Page 13 of Devil Inside: Green

“It’s scary the way your mind works.”

“Was that a compliment, Darry?”

“Not if you keep calling me Darry.”

“Then it wasn’t a compliment,” I answer wryly.

Although it’s paramount for us to get to North Carolina, we have to talk with that bartender. So far, there have only been partial descriptions from eyewitnesses who saw a man hanging around or the back of a man’s head in the camera footage. This guy knows what he’s doing—knows to keep his face from film. The problem happens when they start getting too frenzied off the high of the kill. It happens to most killers eventually. Some sooner than others. When the kills start coming closer together, like they are now, that usually means the killer’s getting frenzied. They get off on the power.

It’s funny. Before my mom died, I don’t think I ever watched a true crime show. They weren’t my thing. But in the year since my mom was butchered, I’ve watched them all, studying books and shows like I’m majoring in criminology in college.

Maybe I will one day—major in it in college.

Waiter Ken brings our plates and tea. It’s delicious. Green and I sit and eat our food in silence. I feel like I used to be a personable person back in the day. Now though, I’m not sure I know how to hold a conversation that doesn’t include body counts or kill sites. I kind of feel like a soldier who has just come back from war in that I don’t know how to relate to people like the previous version of Danni did.

Before we leave, Ken drops the bill on the table. “My brother talked with the bartender. Her name is Caycee. She’s working the bar again today and is willing to talk with you.”

“Thank you so much,” I gush.

Ken’s cheeks pink and he smiles. Green drops anicetip on the table for him and then we stop at the cash register before leaving.

“Thankyoufor lunch,” I say, and exactly as he’d done when we walked in, Green drops his hand to the small of my back.

We head to the casino hotel, and it’s much larger than I thought a casino in a town the size of Oak Grove would have. Modern with brown brick and tan stucco siding on the top two-thirds of the building. The bottom third is a very pretty stone. The majestic hallway leading into the casino has wooden plank walls and a tall ceiling with arched wooden beams. I can totally see why someone might want to make this a ‘girls' weekend’ destination. Green and I find our way into the bar that’s off the casino floor rather than continue the sightseeing tour. There are several people in here for this time of day. They have two bartenders working. Both women. Nothing for it, I walk up to the closest one. “Caycee?” I ask.

The taller, slender woman with her hair pulled back in a sexy, messy bun shakes her head, pointing down the bar to the other woman before moving to the next customer. Green stays close while we move down the bar to Caycee. We both pull up a barstool.

“What can I get you?” she asks. She’s much shorter than the other woman. Short, flirty hair. Cute as opposed to the other woman’s sultry look. I bet they both get good tips.

“Two Cokes,” I order. She frowns but nods. I watch her flip two glasses up, scoop ice in each and use a hose to fill both with Coke. I wait until she sets them in front of the both of us to launch in.

“You’re expecting us.”

Her irritated features soften. “Oh—the ones from the restaurant?”

Green speaks up. “Yeah. Did you get a look at the guy?”

“The one who sat next to the woman who disappeared?” She nods. “Yes.”

“Did they look like they knew each other?” I ask.

“No. She sat at the bar eating. We talked a bit. Her friends were supposed to join her that evening, but they hadn’t arrived yet. She had the fried fish and a Coke, just like you.”

“When did he show up?” Green asks.

Caycee sighs, wrinkling her brows. “I think about halfway through her meal, he sat down on the stool next to hers. He had brownish hair—not dark, but medium-brown and a beard and mustache.”

“Height?”

“I’d say about six feet, maybe? Regular build. Not a gym bro or anything that I could tell, but he also wore a loose-fitting button-down shirt, so he could’ve been hiding a six-pack and I wouldn’t know. You have to remember, it’s dark in here. His eyes were either brown or hazel.”

“Hair length?” I ask.

“A normal men’s short haircut. Not a buzz, but not long.”

“So this guy was nondescript.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

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