Grayson’s morning jog ended in silence—not the usual chatter of neighbors or the hum of lawnmowers, but the quiet broken only by distant police dogs baying.
From shuttered windows, whispers floated through Palomino Lake Drive: “Signs of the times.”
Down the street, flashing lights cut through the dawn as officers cordoned off the beach parking lot.
When men in white suits jumped from a van to unearth a body buried beneath the gravel, Grayson sprinted one last time.
Panting, he hurried inside and headed straight toward the kitchen.
Aunt Grace said nothing, just flashed him a look while handing him a cup of brew.
“Good morning to you, too.” Grayson settled by the window, squinting at a patrol officer guiding his K9 along the shore.
“The murderer is still out there.” Grace’s voice hitched. “A serial killer, they say.”
The police could ring any minute, asking questions. Finishing his coffee, a plan formed in Grayson’s mind. “I’ll take Gino to the nature reserve. Lock the door behind us.”
Grace raised an eyebrow as she handed him cookies and a thermos. “You should check if your car is still there…”
With a backpack slung over his shoulder and a dog in tow, Grayson left the house. It took him a mere 15 minutes to reach the campsite, relieved to see his Dodge was still there.
Good. The police had left his rig alone.
He quickly went in to fetch the flash drive he had taped under the driver’s seat, grabbed his pills, and left.
Cap down tighter at the sight of a park ranger, Grayson set out for the grasslands behind. Ignoring the bison warning sign, he vaulted over the fence. Gino, almost tripping over his short legs, ran ahead having a blast.
After an hour of brisk walking, a sense of curiosity returned. The lush Palomino reserve was otherworldly. But the honeyed chirp of birds through pecan trees couldn’t mask the fluttering scraps of yellow barrier tape.
He nodded at a raven perched on a branch, its keen eyes fixed on him. “I won’t overstay my welcome,” he muttered.
A deserted farmhouse loomed up ahead. Attracted to the ditch behind, Gino pulled on the leash to quench his thirst. Satisfied, the little pug stretched out on the grass while Grayson settled under a tree for shade. He dozed off, moaning as he drifted off into an unsettling dream.
He was back in the Bexar County Jail, preparing for Grace’s birthday visit. She didn’t come. Instead, the prison guards had a surprise in store: a time-out in the isolation cell. Despair gnawed at his soul as the days—or weeks?—passed. When he begged the guards to open the door, they jangled their keys to mock him.
Surrendering at last, he closed his eyes, pleading to God, but was jolted wide awake by the loud voice of a woman.
“Hey, isn’t that a cute pup?” she called out. Gino sniffed the air, only to roll over to continue his nap.
Disoriented, Grayson shielded his eyes against the sun. The woman, long hair swaying over a bright-red leather jacket, waved hello.
“Samantha Stone, journalist. If I’d known you were here, I would’ve dressed to impress.” She grinned, holding out a hand with practiced ease.
Grayson quickly dug into his bag for Grace’s thermos, a sour taste rising from his stomach.
“Don’t be afraid!” She mock-wiped a tear from her eye. “I prefer girls. Although…this place is perfect for some naked fun.”
The strong coffee brought him back to his senses. He thawed, leaned back against the tree. “Miss Funny, are you out story hunting?”
She settled cross-legged with a casual grace. “Let’s satisfy our mutual curiosity,” she said, as if her audience were listening.
Grayson’s eyes pierced hers. The heat and bright daylight cast a hypnotic effect, shadows danced over her face. “I could be a killer. Girls like you should be careful.”
“I’m not afraid. Never.”
Hmm. Something about that stung. Better ask more questions.
“Local newspaper? What kind of journalist are you?” For all he knew, she could be a TV host, or worse, a police officer.
Samantha shook her wild curls. “I’m far from mainstream. I own the Stone Revelations platform on YouTube.” A roaring laugh followed. “I’ve grown immune to the flak I get.”
Grayson grabbed his phone for a quick search, sighed when he was met with recognition. “Conspiracy theorist, huh?”
