Page 19 of Aftermath
Inside felt exactly as I expected from the few photos shown on the listing: simply coastal decor and minimal furniture.
To my surprise, a small bookshelf sat in the corner of the living room to the right of the door, and I spotted a few familiar spines amongst the books.
Maybe Nelson was right after all. Maybe Iwouldlike him.
I made my way up the stairs directly across from the door to the second floor and found the single bedroom. A makeshift office space and bathroom were the only other rooms to share the floor.
I left the suitcase in my room and ventured back down to evaluate the kitchen and dining spaces. The kitchen was long and took up the back side of the house. A sunroom was built off the kitchen and overlooked the backyard and ocean.
I opened the door for the cool breeze rolling in with the lowering sun. The house was hot and stuffy without any A/C running.
That would be my next task: to find the source of keeping the house cool.
First, I needed to set up what I had packed with me on the case.
I picked one of the emptier walls of the dining room and started hanging up pieces of information I had. I cursed myself for being a complete stereotype out of a crime show, but it was the most efficient way for me to review the details and make connections.
I hung a map I had printed, which I marked the dump sites for each of the killer’s victims and the bar where many had last been seen.
Everything fell within the boundaries of Briarport, making me believe I was looking for a local. The times of killings varied throughout the year, and as Nelson had noted, there were seasonalvisitors, but this made me doubt they were the unsub.
This had to be someone living in town year round.
I kept hanging bits of the case and tips on the wall, adding sticky notes with my own thoughts next to everything.
With everything hung up, it was easier for my mind to map out the next most logical step. There were multiple tips hung, all from the same source. She’d laid out many pieces of the story for the FBI, and I planned to look into every detail. I found the name of the submitter next to one of the tips I’d placed on the wall.
My next step needed to be Lenore Calder.
4
LENNY
“Lenore,”Francis called out into the back room. “Someone is here for you.”
Her tone sounded impatient. I knew she hated visitors during working hours, and I didn’t blame her. They were a distraction.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” I called, hurrying to save my work I was typing up, but she’d already walked away before my words reached her.
I stood from my desk chair and smoothed out the linen pants I wore.The museum was kept much colder than the scorching weather outside, and finding a balance between not melting on my walks home and not freezing at work was the current biggest debacle in my life.
I walked out into the exhibits, glancing around for Francis.
She stood nearby with a tourist, who held up a brochure, pointing to parts. She caught my eyes and nodded over to a nearby exhibit. I saw a single person standing in the area she motioned to.
A tall man dressed in slacks and a vintage style, short sleeve button down stood admiring the exhibit on our town’s annual clambake. We were approaching the thirty year anniversary. It was only a few weeks away, so Francis had us set up an exhibit on it, hoping it’d lure more tourists back into town.
“Francis said you were looking for me,” I said, interrupting the man and watching his rich brown eyes settle on me.
He pulled out a wallet and opened it to flash a badge at me.
FBI.
I crossed my arms, the intensity of his stare making me shrink back into myself. He was handsome—definitely not what I pictured for an FBI agent.
“Are you done?” he asked.
“Done with work?” I asked, thrown off.
