Chapter 28

DAN

Lynn and I stride through the towering glass doors of Fesser Publishing. The receptionist spots us and stands up from her desk.

“Amanda’s waiting for you in her office,” she says, pointing us in the right direction.

Without wasting a moment, I head straight to Amanda’s office and knock on the door.

“Come in,” comes the reply.

I push the door open to find Amanda sitting behind her desk, a rocks glass filled with ice cubes in front of her. She uncaps a whiskey bottle and pours herself a generous serving. She holds up the bottle, offering me some. I shake my head.

“This arrived in the mail today,” she says, tossing an envelope across her desk. I pick it up and examine it.

~To: Detective Adams, 1301 Vetter Drive Plaza. From: Brenda Stains.~

Lynn peers over my shoulder. “That’s Dorothy Strange’s pen name,” she says, pointing at the sender’s name.

“I know,” Amanda replies.

“I’ve never met Dorothy. How would she know me?” I ask, puzzled.

“That’s why I’m drinking so early,” Amanda says, taking a sip of her whiskey. “Dorothy was a very private person. She hardly ever left her house.”

I tear open the envelope and empty its contents onto the desk. A letter and a key tumble out. Lynn picks up the key while I unfold the letter and start reading.

~Dear Detective Adams, I have written thirteen books on thirteen different topics. My life is in those books. Even North America has my books on file. Thanks, D.~

“I don’t get it,” Lynn says, looking confused.

Amanda and I exchange a glance, and in unison, we say, “It’s a clue.”

“A clue? How do you figure?” Lynn asks.

“Think about it. What storage facility is just down the road?” I ask.

“North American Storage,” Lynn replies. “So, if this is a key for that, what locker number would it be?”

“Thirteen,” Amanda says quickly, snapping her fingers.

I give Lynn a knowing smile and nod.

***

We arrive at North American Storage. I flash my badge to gain access to the facility. The guy at the desk directs us to locker thirteen.

We find the locker. Lynn inserts the key into the lock. It clicks open. She looks at me, her eyes wide with anticipation. She drops the lock and lifts the rolling door.

Inside is a ten-by-ten room filled with what appears to be Dorothy’s belongings. To the right are thirteen boxes filled with files and newspaper clippings. A few of the boxes contain only journals.

Lynn pulls out a random journal and starts reading.

“Holy shit,” she exclaims.

“What?”

“Dorothy wrote that Clayton Tucker murdered Christopher Miller in the pond on the property. Willie Stiles was the caretaker at the time and was accused of it. Who’s Clayton Tucker?”

I glance at the other boxes and see labels on them. Three are from the Walken Asylum, a couple are from Dr. David Headley and Clementine Headley.

“These boxes are about everyone who owned that house. Dorothy just gave us a key to everything that might have all the answers,” Lynn says.

“We need to get these files to my place as soon as possible,” I say, starting to close the boxes.

“That’s a good idea,” Lynn agrees.

“It’ll take me several trips with my cruiser,” I say, counting the boxes.

“My dad bought an old U-Haul truck a while back. He painted it white and put the bookstore logo on it. It’s parked behind the store.

“I’ll go borrow the truck, and we can load everything at once before it gets dark.”

I walk over to her, wrap my arms around her waist, pull her close, and plant a kiss on her lips. She smiles and runs her fingers down my chest.

CHELSEA

I’m sitting on my bed, watching Christopher. He’s standing in front of me, looking upset about something, but he’s not saying a word.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” I ask.

He paces back and forth.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again.

“Why were you in the attic?”

“I heard a noise. Why?” I ask, puzzled.

“What kind of noise?”

I stare at him, wondering, ~Why does he care? It’s ~my~ house.~

“I heard footsteps, like little kids running around up there.”

Christopher nods. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of what?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion.

“Nothing,” he says, walking closer to me.

He reaches out and touches my face with his left hand, then slides his right hand under my shirt, touching my stomach. He gives me a smile, a look of pure happiness I’ve never seen before.

I close my eyes and lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand. He caresses my cheek, his thumb gently brushing my lips.

I part my lips, and his thumb slides in. I suck on it, his thumb touching my tongue. I moan, craving more than just his finger.

He lifts my shirt and starts to tease my nipples, lightly pinching them. I suck his thumb as if I’m sucking his cock.

I look up at him, and he’s watching me. He pulls his thumb out and replaces it with his index finger. I take his finger into my mouth, feeling it push all the way in, almost touching the back of my throat.

He pulls his finger out and lifts my chin, looking at me.

“You are mine, right?”

“Yes, I am yours,” I reply.

“To do as I please?”

“To do as you please.”

He smiles and lets go.

His mere presence, his gaze, his touch, they all make me dissolve. The way he stirs a wetness within me, it changes everything.

My breaths become shallow as I part my legs. His hand ventures down, finding my folds. I let out a moan, my eyes closing.

“Does this belong to me?” he asks, slipping two fingers inside.

My breath catches. “Yes, it’s yours,” I manage to say, my eyes still shut, my mouth opening.

He withdraws his fingers, placing them in my mouth. I start to suck, tasting myself on his fingers. ~I taste sweet~, I think.

I grip his fingers, sucking them as if they were his cock. A moan escapes me, a plea for more. I guide his hand back to my pussy, craving his touch again.

“Fuck me,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I want you to fuck me!” I say, louder this time.

He clicks his tongue, returning his fingers to my mouth. “Not yet, my love,” he says.