Amanda Stevens - Killer Investigation

She dropped her hand to her side as she stared out into the gathering dusk. Already, the garden beyond the French doors looked creepy as hell. The statues of angels and cherubs that her grandmother had collected had always been a little too funereal for Reid’s tastes. The summerhouse, though. He could see the exotic dome peeking through the tree limbs. The Moroccan structure conjured images of starry nights and secret kisses. He and Arden had made that place their own despite the bad memories.

“Reid?”

He shook himself back to the present. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“The cabdriver had the radio on when I came in from the airport. There wasn’t a word of this on the news. No mention of a homicide at all. Ambrose didn’t say anything about it, either.”

“No reason he would know. As I said, the details haven’t yet been released. With all the Twilight Killer publicity recently, the police don’t want to incite panic. Keeping certain facts out of the news is smart.”

Arden turned away from the garden. “What do you think?”

“About the murder?”

“About the magnolia blossom.”

Reid hesitated. “It’s too early to speculate. The police are still gathering evidence. The best thing we can do is wait and see what they find out.”

The hazel eyes darkened. “Since when have you ever waited for anything?”

I waited fourteen years for you to come back . “I have no choice in the matter. I don’t have the connections or the clout I had when I was with Sutton & Associates. All I can do is keep my eyes and ears open. If my friend lets anything else slip, I’ll let you know.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “You’re saying all the right things, but I don’t believe you.”

“You think I’m making this up?”

“No. I think you came over here for a reason, but it wasn’t just to tell me about a murder or to suggest we wait and see what the cops uncover. You’re right. Only a handful of people would remember that a white magnolia blossom was left on the summerhouse steps the night my mother was murdered. Everyone else, including the police, focused on the crimson petal placed on her lips—the kiss of death that became the Twilight Killer’s signature. The creamy magnolia blossom was never repeated at any of the other murder scenes. Which means it was specific to my mother’s death.”

“That’s speculation, too. We’ve never known that for certain.”

“It’s what we always believed,” she insisted. “Just like we became convinced that the real killer remained free.”

“We were just dumb kids,” Reid said. “What were we—all of twelve—when we decided Orson Lee Finch must be innocent? No proof, no evidence, nothing driving our theory but boredom and imagination. We let ourselves get caught up in a mystery of our own making that summer.”

“Maybe, but we learned a lot about my mother’s case and about how far we were willing to push ourselves to uncover the truth. Don’t you remember how dedicated we were? We sat in the summerhouse for hours combing through old newspaper accounts and scribbling in notebooks. We even rode our bikes over to police headquarters and demanded to speak with one of the detectives who had worked the Twilight Killer case.”

“For all the good that did us,” Reid said dryly. “As I recall, we were not so politely shown the door.”

“That didn’t stop us though, did it?” For the first time, her eyes began to sparkle as she recalled their ardent pursuit of justice. The polished facade dropped and he glimpsed the girl she’d once been, that scrawny, suntanned dynamo who’d had the ability to wrap him around her little finger with nothing more than a smile.

“No, it didn’t stop us,” he agreed. “When did anything ever stop us?”

She let that one pass. “We decided the white magnolia blossom represented innocence, the opposite of the bloodred petal placed on my mother and the other victims’ lips. Given the Twilight Killer’s contempt for single mothers, he would have viewed all of them as tainted and unworthy, hence the crimson kiss of death.”

In spite of himself, Reid warmed to the topic. “You were the innocent offspring. The first Child of Twilight.”

She nodded. “The white blossom not only represented my virtue, but it was also meant as a warning not to follow in my mother’s sullied footsteps.”

They shared a moment and then both glanced quickly away. The memory of what they’d created and what they’d lost was as fleeting and bittersweet as the end of a long, hot summer.

“No one knew about the baby,” he said softly.

Her gaze darted back to him. “Of course, someone knew. Someone always knows. Secrets rarely stay hidden.”

“It never needed to be a secret. Not as far as I was concerned. But...” He closed his eyes briefly. “Water under the bridge. This murder has nothing to do with what happened to us. To you.”

“If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Arden—”

“I know why you’re here, Reid. I know you. You won’t come right out and say it, but you’ve been dancing around the obvious ever since you got here. Despite what you said earlier, this does involve Orson Lee Finch. The way I see it, there can only be two explanations for why a magnolia blossom was left at that murder scene. Either Finch really is innocent or we’re dealing with someone who has been influenced by him. A copycat or a conduit. Maybe even someone with whom he’s shared his secrets.”

Reid stared at her in astonishment. “You got all that out of what I just told you? That’s quite a leap, Arden.”

“Is it? Can you honestly say the thought never crossed your mind?”

“You’re forgetting one extremely important detail. No red magnolia petal found on the body. No crimson kiss of death placed on the lips. This isn’t the work of a copycat and I seriously doubt that a dormant serial killer has suddenly been reawakened after all these years. A jury of Finch’s peers found him guilty and none of his appeals has ever gone anywhere. This has to be something else.”

Arden refused to back down. “Then I repeat, why are you here?”

He ran fingers through his hair as he tried to formulate the best answer. “Damned if I know at the moment.”

She regarded him with another frown. “Just consider the possibility that you and I were right about Orson Lee Finch’s innocence. The monster who killed all those women, including my mother, has remained free and well disguised all these years. Maybe I’m the reason he’s suddenly reawakened. Maybe the white magnolia blossom left at the crime scene was meant as another warning.”

“It’s way too early to head down that road,” Reid said. “If anything, we may be dealing with a killer who wants to throw the police off his scent.”

“So you don’t think my coming home has anything to do with this?”

“You just got in today. The murder occurred sometime last night or early this morning.”

“A coincidence, then.”

“What else could it be?”

She sighed in frustration. “I don’t understand you, Reid Sutton. You berate me when I don’t show the proper reaction to your revelation about the magnolia blossom, and now you go out of your way to try and convince me—and yourself—that it has nothing to do with me. You came all the way over here just to tell me about a coincidence.”

“I’m just trying to be sensible,” Reid said.

“You were never any good at that.”

“Maybe not, but someone needs to put on the brakes before we get too carried away.”

“Now who’s being pedestrian?” She brushed back her hair with a careless shrug. “Something’s not right about all this. Something’s not adding up. Why do I get the feeling you’re still holding out on me?”