Page 27 of Little Twisted Things

Lawrence Gearheart, CEO of Stonewall Financial Group.

I pulled up an article from six months ago.

Lawrence and his wife, Bethanny, host the annual Children’s Hope Foundation Gala at The Casa Marina.

I clicked on the ‘image’ tab and the page filled with photos. Charity dinners. Fundraisers. Holiday parties. Summer parties. To everyone outside their home, they seemed like the perfect couple. But inside, Lawrence Gearheart held a deep secret.

I picked up my coffee cup and tipped it to my lips as my gaze fixed on the smiling man on the screen. A successful businessman. A generous philanthropist. The façade of a devoted husband. The headlines only told the story people wanted to read. This man was beloved by the community. If they only knew what a cheating scumbag he was.

I had to formulate a plan. The Librarian was right. If I weren’t careful, Detective Walker would blow back into town. I couldn’t risk it. The number twenty-two was embedded inside me. It had to be twenty-two. Stab wounds? Not this time.

“Search the Last Chapter Killer,” a voice whispered from behind. “Study it. Learn from it.”

I placed my fingers on the keyboard and typed in the search bar: The Last Chapter Killer.

Missouri. Ohio. New York. Michigan. Arizona. And now Florida. Multiple states. Multiple victims. All strangled first, carefully posed, and then carved into their abdomens: This is her last chapter.

His women weren’t cheaters. They were chosen for some other reason. There was no pattern to the women as far as I could tell. They didn’t all resemble each other. Not the same hair color, eye color, height, or weight. He was good. So good that it made my skin crawl. I was here in Key West committing murders, and so was he. I wasn’t entirely sure if The Last Chapter Killer was a man, but I was pretty sure.

“He wants to be known,” I heard the whisper again. “He worked hard to earn his title. He doesn’t want to be forgotten. He wants to make history and remembrance a part of his life.”

I didn’t want any of that. The Last Chapter Killer and I were different. I wanted my victims to pay for their sins. He wanted to rewrite his victims’ lives and give them a final chapter. It all became clear now, and I knew what I had to do.

13

Today was the 22nd day of the month. It would work. The number twenty-two was still a part of the ritual, only a little different this time.

I filled the syringe and stuck it in my back pocket, then followed him to his massive boat that was docked at the marina. His wife took their daughter to Palm Beach for a senior trip. She’d be gone for five days. He wasn’t stupid enough to bring his mistress to his home. But his boat? Yes. His mistress was a realtor, and they had agreed she’d meet him on the boat after her husband left for work. He was an ER nurse who worked midnights at the local hospital. How did I know? I followed them the other night to a restaurant in Islamorada, where Lawrence was supposed to be for a work dinner meeting. I secured the table next to theirs and heard every single word.

I lingered on the dock, pretending to admire the view while I watched Lawrence step aboard his forty-foot yacht. His phone was to his ear, and he laughed as he loosened his tie. Then he disappeared, stepping through the cabin door. A light flickered on inside. Then another. I glanced around the area. It was dark, and nobody was here. The parking lot had emptied out a while ago.

I glanced at my watch. His realtor mistress would be arriving in an hour. I needed to get to work. I took small, quiet steps toward his slip, carefully stepped onto the boat, and looked through the small window. He wasn’t in sight, but the cabin door was slightly open.

I stepped inside. He must have been in the bedroom preparing for his mistress. I opened the door to a small closet and stepped inside, softly pulling the door closed. Reaching in my back pocket, I grabbed the syringe and held it up. Footsteps. I heard footsteps. As I peeked through the slats of the door, I saw him open the refrigerator and stare into it, his arm resting on the top of the door. This was my chance. I quietly stepped out of the closet, walked up behind him, and jammed the syringe into the side of his neck.

I held my coffee in one hand while I stared at the water through the sliding door. The clouds looked angry today, casting a gray shadow over Key West. The palms swayed back and forth as Mother Nature howled her way into the morning. A knock at the door startled me from my thoughts. Furrowing my brows, I walked over, looked out the peephole, and saw Alex standing there.

“Mind telling me why my key doesn’t work?” he said.

“Oh shit. I forgot. I had to change the locks.”

“Why?” He followed me into the kitchen.

“Because the original one broke. I’ll get an extra key made.”

“Phew, I thought maybe you were trying to keep me out,” he smirked.

“I would never.” I reached up and kissed his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. How was dinner and the movies with Tess last night?”

“It was fun. But we didn’t end up going to the movies. By the time we got to the theater, the show was sold out. So, we hit up a bar for a while and then went and got ice cream.”

“Sounds fun.” He smiled.

“What did you do last night?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know.” He shook his head.