Page 11 of Headless Hollow

“Izzy, what’s wrong,” Eli asked, stepping out of the bathroom and dropping the lipstick in an evidence bag before sealing it.

I looked him in the eyes and saw only concern, but if it turned out to be him and he did something to my mother, then I would kill him myself.

“That’s the color of my mom’s lipstick,” I said, watching his features closely.

“Well, yes, that’s scary, but it’s lipstick. They probably make millions of this one color a year.”

“No, they discontinued it years ago. My mom bought all the ones she could find and stockpiled them. This is directed at me,” I said, my voice strained with the emotion that I was trying to keep bottled up.

Marching away, I hit my parent’s number just as Branson walked out of the bedroom. He took one look at my face and grabbed my shoulders. “What’s happened?”

I shook my head, unable to make my voice work as I waited for someone to pick up. I never thought I’d see the day that this asshole would get to me, but here we were.

“Hello?” My body slumped with relief at the sound of my step-dad’s voice.

“Hey, Dad.”

Seven

Izzy

Just as I suspected, we didn’t find anything in Branson’s home. I didn’t know what was more frustrating, the fact that the killer was this good or that I hadn’t cracked the case. I prided myself on finding the little clues that others didn’t see, literally.

Branson had to head to the station, and Eli was gone, but the twins were still here working, which gave me the opportunity to snoop around for…I honestly didn’t know what at this point.

I scrounged through closets and pulled on pictures like we were in a castle with secret passages. Getting ready to give up, I opened the front hall closet and knocked on all the walls, expecting the same result, but there was a hollow sound. Pushing all the coats out of the way, I stared at the plain, white wall. Knocking again and listening carefully, it sounded like it was, for sure, a door. What the hell?

My fingers skimmed over the edge of the paint that looked perfectly smooth to try and find a seam. There was no handle, but I pushed on the wall and there was a click before it released and then swung inward. I reached for my gun, but I didn’t have it with me. Shit. There was a soft green glow coming from inside, and I looked around and grabbed the baseball bat that Branson had in the corner before slowly pushing the door inward.

My heart was pounding out of control, and my hand tightened on the wooden handle of the bat as I took a step forward. Preparing myself, I peeked around the edge of the door and sucked in a gasp as I stared at the end of the narrow room that ran under the stairs. There was a lone desk and chair, but the wall was covered with monitors, and each one of them had a dozen small screens. My eyes bounced around from image to image, not recognizing any of the places…until they changed. I leaned in to stare at six squares of my home.

“What the….”

“It’s not what it looks like.” I spun around to see Branson standing just inside the door. He held up his hands. “Let me explain.”

Pointing the bat at him, I glared. “You better make it quick, or I’m going to start screaming for the twins because right now, I’m thinking you’ve been playing me and the entire department for fools.”

“Izzy…do you really believe that?” He crossed his arms.

“Honestly, Branson, I don’t know what to believe anymore. Tell me what this is?”

He sighed, and I hated that he looked hurt. But I couldn’t be stupid either. This killer had been smart enough to elude everyone for months, so they had to be good at fitting in and playing the part of an everyday citizen. My heart told me it wasn’t Branson, but I needed to understand what this was first.

“I’ve been installing cameras at all the body locations. A lot of serial killers like to return to the scene. They fantasize over their kills and what they did. It can be thrilling or make them feel powerful.”

“This could be used for the same thing, you know that, right,” I said, and Branson sighed and rolled his eyes. He walked toward me, and I held my weapon up a little higher.

“If you’re going to hit me, then at least use it properly,” Branson said, snatching the bat. Uselessly, it flew out of my hand. He spun it while his whiskey eyes glittered at me. “You hold it like this.” He positioned himself like a batter at the plate, the bat resting on his shoulder. “You have no swing with it out in front of you, and someone can easily grab it, as you saw.” He twirled it in his hand and held it out to me to take. “I’d never hurt you, Izzy.”

“I’m sorry.” Taking the bat, I suddenly felt stupid for thinking that he could be the killer. “Maybe I’m more affected than I thought by all of this.”

Branson stepped in close and cupped my cheeks. “Anyone would be.”

“You don’t seem to be.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up in a devilish smirk. “That’s because the only thing I care about is keeping you safe. As long as you are, then I don’t care what happens to me.” His lips brushed mine, wiping away the remnants of nervousness. “God, I wish I’d said something to you sooner. We were working this case, and it didn’t seem right, but…life is too short, I see that now.”

“Why do you have this under the stairs,” I asked as he stepped back.