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FOR WEEKS, NOTHING happens. No more victims, no new suspects, and no real progress in the investigation.
The only additional information released by the police is the confirmation that both women were killed at or around midnight and the fact that both of their cell phones are missing. According to records from their service providers, both women’s phones pinged the tower closest to where their bodies were found before being turned off. Both women lived alone and were not known to be out of the house so late at night. Dottie’s case was particularly peculiar, as she seemed to be entering the bookstore with a purpose as if someone asked her to meet there at such an hour.
Every conversation at each restaurant, bar, or coffee shop in the entire county revolves around the deaths of Susan and Dottie. How could it not? This isn’t Chicago and it certainly isn’t Detroit. Quaint little Delta County could have an actual serial killer on the loose. For the first time in their lifetimes, families begin locking their doors. Children have to be home before dark. The city council receives several requests from concerned parents to cancel trick-or-treating this year. Nobody feels safe.
On the last Saturday of September, Heather steps outside her patio doors and finds Meryl wrapped up in a red flannel blanket, drinking coffee on the back deck with a Sudoku puzzle in her lap. Fall has arrived overnight. The air is crisp and burns Heather’s nostrils briefly when she takes her first deep breath of the morning. Leaves are quietly falling from the two towering trees in her back yard and the steam from Meryl’s coffee steadily rises from her oversized mug. These are the mornings Heather used to dream of when she was locked in a windowless cell. The mornings she vowed to never again take for granted. She’d love to feel the magic of the changing seasons this morning, but all she feels is dread.
Everyone is waiting for the next victim to be discovered. It’s not a matter of if, but when. The entire town is convinced there’s a killer in their midst. The Delta County Strangler: that’s what the locals are calling him. Or her.
Heather fakes a smile as she says good morning to Mer and grabs her mug to top off.
“I wasn’t sure fall was coming this month, but here she is,” Meryl says, holding her hands up in the cool morning air.
“Here she is,” Heather repeats with a smile as she turns to reenter the house and pour herself a cup. Ryan has Evie for the weekend and will drop her back off Sunday night. Heather has nothing on the agenda until then.
Dottie’s daughter, Beth, would like to keep the bookstore open and offered Heather the position of manager since she can’t operate it herself from Florida. Heather asked her for a week to think it over, but she’s fairly sure she’s going to decline the offer. Everything in that store, from the ancient wooden shelves to the off-brand powdered creamer at the coffee station reminds her of Dottie. She also knows that running the store would mean having to interact with the public, something she was happy to avoid as the part-time inventory girl.
Coffee in hand, she takes a seat on the outdoor couch and breathes deeply. She reminds herself, for the millionth time, that there is nothing she can do about the murders other than keep herself and her family safe. She has been locking every door, she purchased an extra pepper spray, and she even asked Jim Harstead if he’d show her how to shoot a gun, to which he enthusiastically agreed. There’s nothing more she can do.
Her phone vibrates with a text from Mitch. Although they’ve chatted a few times, she hasn’t seen him in person since the night they visited on her front porch, right before she took a leisurely midnight walk and discovered a dead body.
Donuts?
The text is below a picture of Mitch with a Donut Connection box balanced on his head. Heather smiles.
Sounds great. My house?
The minute she presses send, the side gate to her house bangs open and Mitch comes jogging in with his case of donuts and a victorious smile on his face.
“What if I had said no?” she asks.
“Who says no to donuts?” he responds, before setting them on the outdoor table and leaning to greet Meryl and kiss her cheek.
“You ladies need to start locking that gate. Haven’t you heard there’s a killer on the loose?”
Meryl gives Heather a dirty look. They’ve discussed the importance of keeping the gates locked and Heather was the last to use it, the night before when she watered the plants at dusk. She ignores Meryl and thanks Mitch for the suggestion.
“You’re awfully chipper this morning,” Meryl tells him as she takes her first bite and a glob of red jelly drips down her chin. Mitch hands her a napkin from the stack he has folded into his jacket pocket.
“Fall is in the air. How can that not put a little pep in your step?”
“It’s a little hard to celebrate anything when we could all be strangled at any moment,” Heather deadpans.
“If it makes you feel any better, I was at the station yesterday and they gave me the distinct impression that they had some serious leads,” Mitch tells the women.
“Why were you at the station?” Heather asks.
“Susan and Dottie both had all their insurance policies through me, so the cops had a few questions.”
“Oh my god, are you a suspect?” Heather gasps.
“No, Heath, I wasn’t the damn beneficiary of their policies, I just administered them. Jesus.”
“Oh,” she sits back in her chair.
“I think they are just trying to find anything the women had in common. I know your dickhead ex-husband was their doctor, so I’m sure he’ll get questioned, too.”
“Yes,” Meryl adds, “Frank represented them both in legal matters in the past. He was questioned last week.”
Heather huffs. “It’s Escanaba; if they want to interview everyone they had in common, they are going to have to bring in the whole town.”
“How is Quinn feeling about all of this?” Mitch asks.
Heather thinks it’s a little random for Mitch to ask about Quinn.
“I mean, she hopes the killer or killers get caught soon, just like the rest of us. She loved Dottie. What made you ask about her?” Heather asks.
“I’m sure everyone is exaggerating the coincidences, but I was just curious to hear what she had to say about it.”
Heather wrinkles her nose and looks at Meryl, who just shrugs.
“Mitch, what are you talking about?”
Mitch stops mid-bite.
“Her book...you know, the one you were reading the last time I saw you?” he says, tilting his head.
“I’ve been busy, I’ve only read one chapter. What about it?”
“People are saying the killings kind of sound like the plot of the book. I mean, the damn thing’s called Midnight, and that’s apparently when the murders happened. Kind of a coincidence, eh?”
Heather’s heart is beating so loudly, it’s reverberating in her ears. Is this why Quinn is getting so many requests for a comment from the media? Is this why she hasn’t wanted to leave the house in weeks and advised Heather to do the same? Heather feels like a horrible friend for not reading the book, but her mind has been all over the place and each time she sits down and opens the book, she dozes off. She’s a mother; she’s exhausted.
“A random killer copying the plot of a bestselling book? That stuff happens in a bad episode of Law and Order, not in small-town Michigan. There’s no way,” Heather says, willing herself to believe the words.
“Calm down, Matlock. I’m just telling you what people are saying. Some conspiracy theorists are suggesting she might have had something to do with it so she can sell more copies of the book.”
“Well, people are idiots,” Heather responds, not entirely convinced this is a theory she needs to be dismissing so quickly. “Maybe I’ll take a look at the book later. I’ll let you know what I think.”
“I’m always interested to hear what goes on in that brain of yours,” Mitch smiles, before shoving the last bite of donut in his mouth. “Ladies, I’d love to stay and visit, but I’ve got places to be. I’ll hit you up later, Heath.”
Despite her nonchalance, she runs inside to grab the book in question the minute Mitch leaves. She pulls a throw blanket off the couch and settles outside on the deck to dive in.
“Give me the cliff notes, will ya?” asks Meryl before returning to her Sudoku puzzle.
Heather can’t turn the pages fast enough. Not only is she anxious to get to the murders that apparently happen in the book, but she’s also completely enthralled by the story. Damn, Quinn Harstead can write a mystery. She once again kicks herself for not reading this earlier.
Other than going in the house a few times to use the bathroom and grab snacks, Heather’s only interruption occurs when she texts Ryan to check on Evie. He responds with a picture of her playing in the leaves in their front yard, which comforts her enough to set her phone down and return to the book.
“Dinner?” Meryl peeks her head out of the patio door and nearly knocks Heather out of her seat.
“Damn, Mer, you scared the shit out of me!”
“Kid, you’ve had your face in that book all day. Come up for air.”
Heather reluctantly sets the book down and stands up to stretch. The sun is beginning to set, and the first mosquito of the night has announced its arrival by biting her in the upper thigh, right through her leggings.
“It’s so good, Mer. Now I get why she’s sold so many copies. I can’t put it down.”
Meryl holds up three menus for local restaurants. Heather chooses one and points to the giant wet burrito on the second page.
