Chapter 22

LYNN

When I wake up the next morning, I can feel Dan’s arms still wrapped around me. A smile spreads across my face. ~God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the warmth of another body against mine~.

I turn my head to see that he’s still asleep. I carefully slip out from under the covers, then slide back in, this time with my eyes on his cock.

I take him in my mouth, holding him there, feeling him grow. Then I start to suck.

He stirs. “Good morning,” he murmurs.

Now he’s fully hard in my mouth. I’m not letting go until he gives me what I want.

“Holy shit!” he exclaims.

I don’t stop.

“Um, hey,” he says, tapping me on the shoulder.

I ignore him and suck harder. His hand finds the back of my head. A few seconds later, he’s cumming down my throat. I wait until he’s finished, then throw the covers off me. I look at him with a wide smile.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Good morning,” he replies. “That was a nice wake-up call.”

“Fancy a shower?” I ask, hopping out of bed and heading into the bathroom. I don’t wait for his answer. I just turn on the water and step in. He joins me a moment later.

We kiss and wash each other. It feels good to have him here with me.

After we’re dressed, we head down to the kitchen. Zoey is still asleep on the couch. I start a pot of coffee while Dan goes to retrieve the files from his car.

We’re sitting at the breakfast bar, going through the files, when Zoey walks into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She points at us.

“Did you two have sex?” she asks.

We look at each other and simultaneously say, “No.” Then we both burst into laughter.

“So what if we did?” I ask.

“Never mind,” she says, still rubbing her eyes. “You two look good together.” She rummages around for a clean mug.

We exchange another glance.

“You want to fuck?” he asks.

“Maybe later,” I reply, and we laugh again. I lean over and kiss him. Zoey doesn’t notice.

She stands in front of us, just staring, holding her coffee.

“What?” I ask, looking at her.

“You two fucked. I can tell—you’re glowing.”

“Zoey, sweetheart. If you got fucked like I did last night by this guy, you’d be glowing too,” I say, giving his ass a squeeze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think I got drugged last night,” he says, looking at me.

Zoey shakes her head. Dan opens the file from his father and starts going through it. He comes across some pictures of the scene and lays them out one by one.

Zoey shrieks and covers her mouth.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim.

The pictures are from early 1975; the quality is poor. They’re mostly gray, but the blood is as red as the day they were taken.

“This was taken August 9th, 1975, when Frank J Stallworth and his wife Maggie M Stallworth were killed instantly when they hit the tree,” Dan says, reading aloud.

“They were driving a 1974 Pontiac Bonneville that hit the tree head-on at an unknown speed. The engine block ended up in the front seat. Both of them were thrown through the windshield.

“Maggie landed forty feet from the car. Frank was ripped in half. His lower half was still in the car, and his upper half landed twenty yards from her. He crawled to her, leaving a trail of blood, and held her hand.”

Dan pulls out a picture of Frank holding his dying wife. Zoey covers her eyes.

“These cars were built like tanks with all metal frames. To hit a tree at that speed and have the engine block end up in the front seat is unheard of.”

“Does the report say anything about who they were?” I ask.

“No, it’s just an accident report.”

“Did you bring your laptop?” I ask.

He points to it under a pile of news clippings. I pull it out and type in Frank and Maggie Stallworth. A moment later, an article from August 9th, 1975, pops up.

“It says here they owned Stallworth Publications,” I say, pointing at the screen.

“Their children didn’t want anything to do with the publishing business, so they sold the company to a man named Robert Fesser. That’s Chelsea’s publisher.”

“It’s starting to make sense now. When I was at the tree a few days ago, I saw two crosses. One said Frank, the other, which was forty feet away, read ‘In loving memory of Frank and Maggie Stallworth.’”

Dan stops and pulls up a photo from his phone showing the cross. “Now it all makes sense.”

Zoey takes her coffee and retreats to the living room.

I stare at the computer. All these names from the news clippings mean something. I open another file on the computer and look up Family Tree.

I start entering all the names we’ve come across from the articles, then hit Send.

Dan continues to go through more cases involving the tree. This time there are no photos of the crashes. Every case was closed due to lack of evidence or ruled a suicide.

“My father told me there was something bigger causing all these deaths. He never got a chance to find out what. The case went cold for forty-seven years until Brian’s crash.

“When I told my father about Brian, the first thing he said was, ‘It wasn’t suicide.’ Then he handed me this file.”

The computer dings, and I look at the screen.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim.