Page 41 of The Girl on Hallow's Eve

“Long.”

“Long?” He seems bewildered by the response.

“Not as long as some of the ones I’ve taken for work, but it does strike me as strange that a company that has been so verbal about their commitment to the Sherwood community and wanting to be a part of it chose for everyone to live in a town considerably farther away from the mall then Sherwood itself,” I point out.

“Well, Heggs is a larger town. There were more housing opportunities available here. And when we needed to find temporary offices, this building was conveniently available.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” I say.

“Speaking of these temporary offices, do you happen to know when the mall will be cleared so we can return there and work on making up for these lost days?” he asks.

I’m stunned by the question. “Making up for the lost days? You’re still planning on having your grand opening?”

“Of course. As soon as possible. This project was a massive undertaking. It can’t just be thrown away. The team acknowledges that there is quite a bit of work that needs to be done, but we’re hoping not to lose too much momentum and be able to reschedule the grand opening for sometime in the next few weeks. We can’t lose valuable holiday shopping time,” he says.

I feel like if I hear a reference to holiday shopping one more time it’s going to split my head in half. It doesn’t even sound real anymore. It’s just a catchphrase tossed in among his other jargon to make the mall sound important and the opening seem urgent.

“Mr. Rainey…”

“Please, Cary.”

It comes out sounding like an impulse, an automatic response to hearing his name put that way rather than an actual friendly gesture. This is a man who is skilled at convincing people to adapt their perceptions and their thoughts to what he wants them to be.

“Cary,” I say. “I don’t know if you understand the gravity of what happened at the mall over the weekend. I know you haven’t been formally interviewed by police yet, but it’s important that you fully grasp what happened and the impact of that.”

“I understand what happened, Agent Griffin.” There’s a pause and I know he’s expecting me to fill it in with the offer for him to refer to me by my first name, but I’m not going to. He catches that and continues. “It was a horrible tragedy, but the world cannot stop for tragedy. In fact, the best way to overcome it and move forward in life is to, indeed, move on. Progress can’t and shouldn’t be impeded. It should be celebrated. Opening the mall as intended shows us coming together as a community and being there for each other. We can honor those lost to this horrific event.”

“Honor them by expecting everybody to put on happy faces and go shopping while pretending they aren’t walking around where these people died?” I ask. “That’s your idea of honoring them?”

“Yes,” he says calmly. “Making their memory a part of our community forever.”

“A part of our community,” I say with careful emphasis.

He hears it and the encouraging, persuasive smile grows just a little wider.

“Yes.”

I hesitate for a beat. “I have no idea when it might be cleared. I’m guessing as soon as it has been fully processed for evidence and is no longer considered an active crime scene, it will be released back to the company. Of course, you will want to make sure it’s cleaned.”

The sentence feels stinging and vile, exactly as I intended, but it has no impact on the man in front of me.

“Then I suppose all I can do is continue getting as much work and preparation done as possible before then. Well, Agent Griffin, what can I do for you? You mentioned there was something you needed to speak with me about.”

Hearing him be able to so easily continue on the conversation this way feels like a rush of cold air down my spine.

“During the open house my husband and I attended, I overheard what sounded like you having a fairly heated argument with someone in the storage area,” I tell him.

Cary gives me one of those looks meant to say he’s confused, but being good-natured about it.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“The storage area behind the gray doors near the nail salon,” I tell him, being as specific as I possibly can to ensure he can tell I know what I’m talking about. “During my tour with Marissa, we were standing near there and heard you arguing. At least, we heard two angry male voices arguing and then moments later, you came out through those doors and walked away. Does that sound more familiar? Please keep in mind I am investigating mass murder that occurred not long after that incident.”

This sparks a memory for him.

“Oh, right. That,” he grumbles. “Yes, that is an encounter I would prefer not to think about much more. It was with a man named Joshua Lawrence. He was one of the construction workers who had been working on the mall project essentially from the beginning. Unfortunately, he was influenced by the protestors speaking out against the project and it turned his opinions against the mall and the Calloway Group. I happen to believe that he is responsible for facilitating a lot of the demonstrations and other issues caused by the protestors.

“I only just uncovered all of this shortly before the open house and had fired him. But he showed up several more times. I told him to stay away, that he was no longer employed and was considered a trespasser, but it didn’t stop him. He showed up to the open house and was found roaming around in the service area. I confronted him there and that is what you must have heard.”

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