“I’m going to need sustenance to finish this book tonight.”
“Well, shoot, I guess you should mix up a pitcher of margaritas as long as we’re having Mexican food. I’ll go pick it up.”
Heather smirks. Meryl likes to act as if it’s someone else’s fault that she’s forced to have a drink with dinner.
Thirty minutes later, Mer is back with three burritos and enough chips and queso to feed a small village. Heather sets the table, complete with the requested margaritas, and laughs when she sees the amount of food for the two of them.
“I guess we’re having leftovers tomorrow?” she says with a smile, just before the doorbell rings. She arches her eyebrow. “You are expecting someone?”
The visitor doesn’t wait for Meryl to get to the door before easing it open.
“Yoohoo!” yells Frank. He comes into the kitchen with an expensive bottle of tequila tucked under his arm. “Your Aunt Mer says you make the margaritas a little weak there, kid. No offense.”
Since when does Meryl not mention that Frank is coming over? Since when does she not mention that they’ve even talked today? Heather begins to question whether Meryl did mention these things while she was completely absorbed in Quinn’s novel. She distinctly remembers Mer peeking her head out the door several times, Heather nodding each time to satisfy whatever she was needing.
“Frank, what a nice surprise,” Heather says, reaching down for a third plate and margarita glass.
“For Christ’s sake Heath, I told you he was coming over so you could debrief us on this little book. We’re dying to hear about it.”
“Sorry, I guess I was lost in the pages. Have a seat, Frank,” Heather says before setting the plate and glass in front of the seat opposite Meryl’s.
Over dinner, Heather fills them in on everything she’s read so far.
The story, set in the next town over Gladstone, centers around a character whose life eerily resembles Heather’s. She was Homecoming Queen and Captain of the cheerleading squad before a tragic housefire takes the lives of her entire family. Decades later, she finds out the fire wasn’t an accident. It was set intentionally by a man who believed she was in the house. Several murders occur in town and all the victims are connected to the main character. Each victim’s time of death is estimated to be around midnight and the authorities think that the man, who has been on the run, is killing people close to the main character to frame her, as her midnight alibis aren’t exactly airtight. Her name is Malorie and Heather is currently reading about how the murders are beginning to make her go crazy. She can’t bear the thought of another person losing their life just because of their connection to her.
They all agree that Quinn may have taken a page from Heather’s own story to create the character of Malorie, but they’re sure all authors do that to the people in their lives. She only has five or six chapters left to read, but so far, the only real-life similarities are that the victims were strangled, their cell phones are the only items missing, and the crimes occurred sometime within the midnight hour. Sure, Heather knew both victims just like Malorie in the book, but it’s a small town. It would be very unlikely for Heather not to know someone here.
“So, who is this guy committing the crimes?” Frank asks before dripping queso all over his chin. Mer grabs a napkin from the center of the table and leans forward to wipe it for him. Heather notes how comfortable she looks doing this.
“That’s the thing,” Heather says. “They haven’t specifically said who this guy is or why he’s doing it. At this point, the reader just knows that Malorie figured it out. She hasn’t even gone to the cops yet.”
Frank and Mer seem to chew on this for a minute.
“So, these idiots who think Susan and Dottie’s deaths are related to the book. In theory, they believe someone is killing them to frame...you?” Meryl asks.
“I’m not sure, the first time I have even heard about the book being discussed in town was from Mitch today. I can’t see how someone could say I’m being framed for the murders—the cops even told me I’m not a suspect. Mitch hinted that the people in town think Quinn could have something to do with it, which is nonsense.”
They sit in silence for a moment before Frank changes the subject to the upcoming UPtoberfest in the park, but they are all wondering the same thing: is it possible someone is trying to copy the plot of the book? They all alternate between curiosity and back to disbelief because the idea is just too ludicrous to consider.
Later that night, Heather is sitting on the couch with her feet kicked up, a hot mug of tea in one hand and Midnight in the other. Meryl enters the living room just as Heather finishes the final chapter. She closes the book, sets it in her lap, and stares straight forward.
“Well?” Mer asks.
“It was the main character the whole time. Malorie. She was the killer.”