Ravenwood: A serial killer mystery and suspense crime thriller (Ravenwood Series Book 2) by JK Ellem

Author:JK Ellem [Ellem, JK]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-16T16:00:00+00:00

PART IV

28

ALFRED BECKETT

Early the next morning, after an unsuccessful evening of trying to locate Peggy Scott Tuttle's past boyfriends, Perez decided to call on Alfred Beckett before work.

Beckett’s house was a carcass of recycled wood and tin sheeting on a base of stained cinder blocks. It was an assortment of building materials collected, scavenged, or borrowed but never returned, fashioned into a haphazard yet solid-looking structure with a spiral of smoke coming from a crooked chimney stack on the roof. Snowflakes drifted down, settling on Perez’s head and jacket, which she pulled tighter. She passed an assortment of machinery, seized and rusted, topped with snow. They hunkered like dead animals around the house. A porch of raw lumber, dark with age, wrapped around one side of the house, sagging in places, and had no handrail. A set of old stairs led up to a collection of doors stacked against one wall that gave the illusion of an entrance, but there was none that Perez could see.

Cautiously, she climbed the steps, convinced that one of the unstable treads would collapse, and she would end up on her ass in the snow. “Hello? Mr. Beckett?” she called out, unsure where the front door was among the tapestry of overlaid planks and repurposed wood that ran the length of the porch.

“Mr. Beckett? It is Detective Perez. I wanted to ask you some questions about the Dark Rift.”

A door hidden in the side wall opened, and an outstretched skeletal hand, like a creepy coffin bank novelty toy, beckoned her within.

Unlike the outside, the inside of the house was a picture of order and meticulous care. Perez found herself in a large open room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases crammed full of books, file boxes, maps rolled into scrolls, old digging tools, and a collection of rocks scattered among brass instruments. A large steamer trunk stacked with magazines sat in the center of the room, sandwiched between two button-leather sofas, the hide rich and lustrous, lovingly rubbed and conditioned. The floor was sealed wood, covered with threadbare rugs, perfectly aligned at right angles. Against one wall, a fire raged in a large stone fireplace, its edges blackened and the mortar cracked from driving away the cold from countless winter days. The room was warm and cozy, the air thick with the smell of polished wood, old leather, and woodsmoke.

“Take a seat,” Alfred Beckett said. He hobbled and sat down in a rocking chair, his face catching the glow of the flames as they danced in the hearth. He was all skin and bone, thin and wiry but hardened like a ranch fence post. His thin, gray hair and skin were parched and weathered from a lifetime spent outdoors in the sun, rain, and cold.

Perez sat down on one of the leather sofas opposite him.

Two sharp and vibrant eyes focused on her.

“I wanted to ask you about the Dark Rift,” Perez said. “And other landmarks around the township. Edith Plover, from the library, suggested I talk to you as you’re one of the oldest residents and know a lot about the history of Ravenwood.

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