Famished by Meghan O'Flynn (latest ebook reader .TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Meghan O'Flynn
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“Well, I didn’t marry him, so—”
Jayden skipped into the living room, carrying a book and leapt into his mother’s lap. “Found it, Mama!”
She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.
Petrosky waited until Dermont looked back up. “In the event of his death, that money reverts to his closest living relative.”
“His mom, huh?” She smirked. “She always hated me, but she’ll be happy now.”
“Not the way it’s written. In this case, children get precedence over parents.”
Dermont stared at Petrosky, open-mouthed. “Wait, are you telling me that…that Jayden…”
“I am. Which is why I need to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts on the days around Mr. Campbell’s death.”
She sniffed. Her face had gone tomato red. “Ask away. I’m never anywhere, but work or here, and I have a few neighbors who can verify. Ms. Ross lives across the street. She watches Jayden when I’m at work and keeps an eye on everything and everyone the rest of the time.” Her voice was choked with emotion. A few tears slid down her cheeks and onto the top of Jayden’s head.
“Hey, Mama! Stop! Stop! All wet!”
She held him close to her chest.
“You’re going to college, baby.”
Ms. Ross was old, wretchedly mean, and honest. She wouldn’t let them in the house, but she had plenty to say: the kids in the neighborhood were too loud, Morrison’s hair was too damn long, and there was no way that Shellie Dermont was anywhere but where she’d said on the nights in question.
Petrosky was quiet as he slid behind the wheel.
Morrison cleared his throat. “You think our killer believes he’s helping people?”
“Helping?”
“Yeah, like offing people who are getting in the way of other people’s happiness?”
The car’s engine grumbled to life. “I doubt the families in question would have chosen that path,” Petrosky said.
“Well, obviously they wouldn’t have. Maybe that’s why he intervenes; he thinks he knows what’s best for everyone else. Like a nosy old lady.” Morrison nodded at Ms. Ross, who stood on her porch in her bathrobe, glaring at them.
“If we’ve got a killer out to rid the world of assholes, he’ll have to kill a lot more.”
“As it is, I don’t see him stopping,” Morrison said.
Petrosky put the car in reverse and nodded to Ms. Ross, who squinted harder at him but touched her door handle like she was considering going inside. “No, he won’t stop.”
Their killer had planned this. Chosen a poem. And he’d gotten off clean so far, which would only whet his appetite for more slaughter.
“The killings are coming fast,” Petrosky said. “But this one with Campbell feels…different. We’re missing something.”
“Besides the poem?”
Petrosky’s hands tightened on the wheel. Yes, the missing poem. Between the poem and the restraints and the type of victim, there were too many differences. That didn’t sit right, and it intensified the disquiet already eating at him. “If we don’t get a handle on this soon, we’ll have another family to notify.”
“At least the next family might not cry if what we’ve seen so far is any indication,” Morrison said.
Petrosky braked hard enough to lock the seat belts. “You a fan, California?”
“No, Boss. Just saying.”
Just another month and you’ll have enough cash to get out of here.
You don’t really have to leave. This has nothing to do with you.
From my desk, roses and lavender filled the air with a subtle sweetness. The elaborate vase had come after the funeral and graced my workspace every day since, a constant reminder that Jake had never given me anything so beautiful. That I was really better off without him. I had cried fat, guilty tears at those thoughts, but it hadn’t been enough to make me remove the vase. It was enough to make me toss the note, though:
If there is anything I can do to be of assistance, please let me know.
In sympathy,
Dominic
I had torn the note from the vase the day I got it, both in panic that I might have to take off work and out of fear that I’d spend my life rereading it, extracting meaning that had never been there to begin with. Plus, I worried that if someone came to search my place again, they would misconstrue his words.
Let me be of assistance. I want to help you.
Yes, sir.
“Hannah…” Noelle’s trembling voice floated over the top of the cubicles. I followed her gaze. Detective Petrosky was at the glass doors to the office, staring in at me.
He thinks I’m a murderer. I walked to the door on shaky legs, my stomach trying to dance a jig and succeeding only in making me want to vomit.
“Ms. Montgomery.” He nodded.
“Detective Petrosky.”
“Can you spare a moment or two? Maybe take a fifteen-minute break?”
I glanced back into the office. Noelle was staring openly at us. Ralph wandered past, pretending not to look, but failing miserably.
“Maybe…um…a walk,” I said.
We sat at the picnic table by the lake, my face toward the water, his face toward me. Half a dozen mourning doves crooned by the lake’s edge, pecking at icy thistle and casting hopeful glances at us.
The detective’s face did not look as hopeful. “I’m sorry to bother you at work, Ms. Montgomery. I just had a few follow-up questions.”
I swear I didn’t do it! Ask someone else! “Okay.”
He pulled two pages from the folder and slid them across the table. Photos, black and white and glossy, of someone in a hooded jacket. “Do you recognize this person? Maybe the coat?”
“I can’t see their face.” I leaned toward the pictures and plastered them to the table with my fists when the wind tried to whip them away. Was this taken in my mailroom? “Is this…her? The girl who left him that note?” Hopefully, the detective would understand if I puked on his shoes.
“I think so, ma’am.”
I touched the photo, her hood, her shoulder. What did she have that I didn’t? What made her so special? I could feel my heartbeat in my frozen ears.
“Ms. Montgomery?”
“You think she was the one who…did it?”
“We’re looking into it. You’re sure you don’t recognize her?”
“No, I don’t. I doubt she would ever have wanted to meet me.”
He took the pictures back and put them in the folder. “Were you aware that Jake had a child?”
My mouth dropped open. Jake was a child. “I… No, there must be a mistake.”
The detective’s expression remained deadpan like he hadn’t just blindsided me. “No mistake. He had a five-year-old son.”
“But…he never said anything. I don’t think he ever paid support—” My neck muscles went rigid. “You think this has something to do with his death?”
“Not the child support, but perhaps the inheritance from Jake’s father.”
I shook my head, hard. Now I knew they had it all wrong. “He never knew his dad—”
“Maybe, maybe not. The money was to be paid when Mr. Campbell got married or when he turned thirty, whichever came first.”
Let’s get married, baby. I want to take care of you.
Maybe we can just go see the judge. You know I love you…
It had always been about money. My jaw clenched.
“Something wrong, Ms. Montgomery?”
“No. I’m just…I’m starting to feel like I didn’t know a lot of things about him.” Like the fact that he had an inheritance. That he had a fucking child. Maybe he’d always preferred store-bought spaghetti sauce to the homemade shit. All bets were off now.
Petrosky’s eyes were soft. “Don’t feel too bad,” he said. “This is not information that many others had.”
“Did his mother know?” Of course, she did. No wonder she was pissed that we didn’t get married before we moved in together.
“Yes, but she didn’t think the child was his.”
I blinked back the sting of tears. They had all known. Everyone except me. “But the baby is his? For sure?”
“He is. We have the
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