Page 18 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

So now Lanny is keeping this secret from me, and I’m keeping it secret from Sam. So many secrets in this family. Too many.

I close the browser and swivel my chair toward Sam. “Time to head out?”

“Yeah, about that?—”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Changed your mind already?”

He shakes his head without even a hint of a smile. I notice that he looks wound up, his shoulders tense. He drums his fingers against his leg—a habit of his when he’s nervous or preoccupied. I narrow my eyes, giving him my complete focus.

“What’s up?”

“Look, I know this isn’t the best timing, but I have to run out real quick. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it back in time to pick you up to meet that podcaster.”

I shift, uneasy. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just something’s come up I gotta take care of.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Oh, okay. You want me to come with you? I just need to grab my bag and?—”

He’s already shaking his head. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“I can call her and reschedule for another day when you’re available,” I offer.

“There’s no need. I doubt I’ll even be that late, but just in case I think it makes more sense for you to take a rideshare.”

I’m surprised he’d suggest I go on my own. Then again, he knows I’m able to take care of myself. “No problem.”

He nods. “Thanks. I’ll fill you in later. I just have to run right now, and it’s too much to explain.”

It’s obvious that whatever he’s dealing with is important to him. As curious as I am, he’s more than earned my respect and trust over the years. “I’ll see you at the hotel. Good luck with”— I wave my hand—“whatever it is.”

He gives me a brief smile. “Thanks.” Then he’s gone .

Before ordering the car, I shut down my computer and get ready—not that it takes much.

My shoulder holster hangs on a hook in the bedroom closet, and I slide it on.

Then I grab my favorite gun from the safe built into my bedside table.

Thankfully, it’s winter, so it won’t be difficult to conceal the weapon under bulky clothes.

I pull on a sweater and jacket, then order my ride.

By the time the car arrives, and we make it through traffic to the hotel, I’m about five minutes late to meet Madison.

Having spent so much time on her abandoned social media page, I’m familiar enough with what she looks like and know I’ll easily be able to recognize her.

But I don’t see her anywhere in the bar or the lobby.

Five minutes later, she still hasn’t shown, and irritation prickles along my spine.

I wasn’t the one to ask for this meeting and I’m starting to think the entire endeavor has been a waste of time.

I’m about to bail when my phone rings. It’s Madison.

“I’m at the bar and don’t see you. I understand if you changed your mind about wanting to meet, but I thought I would reach out in the hope that I might be able to convince you otherwise. ”

I glance around again, wondering how I could have missed her. “I’m here,” I tell her. “I’m sitting in a corner booth. Where are you?”

“Booth? I don’t see any booths,” she says, sounding confused. “Hold on, let me ask the bartender if there’s another restaurant at the hotel that I’m not aware of.”

I hear a muffled conversation, and then she’s back.

“You’re never going to believe this. There are two airport Hyatts on the same road.

How in the world is that even possible? The bartender says this happens all the time: people showing up at the wrong one.

I’m just down the road. Let me hop in my car. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She hangs up before I even have a chance to respond.

Her excuse sounds dubious, and I immediately pull up the Maps app on my phone to search for Hyatt hotels.

Sure enough, two little red dots appear relatively close to each other.

One is listed as being on Airport Road North, while the other is on Airport Road South.

It seems ridiculously and unnecessarily confusing, but it means she was telling the truth.

I look toward the door, surprised Sam still isn’t here. I’m about to pull up my location app to check how far away he is when Madison arrives in a flurry of apologies.

She’s young, still in her mid-twenties, and she looks it, though it’s obvious she dressed to appear older.

Her blond hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her makeup is subtle and meant to appear effortless in a way that likely took a significant amount of time to achieve.

She’s wearing tailored dark-wash jeans, a plain white silk shirt, and a bold turquoise statement necklace that matches the bow on her beige flats.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she says as she slides into the booth across from me.

Her voice carries the slight Southern accent I recognize from the podcast, but now I find it odd, given that she grew up in California and went to school in the Midwest. “I can’t believe I made a mistake like that.

