Chapter 20

CHELSEA

Stepping outside, I’m greeted by a beautiful day. I spot a pair of gardening gloves and a bowl of seeds on the ground. Detrick is over in the garden, hard at work. I gather up the gloves and seeds and head his way.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he greets me, tipping his hat.

“I’ve told you, Detrick, call me Chelsea,” I reply, grinning.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds, a smile playing on his lips.

“Are these for me?” I ask, holding up the gloves and seeds.

He nods. “Thought it’d be a good time to plant before the second phase is up.”

“Thanks, Detrick. I didn’t have any plans today, anyway.” I step into the garden, pull on the gloves, and join him in tilling the soil.

About an hour into our work, Detrick pauses and looks at me.

“There’s a lot going on around us. Some things I don’t want to change. Some folks think this place isn’t good for you. A lot’s going to happen in the next few weeks. I just want you to be ready when it does.”

“This is my home now. No one’s going to take that away. This girl,” I say, pointing at myself, “isn’t going anywhere.”

“Good to know, ma’am,” he replies, and we get back to work.

LYNN

Hours have passed, and we’re still searching for any clue about the house’s inhabitants. I glance at the clock—it’s getting late.

“Damn, I forgot about Zoey at the bookstore. I need to go get her,” I say, hastily gathering the papers. Dan helps me.

“I need to go check on my dad,” he says.

I try to put the papers away in a large drawer, but something’s blocking it. As I hold the papers, Dan reaches into the drawer and pulls out a sealed folder.

“What’s that?” I ask, placing the papers in the drawer.

Dan walks over to the table and carefully opens the folder. It’s filled with news clippings.

“Wow,” I say, looking at the hundreds of clippings.

“I really want to dig into this, but I need to go check on my dad,” Dan says.

“Yeah, I need to check on Zoey.”

“Tell you what. Meet me for dinner at the diner around seven?”

“Are you asking me out to dinner?” I ask, a small smile on my face.

“Yes, I am,” he replies. “I promise I won’t look at anything else until you show up.”

“That sounds like blackmail to me.” We both laugh. “Sure, seven it is.”

Dan puts the clippings back in the folder.

“How are you going to get them out?” I ask.

“This is an open investigation, right? These clippings are evidence,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

“Smart,” I say. “Dinner at seven.”

As I start down the stairs, I can’t help but smile. “Damn, he’s cute,” I think to myself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lynn. Stay focused.”

***

When I get back to the bookstore, I find Zoey asleep on the couch. The bell above the door doesn’t stir her.

I glance at the box of donuts—only three left. I can’t help but giggle. She’s in a sugar coma.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up,” I say, gently shaking her.

“What time is it?” she mumbles.

“Just after four. How long were you out?”

“I don’t know,” she says.

“Did we have any customers?”

“Not while I was awake, I think.”

I check the cash drawer behind the counter. “Oh my god, we’ve been robbed!”

“What!” Zoey exclaims, jumping up from the couch.

“I’m kidding,” I say, laughing.

“That’s not funny, you bitch,” Zoey grumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“Come on, I’m closing early today. I have a dinner date.”

“With your ex?” she teases.

“Nope.”

“Then who?”

“The detective.”

“What detective?” she asks, stopping in her tracks.

“The one you didn’t tell me about, who came here asking about the homeless guy,” I say, giving her a pointed look.

“You know he’s dead?” Zoey asks.

I nod, then shake my head.

Back at my apartment, Zoey heads to the living room and turns on the TV, switching it to Netflix.

“I’m going to Netflix and chill tonight,” Zoey announces.

“You need another person to chill with when watching Netflix.”

“Not if you have one of these,” she says, holding up her hand.

I shake my head as I head into my bedroom. I take a long shower, shaving things that haven’t seen a razor in a while.

As I’m finishing up, I realize it’s just a dinner date. ~It’s not like I’m going to sleep with him. But then again, it has been a while…~

I wrap a towel around myself and head to the closet. ~What to wear? Jeans and a T-shirt? A dress?~

I pull out a dress that shows a bit of cleavage. I drop the towel and slip the dress over my head. It has a built-in bra, so I don’t need to wear one.

I adjust the girls in the dress and look in the mirror. “That’s the one,” I say, taking it off.

I dry my hair and apply a touch of makeup. I don’t want to look overdone on my first date. I slip back into the dress.

I pair it with two-inch heels and make my way downstairs. Zoey gives me a once-over.

“That dress is practically shouting, ‘I want to fuck you,’” she teases, chuckling.

“No, it’s just a casual dress. I’m not planning on sleeping with him.”

“Sure, and I’m not planning on getting off on your couch.”

“Don’t make a mess, you jerk,” I retort, heading out of my apartment.

***

I arrive at the diner. But this isn’t your average diner. It’s a full-blown restaurant that serves alcohol. I check the time and realize I’m five minutes early. I approach the hostess stand.

“How many?” she inquires.

I hold up two fingers. “Has a handsome guy named Dan Adams come in?” I ask.

“Detective Dan? No, not yet. Would you like to sit at his usual booth?”

~He has a usual booth?~

“Yes, please.”

She leads me to a booth tucked away in the back. ~This must be where he can keep an eye on the entire restaurant.~ I slide into the seat.

“Would you like something to drink while you wait?”

“What does he usually order?” I ask.

“Whiskey and a beer.”

A man after my own heart. “I’ll have the same,” I say, holding up two fingers.

In a few minutes, the waitress returns with two beers and two whiskeys. Neat.

