Amanda Stevens - Killer Investigation

As Arden grew older, she told herself the sound had been her imagination or the throb of her own pulse. Yet, when she allowed herself to travel back to that twilight, the pulsation seemed to grow and swell until the cacophony filled the whole garden.

It was the sound of a beating heart that had lured her from her mother’s prone body to the summerhouse, where a milky magnolia blossom had been left on the steps. The throbbing grew louder as Arden stood in the garden peering up into the ornate windows. Someone stared back at her. She was certain of it. She remained frozen—in fear and in fascination—until a bloodcurdling scream erupted from her throat.

As young as she was, Arden believed that bloom had been left for her to find. The killer had wanted her to know that he would one day come back for her.

Camille Mayfair had been the first known victim of Orson Lee Finch, the Twilight Killer. As the lives of other young, single mothers had been claimed that terrible summer, the offspring left behind had become known as Twilight’s Children, a moniker that was still trotted out every year on the anniversary of Finch’s arrest. New revelations about the case had recently propelled him back into the headlines, and Arden worried it was only a matter of time before some intrepid reporter came knocking on her door.

So why had she come back now? Why not wait until the publicity and curiosity had died down once again? She had business to attend to, but nothing urgent. After all, months had gone by since her grandmother’s passing. She’d certainly been in no hurry to wrap up loose ends. She’d come in for the service, left the same day, and the hell of it was, no one had cared. No one had asked her to stay. Not her estranged grandfather, not her uncle, not the friends and distant relatives she’d left behind long ago.

Her invisibility had been a painful reminder that she didn’t belong here anymore. Although Berdeaux Place was hers now, she had no intention of staying on in the city, much less in this house. Her grandmother’s attorney was more than capable of settling the estate once Arden had signed all the necessary paperwork. The house would be privately listed, but, with all the inherent rules and regulations that bound historic properties, finding the right buyer could take some time.

So why had she come back?

Maybe a question best not answered, she decided.

As she turned back to the foyer to collect her bags, she caught a movement in the garden out of the corner of her eye. She swung around, pulse thudding as she searched the terrace. Someone was coming along one of the pathways. The setting sun was at his back, and the trees cast such long shadows across the flagstones that Arden could make out little more than a silhouette.

Reason told her he was just one of the yard crew hired by the attorney to take care of the grounds. No cause for panic. But being back in this house, wallowing in all those old memories had left her unnerved. She reached for the antique katana that her grandmother had kept at the ready atop her desk. Slipping off the sheath, Arden held the blade flat against the side of her leg as she turned back to the garden.

The man walked boldly up to one of the French doors and banged on the frame. Then he cupped his face as he peered in through one of the panes. “I see you in there,” he called. “Open up!”

Arden’s grip tightened around the gilded handle. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Who am I? What the...?” He paused in his incredulity. “Cut it out, Arden. Would you just open the damn door?”

The familiarity of his voice raised goose bumps as she walked across the room to peer back out at him. Her heart tumbled in recognition. The eyes...the nose...that full, sensuous mouth... “Reid?”

His gaze dropped to the weapon in her hand. “Just who the hell were you expecting?”

She squared her shoulders, but her tone sounded more defensive than defiant. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”

“Are you going to let me in or should we just yell through the glass all night?”

She fumbled with the latch and then drew back the door. “What are you doing here anyway? You scared me half to death banging on the door like that.”

He nodded toward the blade. “Were you really going to run me through with that thing?”

“I hadn’t decided yet.”

“In that case...” He took the sword from her hand and brushed past her into the parlor.

“By all means, come on in,” she muttered as she followed him back into the room. She clenched her fists as if she could somehow control her racing pulse. He had startled her, was all. Gave her a bad fright leering in through the windows like a Peeping Tom. Her reaction had everything to do with the situation and nothing at all to do with the man. She was over Reid Sutton. He’d been nothing more than a memory ever since she’d left for college at eighteen, determined to put him and Charleston in her rearview mirror. They’d had a grand go of it. Given both families plenty of gray hairs and sleepless nights, and then the adventure had run its course. Arden had needed to get serious about her future and, at eighteen, Reid Sutton had been anything but serious. They’d both had a lot of growing up to do. At least Arden had been mature enough to realize she needed to break away before she made an irrevocable mistake.

She wondered if Reid had ever learned that lesson. She took in his faded jeans, flip-flops and the wavy hair that needed a trim. He was still devastatingly handsome with a smile that could melt the polar ice caps, but she knew better than to succumb to his particular allure. He was still big-time trouble from everything she’d heard, and he still had too much of the rebel in him even at the age of thirty-two. Which was, she suspected, only one of many reasons he’d recently left his family’s prestigious but stodgy law firm.

Arden watched him put away the weapon. She had to tear her gaze away from his backside, and that annoyed her to no end. “How did you get into the garden anyway? The side gate is always kept locked.” Her grandmother had made certain of that ever since the murder.

He turned with a grin, flashing dimples and white teeth. “The same way you used to sneak out. I climbed up a tree and jumped down over the wall.”

She sighed. “You couldn’t just ring the doorbell like any normal person?”

“What fun would that be?” he teased. “Besides...” He glanced around. “I wasn’t sure you’d be alone.”

“So you decided to spy on me instead?”

“Arden, Arden.” He shook his head sadly. “Since when did you become so pedestrian? You sound like an old lady. Though you certainly don’t present as one.” His gaze lingered, making Arden secretly relieved for the Pilates classes and the sleeveless white dress she’d worn to meet her grandmother’s attorney. “Just look at you. Thirty-two and all grown-up.”

“Which is more than I can say for you.” She returned his perusal, taking in the faded jeans and flip-flops.

“It’s after-hours, in case you hadn’t noticed the time.”

“Fair enough. But don’t pretend this is our first meeting since I left Charleston. I saw you just six months ago at my grandmother’s funeral.”

“Yes, but that was from a distance and you were dressed all in black. The hat and veil were sexy as hell, but I barely caught a glimpse of you.”

“You could have come by the house after the service.”

“I did.”

She lifted a brow. “When? I never saw you.”

“I didn’t come in,” he admitted. “I sat out on the veranda for a while.”

“Why?”

For a moment, he seemed uncharacteristically subdued. He tapped out a few notes on the piano as Arden waited for his response. The strains of an old love song swirled in her head, tugging loose an unwelcome nostalgia.