Every year, Bradley begged him to write about his experiences in Red Creek. He’d released a novel loosely using the material, though all names of the people and the place had been adjusted. He’d made his own character a woman, and instead of a shadow monster, it had been a human in the end, a mentally disturbed old man who had an orange grove in Florida.
“You’d make millions. You could be on every late-night talk show and daytime panel you can imagine.” Bradley was grinning widely, and Paul wanted to tell him where to stick it. Instead, he faked a smile.
“If you know me at all, that’s my nightmare. Anyway, I think this book is good. The readers are going to like it,” Paul said.
“We want them to love it, not just like it, Paul. Can you make the bad guy a little flashier? And a machete, isn’t that overdone? How about he uses a scythe?” Bradley was typing on his laptop, and he swung the screen around to show a website image of the Grim Reaper.
“It’s kind of hard to swing a scythe in closed spaces. You let me worry about the story, and you sell it for as much as you can. Deal?” Paul asked, extending his hand.
“Sure. Sure.” Bradley shook it, and Paul stood up, ready to go. He could only handle so much from the agent. If he hadn’t been one of the top in the business, Paul would have replaced him years ago. “Think about it, Paul. Red Creek is calling for a book by you. It’s terrible what happened to that young girl, though. I hope they catch the bastard that took her.”
Paul wanted to ask him why he jumped to the conclusion that she was abducted, but he held his tongue. Truth was, statistically speaking, she probably had been kidnapped. As far as Paul knew, she wasn’t the runaway type.
“Talk soon.” Paul left the man’s ostentatious office, shutting the thick mahogany door. He waved at the young secretary and got into the elevator, happy to be heading home. It was Friday afternoon, and he wanted to tie up a few loose ends before he packed up to visit Taylor in the morning. She was going to be so surprised to see them all at Bellton.
Terri was booking a nice hotel nearby, and he could already picture Sunday brunch as a family. He’d never gone to a fancy college like Bellton and was so grateful he could afford Taylor the experience. She deserved it. To him, she’d always be that little girl he carried out from under Granny Smith’s Orchard. He struggled to see her as the adult she was now.
His phone rang, and he pulled it from his thin jacket’s breast pocket. It was Tyler.
“Sheriff Tyler. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Paul asked, his voice friendly.
“Hey, Paul. I shouldn’t be calling you with details like this, but you asked, so here it is. Gilden sent in a detective to work the case of Brittany Tremblay. The guy seems okay. He’s by the book and straight-laced, I think. Used to work homicide in Chicago, so he has a lot of experience. No idea what the hell he’s doing working out of Gilden PD now, and I don’t want to ask. Everyone has demons.” Tyler was rambling, and Paul pictured the big man sitting in his sheriff’s office with his black boots perched on his desk.
“Don’t I know it,” Paul muttered. “What else do you have?”
“Not much. She was abducted from her home. On the same street as your old house too. You don’t think it can have anything to do with… you know?” Tyler’s voice went low, as if he was afraid of someone listening in.
“You’re asking me? I’ve been gone from that for twelve years, bud. I know far less than you do about the town. My gut’s telling me they’re not related. I think we ended it that night,” Paul said, and he meant it.
“So do I. I’ll keep you posted but don’t spread it around. I gotta run. Detective Bartlett’s waiting for me to return his call, so I better check in with him. Have a good day, Paul.” Tyler sounded like he wanted to say more.
“What is it?” Paul asked.
“Probably nothing. But I’ve heard rumors of people seeing something in the forest again, and around the condo complex. And, of course, the ones from your old house. They all add up, Paul. All of them can’t be fake,” Tyler said.
Paul spoke with his old friend every couple months, and had ever since that day. They’d formed an unbreakable bond, all of them. Darrel, Nick, Tyler; and they often talked about Cliff, and their dead friend Jason. Paul had been privy to endless talk about hauntings around Red Creek, the forest monster, and sightings, but when no kids were taken for over a decade, the chatter had slowed.
If Tyler was saying the talk was picking up again, that might change things. “Keep your ear to the ground, Tyler. I’ll be in touch.”
The call ended, and Paul found himself on Fifth Avenue. Tourists and locals crowded the sidewalks, the whole street a sea of umbrellas as the rain fell. Paul opened his own umbrella and headed north. It was time to go home.
_______________
Brent started the car, and Taylor tried to avoid the gaze burning in her direction. “Do you believe Edith’s story? It’s insane! How’s that going to help you with the Smiths’ history?”
Taylor had recorded the conversation and took a few notes along the way. She glanced at Brent and wondered how much she should tell him. Would he run away if she told him the truth? Would he mock her and tell everyone at Bellton about the crazy girl who believed in demons?
She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to take the chance. “What time is it?” she asked, changing the subject. The dash clock blinked four thirty-seven.