Samantha was quick to answer. “That’s just a word. It means nothing.” Her bluish cat eyes glinted as she looked at him––it was his turn.
He shifted in the grass, knowing secrecy was useless in a village where everyone knew everyone.
“You’ve got some wild theories about Tarot Girl,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “I met her in Shallow Woods.”
As expected, she had a million questions. Most of all, she wanted to know how he felt, fishing for an emotional context to the encounter.
“Soleil? Damn cute, mysterious, too. But she was too young for my kind of adventure.”
“I’d love to grill you on camera,” Samantha said, eyelashes fluttering. “The police wouldn’t like it. What do you think?”
Grayson plucked a daisy, offered it to her with a bit of flair. “I bet you’d fabricate a juicy story of what I just told you.”
She put the flower in her hair, then fished a cigarette from her bag and lit it. Coughing violently, she struggled to inhale. “I never smoke, a pack a year, at most.”
“Right…” Grayson raised an eyebrow. Strange girl. She mirrored his own tactics––charm to disarm.
“What if I told you the girl is dead, buried in the parking lot?” Her voice cracked as she declared, determined to finish the cigarette.
“Well?” She kept staring, reading his reaction.
Grayson’s eyes narrowed, the smile on his face froze into a grimace. “Who told you that?”
Samantha bent over to put out her cigarette in the ditch. “It’s just a theory. But don’t worry, I won’t feature our little talk in my next blog.”
Grayson wished she’d just go. Instead, she made herself comfortable and put Gino in her lap.
Kudos, Miss Stone. Grayson reached in his backpack for a pill.
The tense silence that ensued alarmed the little dog. He stretched, wagged his tail, telling them he was ready for action.
“Little darling, I’m all yours.” In response to Samantha’s cooing, Gino pulled his leash toward her.
“How about lunch at the Pavilion as a token of our budding friendship?” She nodded as if it were already a done deal.
When Grayson grunted, she gestured with imaginary chopsticks. “Hey, they have specials today.”
He cursed in silence. Stuck with her for the whole fucking afternoon?
“I really didn’t know you were here, buddy.” Samantha prodded Grayson in the side. “I found you at my favourite hiding place. That’s all.”
Grayson pretended to fetch the cookies from his backpack but checked if his USB drive was still there. “Soleil’s case can’t be the first of this kind in Palomino.”
“Absolutely, Grayson. Usually just fraud and family disputes here.”
He silently smirked when she pressed a finger to her chin to reflect his distant formality. “So. What’s your take on the case?” he asked as he stared her.
“Tarot Girl lured the antichrist to Palomino. Or it’s the aliens,” she said, mimicking the mood on her platform. “But hey, are you a witness or a suspect?”
Grayson winced at her sudden change in tone. “Did you report the madness on your forum? If the FBI finds out…You better watch your step.”
Samantha’s eyes flickered sharply. “I asked the police for a collab. Guess what…”
“They put you off.” Her sudden defensiveness lit a fire under him. Maybe sassy Samantha could be an ally, lighten his load.
With this thought in mind, he endured her presence. He couldn’t turn around anyway; the town was now crawling with patrol officers.
They walked another 20 minutes before they reached the Pavilion, where they found a table on the terrace. Grayson put his sunglasses on when a girl in a kimono approached to take their orders.
Relaxing with his face tilted toward the sun, Grayson savored the scent of a jasmine candle mingling with Samantha’s perfume. A wind chime chimed softly in the breeze coming from the lake.
“I love this place. We should do this more often,” he joked.
But when Samantha fumbled with the straps of her bag, just a little too long, he jerked upright, straining his ears for the clicking and rustling sound coming from underneath the table.
She looked up, shrugged her shoulders, and slowly sipped from her tea.
“I know why you’re here, Mr. Ferguson.” She stretched her words as she leaned forward, tapping her nails on her cup. “Let’s have a decent discussion.”
In that moment, his confidence crumbled. She’d been recording him the entire time.
Really love the artwork in this one!!!
Deze is van Pretty Sleepy, great artist 👌