Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“You don’t say,” I mumbled.
She went directly into her spiel. “Yeah. Got one section, all Christmas all the time. But the rest of the store, I switch it out. Spring. Summer. Winter. Fall. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Easter. St. Patrick’s Day. Fourth of July. The whole shebang.”
“I saw that when I walked by your shop,” I told her.
“You should come in,” she invited. “Everyone could use an American flag, year-round, and I got every size you could need.”
Actually, a flag would look good at the front of the cabin.
“I’ll think on that.”
“Anyway,” she said over me finishing the word “that.” “Brenda declared she put too much work in the place to have people going in and out, breaking her glasses, staining her toss pillows, not giving two bits because it’s a vacation rental. She wanted a long-timer. So you gotta dig in. Ole Rosie, or Sarah, whichever one it is, never hurt anyone. They just moved some rocks around or scratched the windows…”
Scratched the windows?
My heartrate spiked.
Kimmy jabbed a finger at me. “…and that right there is why I think it’s Sarah. Somehow, her spirit can’t get inside. The stables are gone, which…obviously…was their happy place. That cabin was her other happy place. So that’s my theory.”
She then sucked back more pop.
I sipped my water to alleviate my suddenly dry mouth.
“So, one of them visit?” she pushed me.
“No,” I lied, but I did it hoping I wasn’t lying.
She seemed disappointed.
She explained this—insanely—by sharing, “Got no more serial killers hitting MP, never thought I’d say this, but things are kinda getting boring. But what I know is, business sure is dropping off.”
“Serial killers?” I croaked.
She narrowed her eyes on me. “Yeah. Don’t you know?”
“Um…”
“Damn, woman, how’d it escape you?”
I was wondering that myself, and I didn’t even know what she was talking about. I just knew it was more of, from my brief experience, her general not good.
That said, I was an Antonov. My great-grandfather garnered media attention because of his backstory, and his ever-increasing wealth and tenacious pursuit of more. My grandmother and grandfather did the same, also because of their wealth, but Grandma was already famous before she even met my dedulya. Their tragic story was dredged up constantly over the years simply because it was tragic, and people loved a good tragedy.
Trevor and I had earned our own mentions, and they weren’t minor, ditto the tragedy.
Then, obviously, there was the most recent calamity that had befallen the Antonov line.
I’d been trained by my mother and grandfather since I was young to ignore the media as much as I could, and truth told, more recently, I did it because they seemed dedicated less to the act of informing the public and more to dividing it.
I scanned the Chicago Tribune’s daily e-newsletter to keep on top of current events, rarely clicking on any stories, and definitely not clicking on anything about serial killers.
I liked a good story, but I got mine from books.
Morbid, real-life stories weren’t my thing.
Sure, one could say I was fascinated when Riggs told me about the sordid tale of the Whitakers last night, but I was living in their cabin.
And he was Riggs. He had an amazing voice that was deep and managed the miracle of being smooth and rough at the same time. So I could listen with fascination to anything he said, even if he was reciting his grocery list.
But…serial killers?
Plural?
Kimmy shimmied on her seat, settling in, and stated, “First, there was Ray Andrews. He wasn’t a serial killer so much as a psychopath. Or a sociopath. I get those two mixed up. Anyway, he just wanted Cade Bohannan’s attention. And he sure got it, along with a life sentence. Just wished he didn’t kill those two girls before he got it. I mean, little Alice was only eight years old.”
Eight years old?
Lord.
Unfortunately, Kimmy kept talking.
“Then there were those two numnuts, Ezra and Carrie, who murdered poor Brittanie out at the Good Times Motel. It’s The Blue Mountain now. It’s cute. So cute, I’d consider a stay-cay there. It needed fixing up, and Britt dying flushed out the Crystal Killer. Both good things, but again, I wouldn’t want Brittanie dying in such an ugly way for us to get a nicer motel in town. Though, her sacrifice probably saved a lot of other girls, ’cause Richard Sandusky wasn’t going to stop.”
I’d heard of Richard Sandusky aka the Crystal Killer. I’d also heard he’d been caught. I even knew it happened in Washington State.
I hadn’t heard it had anything to do with Misted Pines.
Boy, I hadn’t done enough research before I’d moved.
And Riggs sure left a lot out when he was telling his story last night.
A lot.
“But that was a while ago,” Kimmy continued. “And don’t get me wrong. I don’t want more of our girls getting dead. But you can’t deny, it made things interesting and brought in the lookie-loos. Now, even the coven has stopped getting new members.”