Page 60 of Little Twisted Things

“Does my chewing bother you?” A smirk crossed his lips.

“Actually, it does.”

“Someone took their bitchy pills this morning.” He grinned.

I picked up a paperclip and tossed it at him. My phone rang. Glancing over, I saw it was Luke.

“Luke,” I answered.

“Paige, you’re never going to believe this. We found The Last Chapter Killer. He’s dead.”

“What do you mean?”

The Key West Fire Department responded to a house fire late last night. When officers arrived, they ran the license plate on the vehicle parked in the driveway. It came back registered to Professor Alex Whitmore. After firefighters were able to extinguish the fire, they discovered two bodies inside the house. One male. One female. The medical examiner confirmed this morning that the male was Professor Alex Whitmore.”

“What? The friend of that other professor who was murdered?”

“Yep.”

“Who was the female?” I asked.

“We’re still trying to identify her. We went to Professor Whitmore’s girlfriend’s house.”

“Dahlia?” I asked.

“Yeah. And no one was home. We questioned the neighbor, and she said Dahlia told her she was going on a business trip to Los Angeles for a few days.”

“Did you check the airlines?” I asked.

“We did, and nothing. There is no record of Dahlia booking a flight.”

“What about her car?”

“No sign of it anywhere. We’ve been searching. We notified the police in different states and Border Patrol to keep an eye out for it and her. I’ll let you know if we find her.”

“Thanks, Luke. I appreciate it. At least Key West can sleep peacefully tonight knowing that The Last Chapter Killer is no longer a threat.”

“Yeah. But things still aren’t adding up.”

The following morning, I set my coffee cup on my desk and sat down. I’d tossed and turned all night long thinking about Dahlia. I was there, in her home, while she was upstairs. Damn it, I should have insisted on speaking with her. What were the chances that her boyfriend turned out to be The Last Chapter Killer? It was her. I knew it was.

“Walker, there’s someone here to see you,” Officer Denton said.

Turning around, I froze when I saw Katherine Tate standing there.

“Katherine?” I slowly walked toward her, my hand resting on my holstered gun.

“Hello, Detective Walker. I need to speak to you, please. It’s important.”

My brows furrowed as I stared at her. I searched her face for something. Anything that would justify my instincts. But she didn’t look like a killer. She was composed, soft-spoken, polite, and frail. She was the same woman I’d interviewed countless times. Every instinct I had screamed at me to arrest her, but instincts weren’t evidence. I had nothing that could place her at the scenes of the murdered husbands, and without that, my hands were tied.

“Let’s go talk. Follow me.” I led her to the interrogation room. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?”

“Water would be good.”

“I’ll be right back.” I walked out the door and grabbed a bottle of water. “You said you wanted to talk.” I sat down and handed her the bottled water. “I’ve been looking for you, Katherine. You just disappeared without a trace. Where have you been?”

“I know.” She lowered her head. “And what I’m about to tell you is going to make me sound crazy.” She breathed out a laugh. “Actually, I am crazy.”