Who would have thought there’d be two of the same hotel on the same road?

What are the odds? Thank you for waiting.

And thank you again for being willing to meet. ”

Her words come out in a rush and there’s something about her that gives off a golden-retriever vibe. She comes across as eager and earnest in a way that emphasizes how young she still is.

No wonder Rowan and the Lost Angels were able to take advantage of her. You’d think losing her parents so young and bouncing through the foster system would have stripped away some of that na?veté. Then again, maybe it’s good that the harshness of the world hasn’t dulled her shininess.

“Sam will be joining us; he’s just running a little late.

” I check my phone, noting that by this point he’s over twenty minutes late and hasn’t texted.

I don’t know if that should make me concerned or frustrated or both.

Given that I don’t know where he went, I don’t know whether his being late is worrisome .

I send a quick text: All okay?

It remains unread. I set my phone on my lap to make sure I’ll feel the vibration if he responds.

Madison’s eyes brighten. “Oh, great! I look forward to meeting him.”

My lips twist. “I’m not sure you should be. He’s not your biggest fan, given the most recent podcast episode.”

She ducks her head, her cheeks blazing with color. “Look, I?—”

She’s cut off by the appearance of our server. While we order drinks, Madison takes a moment to compose herself. When the server retreats to the bar, she takes a deep breath and presses her palms flat against the table.

“I want to formally apologize for my involvement in The Royal Murders . I went into it hoping to change the way the world looks at serial killers. I wanted to center the narrative around the victims rather than Melvin. I thought the Lost Angels were on board with that vision. And I think they were. At first. Or at least Rowan was…somewhat. Then Leo disappeared, and…”

She trails off, as if considering how much to share.

I say nothing. As usual, the tactic works, and the silence stretches long enough that Madison feels compelled to fill it.

“Leo ran the Lost Angels after Miranda Tidewell died. The thing with Miranda is that she was super rich and she left her estate to Leo, which made him super rich. He’s the one who brought Rowan on board with the management team.

And she was the one in charge of the podcast on their end, so she’s the one I worked with the most.”

This piques my interest, given my suspicions about Rowan. “Were you and Rowan close? Did you become friends?” I make the question sound innocent, just mere curiosity .

She shifts in her chair. “Rowan’s… I’m not sure what the best word to describe her is, but she’s not really the friend type.

She’s prickly. Keeps to herself. Plus, she had a full-time job outside of the Lost Angels and she has kids, so I didn’t really see her a ton.

We mostly communicated over email and texts.

She isn’t really the kind of person you share memes with, if you know what I mean.

That’s why it stood out that she and Leo got along so well. ”

“She and Leo were friends?”

“They were close. I don’t know if I’d say friends as much as, like…family of sorts. I think she saw him like a father figure, and for him, I think Rowan reminded him of the daughter he lost. I think that’s why she went off the deep end when Leo disappeared. Everything changed.”

“Really? How so?”

Madison blows out a breath. “I mean, I was an outsider, so I don’t really know about all the internal politics, but Rowan took over the Lost Angels, even though she was fairly new to the management team.

She also completely believed that Sam was involved in Leo’s death.

She was absolutely convinced he’d murdered him.

When the news came out about the preservative in the blood, she refused to believe it.

I included an interview with one of the lab technicians who did the testing in the podcast, and she was livid.

Demanded I take it out. I refused, and..

.” She sighs, her shoulders sagging. “That’s when we parted ways, and she took control of the podcast.”

I study her, trying to decide how much to believe. She seems to sense my hesitation. She rummages in her purse and holds out a USB drive. I take it.

“Like I said, I recorded the entire season and had all the episodes more or less ready to go. Then Rowen started making requests for edits and became super hands-on. Eventually, she took over completely and apparently rewrote and re-edited what I gave her. ”

She nods at the flash drive in my hand. “Those are all the original episodes. You can listen for yourself. The rest of the files are in my car.”

I start to respond when my phone pings. I glance at the screen, expecting it to be Sam letting me know where he is since he’s running late. Instead, it’s a text from Lanny.

Lanny

911