The Crying House: An absolutely nail-biting mystery and suspense thriller (Detective Casey White Book 4) by B.R. Spangler

Author:B.R. Spangler [Spangler, B.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781800197176
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2021-08-03T06:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

I left the morgue with Tracy following, our going to the station to brief the team on the bodies recovered, three additional notes discovered in the victim’s hands to join the first—the senseless words circling my brain like a wind picking up debris and stirring it aimlessly. Worry had me biting my lips, the uncertainties casting doubts to the directions to take this investigation. The killer’s words were the key. We just needed to figure out what that was. I’d feel better once we convened to review: a team meeting scheduled for this morning, which would include Jericho and a few from his team. Cheryl notified the mayor, relaying the news, telling her that without question, the Outer Banks had a serial killer. I didn’t share the frightening part though. The Outer Banks has had a serial killer for some time. Given the unknown ages of the bodies, there was no telling just how long.

A thick fog rolled into the Outer Banks that morning with a murky coat, white and gray with hints of blue. Drops of water suspended in the air became a light rain as we drove to the station, the oncoming headlights veiled and slowing the drive. By the time I reached the station’s parking lot, the raindrops were swollen and cold, dousing my head and shoulders and setting a chill deep inside me. I shook with cold and tried drying myself, ringing my hair with my hands, dripping on my chair and desk, limp bangs flopping in my eyes and water running down my face.

I eyed the bathrooms, but wasn’t fast enough, Cheryl stopping to see me before the meeting. “Don’t you look like a wet rat.”

“Morning to you too,” I said, turning away to ignore her. I was used to her trying to get under my skin. Trying, I told myself, feeling uneasy. Cheryl did get under my skin, but I let it bounce off me as I eyed the heavy makeup she wore today. “We’re not all waterproof.”

She ignored the comment. “Listen, I’ve got a hairdryer. You’re welcome to use it.”

“Yeah,” I answered, surprised by the offer. I looked over her shoulder, the cubical she sat at empty, no signs of use, the computer equipment removed, a coating of dust showing where the equipment had been. Confused, and realizing she’d moved, I asked, “Where are you sitting?”

There was a grin on her face. “I got one of the offices.” The freckles on her nose were suddenly all I could see, unable to look her in the eyes, her status at the station leaping mine. “It’s the one next to the corner office. You’ll find my hairdryer in the bottom right desk drawer.”

“Thanks,” I said, cringing and wanting to tell her to wipe that smile off her face. I continued to pat my hair with a handful of paper towels I’d found, the paper bundle becoming a mash. “That’s nice of you, Cheryl.”

“Don’t be too long.” I watched Cheryl walk away, a stir of jealousy pinching.

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