I walk out of the office, hand already wrapped around my phone. In the main room, I expect to be hit by the usual activity, but instead of the crowd buzzing from one side of the room to the other, all mycolleagues are clustered around Damien’s computer, their faces tense and focused.
Theo, standing a little apart, offers me a hesitant wave. His glasses are slightly askew, which always makes me smile, and a mop of curly blond hair falls just above the frames. “All good with Celeste?”
“Yep.” I check my latest notifications. Nothing from Ethan. “Did you know Tanya is leaving?”
“She told me yesterday.” His shoulder bumps against mine. “Hey.”
Happy birthday, his expression says. With a smile of my own, I thank him. Which reminds me… “Is Paige planning a surprise party?”
“Huh? N-no.”
I was wrong. Paige is a terrible liar, but Theo is definitely a worse one. “Theo?” I insist.
He sheepishly looks away, then shrugs one shoulder. “She’s planned that event for tonight. Single Mingle.”
“Which she wants me toworkat?”
He holds on for about four more seconds before finally folding. “No. She just wants you to have a good time.”
There. I knew it. That doesn’t mean I get to skip it, though. I can’t stand the inhuman pitch of Paige’s voice when she’s disappointed. “Single Mingle? Good God.” I drop into the closest chair. “Are you going?”
He watches me through the thick lenses. “Do I have to?”
“Hell yes, you have to. Single Mingle sounds like hell, but one built specifically to bringmedown. I could use a friendly face.”
He squints. “Not ready for love yet, then?”
After I make a “hmph” sound, my gaze drifts to our colleagues, still gathered around Damien’s desk. “What’s going on?”
Theo turns. “Oh, yeah. I still can’t believe it. There’s been a murder in town.” He gestures toward the computer. “TheWillowbrook Whistlejust ran their story.”
I stand and walk to the desk, leaning in over Damien’s head to read the article’s headline on the screen: “Police Respond to Horrifying Murder in Willowbrook.”
Stomach tightening, I quickly scroll through the text, grasping bits of information here and there about the victim’s background, until I get to the details of the murder.
In a shocking turn of events, Catherine Blake’s body was found tied to a chair in her home, her throat brutally slit and disturbing cuts surrounding her eyes. Authorities believe the horrific attack may have occurred once she came back home from work.
The victim’s body was littered with flowers and dirt, and a chilling message was scrawled in blood on the wall. Investigators are now exploring the possibility that Catherine’s murder was ritualistic, potentially linked to a local religious cult.
My blood runs cold as I absorb the details. Is it me, or… a slit throat, flowers and dirt, a message written in blood on the wall? Either I’m losing my mind or this is almost exactly the murder that happened inThe Thornwood Butcher, the book whose review aired on my podcast last night.
Straightening, I look back at Theo, lips parted. “What the fuck?”
the secret identity[trope]
a plot device wherein a character hides their true identity, usually causing a domino effect of catastrophic mishaps, mistaken assumptions, and revelations so dramatic they could induce a collective gasp from the entire cast
Paige has rented The Oak for tonight’s Single Mingle event—Willowbrook’s very own pub, bar, café,andthe closest thing to a club there is in town. I often wonder why someone else hasn’t opened another pub-bar-café-club, or even only one of those things, but I guess everyone’s too loyal to The Oak. To Quentin, who runs it. And to John Gray, who opened it thirty years ago.
“Wait, what?” Paige squeals over the faint hum of music from the adjacent room, where people are already arriving. Her voice cuts through the noise as she places a tray of champagne flutes on the counter. “You think someone reenacted a murder from a book?”
I glance around the kitchen, bustling with servers and catering staff putting last-minute touches on hors d’oeuvres, then tuck the phone away. Ethan’s just not going to answer, I guess.
“It soundssuspiciouslysimilar,” I murmur.
“And youjustrecorded an episode about it.”
“I’m not saying the two things are connected,” I explain, catching the hint of mockery in her voice. “That book’s everywhere right now. Though you’ve got to admit it’s… eerie.”
