Annslee Urban - Smoky Mountain Investigation

“No, Max. I’m serious. If this man calls again, the conversation will involve his agenda, not mine.”

Max pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “Well, any clue to his whereabouts, motive or even his next victim is what readers want to know.”

Readers? Kylie fell back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. “You’re talking about a murderer, Max. A cold-blooded killer. Not some bad-boy sports figure. Let’s pray for a speedy resolution to this murder case and for life to get back to normal.”

“Until then, keep the story alive and interesting.” Max stood and stretched a little. “Pulitzer, Kylie.” He gave her a pat on the shoulder on his way out of the newsroom.

Forget the Pulitzer. She’d be happy with a little quiet and peace of mind.

She skimmed the article, edited a couple sentences and added a few more facts, grateful to see it was coming together. A little more tweaking and she’d be finished.

The trill of her cell phone sent her pulse into a sprint. She pulled the handset from under a stack of papers. Restricted showed on the screen. She pressed it to her ear. “Kylie Harper.”

“Kylie. My dear Kylie, how are you?”

Her heart stopped. She shifted the phone to the other ear. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Don’t sound so fussy, dear. Didn’t you enjoy my gift?”

Kylie swallowed a gasp. “A dead man? No. That’s a terrible gift.”

Heated laughter rippled through the line.

She pinched her eyes shut and whispered through clenched teeth, “Please, stop this madness.”

“Stop?” Another fiery chuckle. “Why, precious, I’ve just begun.”

Kylie bolted upright in her chair. Her eyes popped open. “What do you mean?”

“Did you enjoy the elevator ride, Kylie?”

Her heart slipped. “You...you were responsible for that?”

“I told you. I’m never far away.”

Questions? Questions? Max’s words echoed in her head. What questions should she ask? She rubbed at her forehead as if to jump-start her brain. “So where are you now?”

“Too personal, dear. But I have a question for you. Fireworks. Do you remember?”

Fireworks? “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Oh, but you do.”

“No—”

“The cows and the moon.”

“What?”

“I saw you stealing kisses, Kylie.”

Fighting for a full breath, Kylie barely got out, “Jake Plyler’s farm.”

“Another gift awaits you there.”

Click.

* * *

After a phone call to the police and another call to update Nick, Kylie tossed her cell phone onto the passenger seat and tightened her grip on the steering wheel of her midsize sedan. On a usual spring day there would be another couple hours of daylight left, but nothing about this day was usual. Dark gray clouds hovered low in the sky, heralding an approaching storm, as dismal and menacing as the anxiety clutching her chest.

She took a breath to ease it, reminding herself that she was just following a story. Doing her job.

This wasn’t personal.

She clung to the reassuring thought.

At Adams Gap, Kylie left the parkway and turned down a heavily rutted two-lane dirt road. The Plyler farm had been vacant for the past six years and she hadn’t traveled this path in twice that long. Not since the spring festival, her sophomore year of high school.

An impromptu after-party.

It was a clear, breezy night, she recalled, scented by the crackling fire, a bonfire licking the darkness and strains of music resonating from portable speakers. Blankets and homemade quilts peppered the grass field beside the barn and couples snuggled together to watch an amateur fireworks display put on by fellow classmates.

For most of that year, she had admired Nick from afar. A crush nursed along by his contagious laughter and impish grin. She could still remember the tingle of excitement she’d felt when he’d asked her to be his date. And on that clear May night beneath a star-studded sky, they’d shared their first kiss—a moment that hadn’t gone unnoticed by many of their razzing friends, and a moment she’d never forget.

Up ahead, an old battered stop sign marked the end of the route. Kylie’s car bumped over the uneven road. She made the final turn around a sharp bend. A tingle of relief swept through her when she saw several squad cars already there. Police officers and local deputies swarmed the area, tramping through overgrown weeds and grass. Body-recovering dogs accompanied them.

Goose bumps blazed a trail up her arms.

She swallowed hard, trying to shove back the lump of fear that nearly choked her and failing miserably.

Lord, help me.

* * *

The moment Nick answered his cell phone and heard panic in Kylie’s voice, he jumped out of his office chair, grabbed his keys and bolted out the back exit of the store. There was danger in the air and she was in the middle of it.

He gunned Steven’s motorcycle, his wheels kicking up dirt and gravel, leaving a dusty cloud in his wake. Leaning into the curve, he throttled his bike around the corner and fought against the force of anxiety pressing down on his chest.

His visit to Asheville was supposed to be short, quiet and uneventful.

Not happening.

He slowed his speed as a weather-beaten barn came into view. Jake Plyler’s old farm.

It was time to finally put the fears of the past behind him. Reconnect with family and friends. Help track down and maybe even catch a serial killer. Conrad’s killer. Sweet restitution.

He tried to hold on to the good thoughts, even as he experienced the niggling urge to turn his bike around and hightail it back to the airport. Get out of Asheville and never return.

A temptation he wouldn’t give in to. For Kylie’s sake.

Nick pulled to the edge of the pasture and parked his bike. Several short pieces of rusty, twisted wire projected from a corner post, marking where the fence had once been. He shed his leather gloves and hung his helmet from one of the handlebars. For a long moment he stood there and assessed the scene. In every direction, officers scoured the grounds, flashlights beaming. A helicopter circled above, blazing a path of white light across the dusky sky, and newscasters reported live in front of video-slinging cameramen.

Chaos was the first thought that came to Nick’s mind.

Kylie was the second.

He took off down the gravel drive toward the barn. She was his main concern. His only concern. He was grateful she’d called to keep him in the loop.

“Nick.”

He stopped short as a male voice called his name.

The side door of the barn slammed against the craggy wood siding as Dave Michelson walked out. “You’re just in time.”

“What do you know, Dave?” Nick turned and headed toward him.

“Not much. In fact, we’re batting zero.” Dave put both hands on his hips and a pucker of frustration furrowed his forehead.

“Nothing?” Nick took another look around. The grounds rambled on for acres. Overgrown fields melding with dense forests. Even with the throng of officers there, it could take days to comb the area. The killer’s previous call had contained succinct information. Something didn’t feel right. “Where’s Kylie?”

“On the other side by the paddock.” He tipped his head, gesturing to the area ahead of them. “She’s speaking with some of the other media folks.”

Nick made his way around the barn. Tension in the air stretched as taut as a trip wire. This old farm, now abandoned, spiraled him back to yesteryear and all the bittersweet memories. He’d grown up with Jake, fished in the nearby streams, climbed every tree within reach and even broken his arm jumping from the hayloft on a dare.

He slanted a glance across the field of wild grasses. A sense of loss and nostalgia flooded him. He could still see Kylie, her eyes glinting beneath the faint moonlight, her dark curls rippling in the breeze.