He awkwardly stared down at the snow, his free hand sliding into his pocket. “I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.It’s just…she’s a good woman. She’s so kind and beautiful. I just can’t picture her disappearing without saying something first. That’s just not who she is as a person. I do work with her.”
I folded my arms, staring into his eyes with intent. “I know exactly who she is, trust me. I’m married to her.”
He chuckled, trying to diffuse the rising tension between us. “You’re right, bud. You would know.”
“I’d never hurt her, and I never have,” I said flatly. “That’s the honest truth. I swear on my dead brother’s name.”
He looked up at me then, his face now pale, his lips pressed together, not knowing what to say next.
“Alright, man,” he said. “I believe you. I do. I’ll keep my eyes open for you. I’ll ask around at work; maybe someone saw her.”
“I appreciate it, Joseph,” I muttered. I barely meant it.
He turned to leave but paused after a few steps. “Hey, Lenny?” he asked over his shoulder. “If you hear anything…please let me know. Will you?”
I stared at his back. “Yeah, sure thing.”
He walked off, shoulders slumped. I watched him until he disappeared behind the row of stores that faced the lot.
I wanted to believe that he was worried, that he truly cared about Angela’s well-being and how she had gone missing, but something was off.
I didn’t appreciate the way he was insinuating things about our marriage. The way his wide, pervasive eyes stared at me like I had something to do with Angela’s disappearance.
Whatever was going on, I had the feeling that Joseph knew more than he was letting on, but without any proof, I couldn’t do jack shit about it.
I searched around for Detective Castillo and found her talking to a group of residents building a snowman.
I decided to go into a Christmas store on the corner, a few feet away from me. The bell over the door jingled, and the warm air brought me great relief. The place was packed with Christmas mugs, ugly sweaters, and an assortment of candies like candy canes and gumdrops. Behind the counter stood a woman in her sixties, her hands wrapped around a hot mug of cocoa.
“Good evening,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Have you seen Angela around anywhere? I’ve been here before, Betty, but we’re just trying to find her.” I showed her Angela’s picture on my phone.
She squinted and frowned. “Oh, no honey. I still haven’t seen her. I hope she’s okay!”
“Me too.”
The woman hesitated, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “You don’t think it’s connected, do you?”
I arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Connected to what?”
“To that other girl who disappeared—Clara St. Nicklaus. She went missing last year around Christmas. Some say it was the boyfriend, Henry, or maybe a killer. Henry’s dead, but what about Clara? Could she be with Angela somewhere?”
It felt like a block of ice slid down my spine. Whatever fate had been thrust upon Clara, I hoped it wouldn’t be the same for Angela. “Right…Clara. She was never found. I don’t know. The whole thing’s terrible.”
The woman’s eyes dartedto the windows, where snow was falling against the glass. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?”
“No. What rumors?”
She lowered her voice even more, like there was a ghost that might eavesdrop on us. “They say her father, George, snapped one night and killed her. Just like that man who butchered that family on Christmas Day twenty years ago. Colton Kilhouser—the man they calledThe Xmas Day Butcher.”
She didn’t know that the family she was talking about was my family. It had been so long ago, and I never brought it up—ever. I tried to erase my past as best I could. I lived in seclusion and rarely ever spoke with anyone in town. Only George knew that that had been my family. Thankfully, he kept quiet about it.
Detective Castillo learned of my past after she researched me—I was sure there was a special file with my name on it in their police archives.
Colton Kilhouser, that damn name twisted something deep inside me, like a serrated knife. I hadn’t heard it in years, and yet it still haunted me, long after the dark deed had been done.
The woman continued, “George knew that couple, you know. Peter and Maria Frost. Two boys were there as well—I forget their names, but one died and one survived. I don’t know where the survivor went off to—maybe an institution.” I was shocked that I didn’t end up in one, to be fair. “George used to bring them hams every Christmas. They say the murders were a result of a curse—The Curse of Whisper’s Creek.”
I didn’t answer right away; that name was now stuck in mymind, and my thoughts were in disarray because of it. I felt like I was about to faint while I tried to work past the heart-shredding pain I had gone through so many years earlier.
