“You pitched the book? I didn’t even agree to write it.”
“Adam, you and I are one and the same. We both love money. Don’t be dumb. This is the chance of a lifetime. I’m talking seven figures, movie deals, the whole shebang.” He stops talking, waiting for me to agree. I can hear heavy breaths from his overexcitement.
My eyes light up, thinking of the money, fame, and power. A smile grows on my face the more I daydream of what my life could be, and then I can’t stop my own response from leaving my mouth. “Fine. But I’m going to write the truth—none of this ‘I’m the murderer’ bullshit.”
“That’s perfect. People like true crime better these days anyway. I’m setting up an auction, so get to writing. I’ll be in touch, buddy.”
The phone clicks and I hang up the receiver, sitting there in a daze for a moment. Holy shit. All my dreams are finally going to come true. I take a seat at my desk, ready to pour the pages out. This story is going to make my career, it’s going to make people know who Adam Morgan is. I crack my knuckles and open a blank word document. I type, Adam Morgan: Murder He Wrote.
There’s a knock at the door. I turn in my seat and then it hits me. Damn, I forgot all about Rebecca and my investigation. I can’t let anything get in the way of figuring out the truth. This book will mean nothing if I’m rotting in a prison cell or worse, dead. I close my laptop and rush to open the door. Rebecca walks in before I even have a chance to invite her. Her hair is in tight curls under her hat, and her cheeks are a rosy red.
“That was quick,” I tell her as she removes her coat and hat and takes a seat on the couch.
“I work fast, and you don’t have much time,” she says, picking up The Corrections. She glances at it and sets it on the coffee table. “If only he could have been my writing professor.” There’s a smartass grin on her face.
“Then you wouldn’t have been at a community college, now would you?” I snap back, my jealousy coming through. I can tell by her eyes she knows the comment did its job. Her perceptivity is impressive. “Anyway, you’re right, I don’t have much time. Can I get you something to drink?”
She shakes her head, and I join her on the couch. Rebecca pulls out a couple of file folders and lays them out in front of her. “You ready for this?”
I nod.
“Okay, so Kelly or Jenna’s first husband’s name was Greg, and they were married for a year and a half—got married young, like twenty. You know about the murder, the misplaced evidence, and the fact that Scott Summers helped her get away with it. The two left Wisconsin after the case was closed and wound up here in Prince William County, Virginia.” She flips through the papers. I take pages here and there, reading them myself. Most of this I knew.
“Where’s the new info? Like his family or something?”
“I’m getting there. Yes—both his parents are still alive. But I couldn’t find much about them. The father works in commercial real estate, and the mother does a lot of volunteer work. They don’t seem like they would have had anything to do with this. They’re in their sixties. It just seems like a bit of a stretch,” she explains.
His sixty-year-old parents do seem a bit far-fetched. I mean, I couldn’t imagine my own mom being involved in some vicious murder. But then again, Harold Shipman, AKA Dr. Death was murdering people well into his fifties, and that couple in Missouri picked up the hobby of killing drifters in their seventies. So, age doesn’t really rule people out. If nothing else turns up, I’ll have her dig deeper into where they were when Kelly was murdered.
“Here’s the thing—Greg had a brother. His name’s Nicholas Miller. Based on what I could dig up—which isn’t a lot—I believe he lives in the area.”
My eyes light up. It has to be him. Who else would want to kill Kelly? “Where does he live? Where does he work? Let’s find him.” This is it. This is my lifeline. This is my miracle. Everything is going to be okay.
“See, here’s the thing. I called the home and spoke with the mother. The conversation I had with her is also why I didn’t think the parents had anything to do with this. She was so friendly and nice. I enjoyed speaking with her. I might just call her regularly since my own mom is such a jerk.”
“Okay, get to the point, Rebecca. We can talk all about your family problems after I’m cleared of this.”
“Sorry. Anyway. I asked for Nicholas since when I pulled the background report on Greg, I saw he had an older brother. Well, the mother told me he had just visited and left the other day to head back to Maryland.”
“Maryland. That’s not Virginia,” I say.
“Correct, but it’s very close. There are so many cities, and towns he could be in that are less than two hours from here. He could have easily done this.”
“How do we find him?”
“I’m still looking. I haven’t been able to locate a Nicholas Miller, but I have found some others with that same last name. I was going to start there and see if anyone knows him. It’s not that common of a name, so I might just get lucky,” she says.
“Well, how ‘not common’ is it?”
“I have a list of seventy-two people with the same last name within a two-hour radius, and since you have nothing going on in the meantime, I thought you could help me tackle half this list.” She hands me a page full of names, addresses, and phone numbers.
“There’s like fifty names on my list. That’s not half.”
“I know. Because some of these don’t have phone numbers, so I’m going to need to make some home visits. I wouldn’t be complaining if I were you. Your life is literally on the line,” she reminds me.
“Trust me. I know.” I roll my eyes.
“Great. Well, you get to work on those, and I’ll be back late tomorrow. Call me if you find anything.”
“And you do the same.”
“Oh, I will.” She packs up her stuff.
Before she leaves, I call her name. She turns to look at me. “Be safe.”
She smiles, nods, and then leaves me there with a page of phone numbers. One of these sets of numbers just might be my winning ticket—my very own lottery. I pick up the corded phone and start dialing.
35
Sarah Morgan
Anne informed me on my drive that Sheriff Stevens was giving her grief about meeting me at Seth’s Coffee. I’m not sure what his deal is, but I’m going to find out. I don’t have time for his games. Time is running out, and he’s going to help me whether he wants to or not. I’m not entirely sure what changed. He went from being flirty and telling me he would help me with anything to scurrying off suddenly at the lake house, and now ignoring me. I can’t even recall what happened that made his whole demeanor change. Was it something Adam said? Did Adam threaten him?
Adam was acting a bit odd that night. But I just assumed it was because he’s on trial for murder and if we lose, he’ll get the death penalty. I’d be acting weird too.
I’m driving straight to the police station to catch up with Sheriff Stevens before he leaves for the day. I need his help finding Jesse Hook, and I need his police resources to discover everything there is to know about him and find out if his DNA matches with that third set. Plus, there’s still that photo that someone sent Adam. Whoever it is knows something—and I’d still like to interview Scott Summers and his cocky partner, Marcus. They’ve both rubbed me up the wrong way.