“Thank you,” I say, and she nods.

Ten minutes later, Dan strides toward me.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, sliding into the booth next to me. “I was at my dad’s and he handed me this thick file,” he says, placing it on the table.

I glance at the cover of the file. It reads ~The Big Oak Tree Case~. “Is that the same tree Brian hit?”

He nods.

“That tree has been hit several times, and each time the case remains unsolved. When the state police arrived first, they wanted to label it a suicide and close the case.

“Maybe there’s something in these news clippings and this file that can shed some light on it.”

“Hey, Dan,” the waitress greets. “What can I get you both?”

Dan turns to me. “Do you like bacon cheeseburgers?”

I nod.

“Two bacon cheeseburgers with endless fries.”

“You got it, hon,” she says, walking away.

“You come here often?” I ask.

“My sister is the assistant manager here, so I try to support her as much as I can.”

~That’s a relief.~ I had started to worry he brought all his dates here. I lean in a little closer and take a deep breath. ~God, he smells amazing.~

“Do you always sit next to your dinner dates?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just a habit when my sister gets off work,” he explains, looking at me. “Do you want me to move to the other side,” he offers, pointing to the seat across the booth.

“No, you’re fine. I was just messing with you,” I say, touching his arm. “It’s nice.”

As we wait for our food, Dan flips through his father’s case file while I examine the news article cut-outs, scrutinizing each one closely, not wanting to miss anything.

The first article on top is dated November 1925.

“Listen to this. Dr. David Headley was accused of killing his patients at the Walken Asylum. Later that year, he was released due to lack of evidence,” I say, looking at Dan. “I don’t see how this relates to the house.”

I set the article aside and pick up the next one.

“Dr. David Headley writes about his experiences at the asylum and becomes a best-selling author.” Dan picks up the next article and starts reading.

“Dr. David Headley’s health deteriorates due to opium use. With accusations still hanging over his head for years, he turned to opium to help him forget.

“He never married, had no children, and left his house to his niece Clementine Headley.”

“Are we talking about Chelsea’s house?” I ask, eyes wide.

“Do any of these articles mention an address?” Dan asks.

I pick up the next article.

“It says Clementine was the head nurse for her uncle Dr. David Headley. When he died, she took over the Walken Asylum.”

I continue reading. “Yes, here it is. 1982 Scranton Avenue.”

Dan pulls out his phone and types in the address.

“Damn!” he exclaims.

“What?”

“GPS says that it’s not a real address.”

“Shit!” I scan another article. “Wait a minute. This one talks about how Clementine did charity work for the hospital in her backyard.

“It states that the hospital was only two hundred yards from the Headley Estate.” I look up at Dan and mouth the words, ~What the fuck?~

Dan slides out of the booth and steps outside. He returns within minutes with his laptop.

He opens it up and starts typing in the address of Chelsea’s place. Seconds later, he pulls up a satellite view of Chelsea’s property.

He moves the cursor around the property. He zooms out, searching for another structure.

“There it is, two hundred yards north of her place,” he says, pointing at the screen.

I squint at the screen, trying to make out the details, but all I see is a dense cluster of trees. He traces the outline of a roof with chimneys with his finger.

Just to the right of the asylum, you can barely make out a driveway. It’s mostly overgrown with grass or weeds now.

“What is that?” I ask, pointing at another location.

Dan scrolls over to where I’m pointing, and it’s another house that looks like it hasn’t been inhabited in years. The roof has caved in, and I see a tree growing in the middle of the house.

“Chelsea mentioned that her Chris Miller resided in a house tucked away in the woods. That’s his home base.”

Dan’s fingers dance over the screen, scanning the area around Chelsea’s property. There’s not a single house for miles. He spots a quaint cottage on the property. “Could this be it?” Dan queries, pointing at the screen.

“No, that’s the caretaker’s place. I think his name was…” My voice trails off as I try to recall his name. “Detrick!” I exclaim.

“That’s an odd name,” he comments.

“I thought the same thing. He gave me the creeps the first day we went to see the house. He was already inside when we arrived.”

Dan gives me a look, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I’ve been going through these articles and there’s a significant gap from 1936 to 1961. There’s absolutely nothing in those years.

“This piece here is from 1961 when Clementine Headley committed suicide by hanging herself in the attic. The reasons behind her suicide remain a mystery.

“She left a will, bequeathing her estate to Dorothy Strange. Clementine didn’t have any children. But the article doesn’t clarify Dorothy’s relationship to Clementine.”

The server arrives at our table with our food and fresh beers. We hastily clear the table as she sets down our plates.

“Wow, that looks delicious,” I comment.

“Doesn’t it?”

As we sit there, savoring our meal, we steer clear of the case. Instead, we chat about how Dan joined the police force and how he quickly climbed the ranks to become a detective, following his father’s path.

As for me, I’m a bookworm through and through. I have a soft spot for mysteries. If I wasn’t holed up in the library, I was at the bookstore, working alongside my parents.

I think I’ve read every single Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys book growing up. I dreamed of working on TV shows like ~CSI~ or ~Criminal Intentions~.

I still have a passion for that stuff. Working with Dan on this case is a dream come true.

Once we finish our meal and our beers, Dan regales me with tales from his time in the field—one about a drunk couple attempting to have sex on a children’s swing and tumbling off.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. I’m genuinely enjoying his company. At one point, my left hand brushes against his thigh. He doesn’t flinch or push my hand away. He simply looks at me and winks.