“So, what do we do? We should call the police, right? Tell them what we know?”
“Why would we do that?” he asked. “We don’t even know that he’s done anything wrong other than talking to Todd and Clay online. Until we know something more concrete, I don’t think there’s a point in contacting the police or telling anyone other than the three of us…unless you want all of our secrets leaked. The affair, Todd’s sexuality, Clay keeping Beelzebub a secret all this time…there’s a good chance that would all be brought to light. But, it’s up to you.”
“No,” she admitted, “I don’t want that. So, what do you suggest we do?”
“We go confront him. I want to find out what he knows and what he’s done.”
“What if he doesn’t want to tell us, Frank? What if he actually did have something to do with Todd’s and Sarah’s deaths? What if he’s really dangerous after all? It might not be a good idea for us to go after him if we don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“Well, first of all, you don’t know what I’m capable of either. I can promise you, as long as I’m with you, you’ll be safe. Danger is irrelevant, babe. Second, if, Peighton, if he had anything to do with Todd’s death…” he paused. “We’ll all be better off if there aren’t cops there.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’ll be lucky if I don’t kill him.”
“Me too,” she agreed, still overwhelmed with confusion. “Frank, what about Isabel? You said she might have known his death wasn’t an accident? Do you think she knew about Drew? What if they were working together somehow?”
“Easy there, Nancy Drew. Let’s take this one step at a time.”
Peighton nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “I’m scared,” she admitted.
“We’ll get this figured out. It’s all going to be okay.”
“Okay,” she said softly, not sure she believed him.
“I’m coming to get you now,” he told her. “We’re going today.”
With that, Peighton hung up the phone, walking out of her bedroom. When she got into the living room, Clay looked up at her from the couch, concern on his face. “Everything okay?”
She shook her head. “I’m going to have to run out for a bit. Will you two be okay here?” she asked, looking at Kyle.
“Sure,” Kyle responded instantly, turning back to the TV.
Clay stood up, following her into the kitchen. “Where are you going?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Frank found Beelzebub.”
“What?” Shock resonated on his face.
“He thinks she, well he, is Drew. We’re going to Absher to find him and ask him to tell us the truth.”
“I’m coming with you,” Clay said.
“No, you should stay with Kyle. Frank and I can handle it.”
“No way in hell,” Clay scoffed. “If this Drew guy is Beelzebub, there’s a huge chance he’s dangerous.”
“Frank will be with me.”
“Yeah, all the more reason for me to go,” he said firmly.
“He’s not—”
“I know you trust him,” he interrupted her, holding his hands up to stop her protest, “but that doesn’t mean I have to. And I don’t, for the record. He has yet to prove to me that I should. So, we’ll just have to agree to disagree for now. Either way, I’m not leaving you alone with him for a second. I’m coming with you.”
Not seeing a point in continuing to argue, she nodded. “Fine. He’s on his way now, so we need to get ready.”
Forty
PEIGHTON
The most awkward car ride in the history of the world couldn’t hold a candle to this one. You could cut the tension with a knife as they drove in penetrating silence. Clay sat in the backseat, obvious worry on his face. She tried to catch his eye occasionally in her mirror, but his eyes were almost constantly locked on Frank.
Peighton leaned up, trying to read the upcoming street signs. “Almost there,” she announced. Thank God.
Frank nodded. “Help me look for the street.”
“It should be right up here somewhere,” she said, staring at the map. Frank had refused to let them use GPS, stating it could leave a trail back to them if things went badly here, whatever that meant.
“There,” Clay spoke up, pointing straight ahead. “I’ll bet it’s that house on the corner. Three-oh-two, right? Is that what the mailbox says?”
Peighton squinted, trying to read the distant numbers. “Yes, I think so. That white house,” she directed Frank.
They pulled onto the street and put the car in park away from the house. Climbing out of the car cautiously, they approached the house with Frank leading the way. He looked much more confident than Peighton felt.
He knocked on the glass window of the door. They waited for a few moments, staring around at each other. Finally, Frank shrugged, knocking again with more power. When he still didn’t answer, Frank put his hand over the door knob, twisting it carefully and pushing the door open slightly. “Drew?” he called into the house.
Peighton gasped as the door opened. “Frank!” she scolded him. “We can’t just walk into his house.”
“Do you want answers or not?” he demanded in a hurried whisper. He waited for her to nod apprehensively before continuing into the house. “Okay then.”
They walked into the quiet house, looking around. Peighton noticed a few pictures of Drew on the walls and mantle. This was definitely his house.
Frank held a finger to his lips, walking carefully across the living room carpet. Peighton and Clay followed close behind him, not making a sound. They walked into the dining room, a putrid smell hitting her nose. Peighton instinctively covered her nose and mouth, knowing what would be waiting for them before she saw it.
“Oh,” she winced, her knees going weak as she laid eyes on him. Drew sat at the table, his face down on the tabletop. Blood had pooled out of his arms, dripping down the table legs and puddling below him. A steak knife, hardly noticeable in all of the blood, lay on the floor. She shivered, feeling her stomach lurch. For a moment, no one moved, each processing what they were seeing.
Suddenly, Clay lurched forward, grabbing a plastic sack from the top of the refrigerator and handing it to her.
“What’s this—” she began to ask, but stopped as she realized she was going to be sick. She put her head inside of the bag, filled with embarrassment, as she emptied her stomach. She felt Clay’s hands on her head, pulling her hair back out of the way carefully.
“Shhh,” he soothed her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Frank approach the table cautiously. She lifted her head once her stomach had calmed.
“How did you know I was going to be sick? I didn’t even know.”
“I’ve been around a lot of crime scenes,” he told her simply.
“Is he—” she asked, looking at Frank. She was unable to bring the word to her tongue.
“He’s dead,” he confirmed, his face grim.
Peighton tied up the bag with shaking hands. “What do we do?” she asked them.
“We call the police,” Clay answered swiftly, reaching for the phone on his hip.
Like lightning, Frank shot across the room, snatching his hand. “No!”
Clay jerked his hand back forcefully. “What the hell, man?”
“We aren’t calling the police.”
“What are you talking about? Of course we are. He’s dead! We can’t just leave him here and do nothing.”
“We can and we will,” Frank said vehemently. “Unless you’re going to explain to them why we are here.”
Clay paused. “Well, what are you suggesting we do then?”
“We need to leave. Make sure nothing has been moved or touched. I’ll wipe my prints off of the door. We’ll take that,” he pointed to Peighton’s bag of sick, “with us and dispose of it somewhere else. No one can know we were ever here.”
“He committed suicide, Frank. Why would it matter that we were here? We had nothing to do with this.”
“It looks suspicious. We shouldn’t be here. We have no way of explaining why we were here without making ourselves look guilty.”
Clay nodded, pointing past Drew’s body. “What’s that?”
Their eyes followed his finger, staring toward the far end of the table. A white envelope lay there, scribbled print across the front.