Page 25 of If She Stayed
Kate examined the screen, which showed a TikTok profile with the username @MysteryWriterDave.The profile contained dozens of videos, most of which appeared to show Fletcher sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop while occasionally commenting to viewers about his progress.
"These are live streams?"DeMarco asked.
"Yes, completely live.Well, what you're looking at is the recordings, but yes… it was all live-streamed.You can see the timestamps and viewer comments."Fletcher clicked on one of the recent videos."Tuesday night, I had forty-three people watching me work on Chapter Seven of my novel.Last night I had fifty-one viewers while I revised Chapter Three, based on some of the feedback I'd received."
Kate felt a sinking feeling as she realized what Fletcher was showing them.If he had been conducting live video streams during the times when Margaret and Jennifer were killed, he had dozens of alibi witnesses who could verify his exact location and activities.And, of course, a record of what he'd been doing.
"Mr.Fletcher, we'll need to ask for the links to these," Kate said.She kept it at that because, quite honestly, she wasn't sure how TikTok or livestreams really worked.
"Of course.I can give you the contact information for several people who watch my streams regularly if that helps."Fletcher seemed genuinely eager to cooperate now that he understood he was being considered as a suspect."I understand why you might think I had motives to hurt Jennifer and Margaret.I mean… I guess it makes sense in a way.But I would never actually harm anyone over literary criticism."
"You said you were initially angry about Jennifer's feedback," DeMarco reminded him.
"Yes, I was angry.But that's a normal response to harsh criticism.I spent a few days being frustrated, then I started working on the revisions she suggested."Fletcher gestured toward the printed pages on his desk."Half of those pages are rewrites based on Jennifer's feedback.She was probably right about most of her points, even if her delivery was brutal."
"So let me ask you this,” Kate said.“During your time with the book club, have you noticed any tensions between members?Anyone who seemed particularly upset with Margaret or Jennifer?"Kate asked.
Christ,she said, scolding herself.I’m looking forhimto slip up, and there I am… slipping up.Jennifer’s name was out of her mouth before she could catch it.But Fletcher seemed not to have noticed.
He considered the question carefully as he set his laptop back where it had been."Margaret definitely rubbed some people the wrong way with her critical approach.Sandra Morrison and Margaret often ganged up on newer members during discussions, which created some resentment.And Jennifer could be overly dramatic about her emotional responses to books, which annoyed some of the longer-term members."
"Anyone specific who seemed particularly bothered by these dynamics?"
"Patricia Dunham always looked uncomfortable when Margaret started lecturing about literary standards.Diana Clark seemed to withdraw whenever the discussions got too intense… she’s never been good at confrontation.Carol Stevens tried to play peacemaker, but you could tell she was frustrated with the constant need to mediate."Fletcher paused."But none of these people seemed capable of murder.They're just ordinary women dealing with typical book club personality conflicts.Which I know sounds sort of petty and low-level.But these women take this shit seriously.One of the reasons I stuck around as long as I did was to get their insights.A lot of their breakdowns are a goldmine for plot and character development in terms of the craft."
As Kate and DeMarco wrapped up the conversation and prepared to leave, Fletcher provided them with contact information for his regular TikTok viewers and promised to send them links to the specific live streams from Tuesday and Thursday evenings.DeMarco admitted to having a dummy TikTok account—mainly for just researching potential suspects for cases—and followed him to make the process a bit easier.
"I hope you find whoever did this," Fletcher said as he walked them to the door."Margaret deserved better than this."
When they left Fletcher's house, Kate felt a wall of frustration at having hit another dead end.Fletcher’s alibi appeared to be airtight, and his response to Jennifer's criticism seemed proportionate and mature.Whatever anger he had felt about the harsh feedback, he had channeled it into productive revision work rather than homicidal rage.
As they drove back toward the field office, Kate found herself thinking about Fletcher's description of the book club dynamics.Everyone he had mentioned seemed to fit the profile of ordinary people dealing with typical social tensions, not potential murderers.But someone in that group had committed two elaborate, carefully planned murders within three days.
The question was whether the killer was hiding in plain sight among the remaining book club members, or whether Kate and DeMarco were still missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The leather-bound copy ofThe Big Sleeplay open on the cluttered desk, its pages yellowed with age and frequent handling.He closed the book carefully, running his fingers along the worn spine before placing it back among the towering stacks of mystery novels that dominated every surface of his study.The room was evidence of decades of collecting, but was wrapped in the of chaotic energy of someone who lived among books rather than simply owning them.
Paperbacks were stacked three deep on makeshift shelves constructed from boards and cinder blocks.Hardcovers occupied the few pieces of actual furniture, their dust jackets protected by clear plastic covers that spoke of a collector's care despite the apparent disorder.First editions of Raymond Chandler sat beside dog-eared copies of modern thrillers, while vintage Agatha Christie novels shared space with contemporary Scandinavian crime fiction.
He had always loved books… from as far back as his childhood when his mother would take him to the public library every Saturday morning.The mystery section had been his refuge from a young age, a place where justice was always served and the guilty were always punished.Those childhood afternoons spent reading about detectives who never failed to solve their cases had shaped his understanding of how the world should work.
But the world didn't work that way.Justice was often delayed, sometimes denied entirely.The guilty sometimes walked free while the innocent suffered in silence.
He pulled a small glass vial from his desk drawer, holding it up to the light streaming through his study window.Empty now, but twelve-to-sixteen hours ago it had contained a precisely measured dose of oleander extract, concentrated and potent enough to incapacitate within minutes.The plant grew wild in many Virginia backyards, beautiful and deadly, ignored by most people who had no idea how toxic it could be when properly prepared.
Jennifer's tea had been so easy to doctor.A simple matter of timing and opportunity, really.It had been remarkably simple to gain access to Jennifer's kitchen while she was at the book club meeting.The ceramic mug she used for her nightly tea ritual sat in its usual place in the cabinet, and adding the oleander concentrate to the bottom had taken less than thirty seconds.The bitter compound would be masked by the chamomile's natural flavors, and Jennifer would never taste anything amiss until it was far too late.
He had waited in the shadows of her backyard, watching through the kitchen window as she prepared her tea with the same methodical routine she followed every night.The irony of her choice in reading material hadn't been lost on him.Dorothy Sayers had written about poison inGaudy Night, and now Jennifer was experiencing the reality of what Sayers had only imagined.
He knew that the FBI was now officially involved in trying to solve the murders… and he was fine with that.They had absolutely no idea that the literary staging of both crime scenes was meant to misdirect and confuse.The book references, the careful positioning of bodies, the symbolic use of objects from the novels—all of it was designed to make the investigators focus on the books themselves rather than the real connections between the victims.
Let them think they were dealing with a literary obsessive, someone driven by passion for classic detective fiction.Let them waste time analyzing plot structures and character motivations from novels written decades ago.The more energy they devoted to understanding the literary methods, the less attention they would pay to understanding his actual motives.
Margaret's death had been necessary but not particularly satisfying.She had been collateral damage, someone who possessed information that could eventually lead to uncomfortable questions.But Jennifer's death had carried a deeper significance.
Jennifer had been directly involved in the cover-up, had actively participated in the lies that had destroyed his life.
