Chapter 17

LYNN

“I can’t believe her!” I exclaim, storming into the bookstore.

“What’s up?” Zoey asks, looking up from her book.

“She’s acting all high and mighty ever since she got that house and the book deal. She’s acting like nothing else matters.”

I toss my keys onto the counter, grab my laptop, and plop down on the couch near the front of the store.

“And the worst part? She doesn’t give a damn about Brian. Sure, he cheated on her, but if my guy was in that situation, I’d stick by him. No doubt about it.”

“Seriously? I thought she’d at least be there for him,” Zoey says, sounding surprised.

“Nope,” I reply, opening my laptop and propping my feet up on the table. I pull up a search engine and type in Christopher Miller.

“Nothing.”

“Social media? Nothing.”

“Criminal record? Nothing.”

“Damn, I need more information,” I mutter.

“What was that?” Zoey asks.

“Just talking to myself,” I say, glancing up at her. She’s engrossed in a book titled, ~How to Find Out if Your House is Haunted.~

I chuckle, then remember something Chelsea mentioned. She said he looked just like a character from her first book. I look at Zoey.

“Where’s that manuscript Chelsea gave me? The one called ~Finding the One~?” I ask.

“I think it’s under the register.” She marks her page, closes her book, and heads behind the counter. After a moment, she holds up a stack of papers. “Is this it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Thanks.”

She hands me the manuscript and I start flipping through it, looking for the character Chelsea described.

“Found you,” I say, grinning.

I add more details to my search—hair color, height, eye color, age, build. The search takes a while, but still, nothing.

“Shit!”

“Can’t find him, huh?” Zoey asks, smirking. “Maybe he’s a ghost.”

~He can’t be a ghost. Chelsea’s been sleeping with him. He’s definitely alive.~ I sit back, considering the idea.

“Why not? It’s worth a shot,” I say, shrugging.

I type his name into the deceased records and hit search. Nothing. But a different Christopher Miller shows up—born July 1946, died September 1970. Drowned.

The report doesn’t say anything else. No details about his life, his family, or how he drowned. Nothing.

DAN

“Hey, Kathy. Got your text,” I say, walking into the autopsy room. Kathy’s cleaning up and jotting down notes in her logbook. “So, what happened to Crazy Willie?” I ask, waving my hands in the air.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like this. He drowned,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Drowned? How?”

“That’s the million-dollar question. According to your notes, he should’ve frozen to death. But his lungs were full of water. That’s why his liver was so cold.”

“But he wasn’t near any water!” I protest.

“I know. He ran out of the bookstore, made it about fifty yards into the park, and then drowned.”

“This case is getting weirder by the minute. So, you’re saying he somehow inhaled water and then his organs froze solid?”

“Exactly!” she says, making finger guns at me. “I can’t even write a proper report because no one would believe it. Your notes and my findings don’t match up, even though I was at the scene.”

“Maybe we should call the FBI,” I joke, laughing.

“Why would we do that?” Kathy asks, looking confused.

“Maybe they’ll send Fox Mulder from the ~X-Files~ to solve this case.”

“We might need him at this rate,” she says, laughing along with me.

“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. Tag him, put him in the freezer, and file your report somewhere out of sight. I’ll let you know when I have more answers,” I say, heading for the door.

“Will do,” Kathy replies as the doors swing shut behind me.

Back in my cruiser, I pull out my laptop and search for Willie Stiles.

Only one thing comes up. He was accused of murder in 1970, but the charges were dropped due to lack of evidence. The crime took place at Strange Estates.

“Strange Estates!” I exclaim. “Why does that sound so familiar?”