if I should ask if there were any human bones at the scene, but then realize if the answer is yes, it will only complicate things. If that’s a piece of information that hasn’t been released to the public, it would look very suspicious for me to call out of the blue and ask about it.

Instead, I thank the officer for his time and end the call. I sit for another moment, tapping my pen on the desk. It’s a waste of time to call any of the law enforcement involved in the other cases; they’llall give me similar answers. However, there’s someone I know who they might be willing to talk to.

When Kez answers the phone, her breathing is labored, and her voice is strained. Alarm bells go off in my head.

“What’s wrong?” I immediately ask.

“I’m fine,” she tells me. “I’m just in labor.”

6

GWEN

I jump out of my chair and start down the hallway toward my bedroom. “What? Kez! Why didn’t you call me earlier? I’m on my way.”

She laughs, but it comes out strained. “No, it’s just prodromal labor, which is a thing no one warned me about. It’s like real labor, except nothing happens. Javi, of course, panicked and took me to the ER where they informed me that, according to my cervix, I’m not even close to having this baby, and the contractions should go away ‘at some point’ on their own, which may be anywhere from an hour to several days. I’m in hell.”

Her frustration and discomfort are evident over the phone. I hate that I’m not there to help her, especially since the only family she has nearby is her elderly father. He’s a wonderful man but perhaps not the most helpful when it comes to supporting her through labor. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask her.

“Tell Javi to stop hovering. He’s terrified the doctors are wrong and that at any minute he’s going to be catching this baby. I’m notsure he totally understands how long labor usually takes. Especially the first time around.”

I smile. Knowing Javi, I’m not at all surprised he’s so concerned. He adores Kez and will make an amazing father. “Tell him you’re craving ice cream. Pick some sort of ridiculous flavor that will be difficult to find. It will give him something to do and make him feel useful.”

“Ooh! Good idea.” I hear her muffle the phone and convey the order to Javi. There’s a bit of a back-and-forth before she’s back on the line. “You are a genius. He’s off to town to get a pint of Earl Grey honeycomb, which they only carry at that specialty shop on Main Street. Not only will I have some time for myself, but I’ll also get ice cream at the end of it.”

“How is the little bean doing? Have you picked a name yet?”

She groans. “We’ve picked out several. The issue is settling on one. We keep changing our minds. I’m hoping we’ll just know which one is right when we meet them for the first time.”

I smile as I remember Lanny’s birth. She’d come out red-faced and squalling until the minute they placed her on my chest. Her eyes had been dark and she’d stared up at me with the fiercest frown. I’d known right then I would do anything to protect her.

“You’ll know,” I tell her. “You’ll be surprised how everything just tends to fall into place.”

My voice catches slightly, and I clear my throat. “And, of course, you can always change your mind later. My kids have had several names.” I try to keep my tone light, but the ache is still there. Yet another thing Melvin stole from us.

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