Page 34 of Killer Knows Best (Fallon Baxter FBI Mystery #4)

34

SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER

“ H ello and welcome to one and all.” Phillis Hazelwood nods at equal portions of the crowd here in the conference room behind the Blue Creek Public Library.

Her voice is measured and gentle, but there’s something layered beneath it—something darker, maybe even dangerous.

I frown at the woman. I’ve never been a fan of dwelling on what comes next after this world, but Phillis seems to have mastered it.

“Life and death”—Phillis begins as her eyes scan the room—“two sides of the same coin. What we do here, in this life, it matters. It carries with us into the next chapter. We cannot escape it.” She pauses, letting the weight of her words settle. “Everything we carry, every choice, every mistake—it all follows us like a blessing or a curse.”

I glance at Jack as a feeling of unease builds in my gut, and it’s a feeling I can’t quite shake. Phillis speaks like she knows something—as if she’s already seen what’s on the other side. And whatever it is, it doesn’t sound good .

My father comes to mind again and I try my best to shove him right back out.

“What we leave behind,” Phillis continues with her voice soft but insistent, “our actions, our sins—they mark us. And some of us will be held accountable for those marks sooner than we think.”

The room is silent, save for the fact Buddy just gave a big sigh and it evokes a moment of levity as a loose round of chuckles circles the crowd. But Phillis’ words still hang in the air, heavy and ominous. And for the first time tonight, I wonder if she’s speaking to us or perhaps to herself.

All I know for sure is, this just got a whole lot darker.

Phillis continues speaking and her voice is a slow, steady pulse that penetrates the room like a somber lullaby. She definitely has the sort of voice that makes you sit at attention, but not because you’re interested—because there’s something in the tone that unsettles you—like you might miss the warning if you don’t pay close attention.

I glance at Jack and he nods my way. He’s not missing the warning either.

“Grief is a strange thing,” she says, folding her hands over the podium and the microphone picks up the slight crackle of her knuckles. “It follows you, even when you think you’ve outrun it. You wake up one day, years later, and it’s still there, waiting. And for some, that weight becomes unbearable. It’s a constant ocean of sorrow that rolls over you in waves and slams you to the ground when you least expect it. It’s raw at first, so very powerful you’re convinced it will take you under. But time, and I’m talking a lot of time—years even—it does help to ease the pain. But those waves still come when you least expect them. And I’m sorry to say, they will never really stop. But one day your body will give way and you, the real you, will escape this world once and for all. And that is where your real life begins. ”

A couple of people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Brenda nods solemnly from the side, as if Phillis is simply reiterating the Gospel.

Buddy sits with his head resting on my knee, and his eyes are wide open as if he, too, is catching onto the grave tension.

I glance at Jack and his eyes haven’t left Phillis. His jaw is set tight, and he has that look he gets when something is clicking into place. But I’m betting he’s not sure if it’s a piece of the puzzle or a whole new game board we’re dealing with.

Death and grief aren’t my favorite subjects, and I’m guessing they’re not Jack’s either.

“And in death”—Phillis continues as her gaze sweeps the room—“we find out the truth of who we are—of what we’ve carried, what we’ve left behind. It stays with us. Death doesn’t cleanse us. It reveals us.”

A quiet hush takes over the room, thickening the air until it feels as if you could slice right through it. Even the smell of the coffee and those sweet treats seem to have faded, leaving only the cold, crisp scent of a fall night creeping in through the door behind us. The glow of the lights overhead feels sterile and far too bright for the subject matter at hand.

Phillis gestures toward the photo of her daughter. “We don’t get to choose when we go or how we’re remembered. My daughter, Maddie—she was taken from me in the prime of her life. And it was grief that shaped me after that. Grief that led me to this.” She pauses, settling her gaze on the crowd. “But grief is also what made me realize there are things you can’t escape. Things you carry with you into eternity.”

I’m not sure whether she’s talking about her daughter anymore.

Jack shifts in his seat and shoots me a look that says, this woman gives me the creeps . Or at least that’s what I’m thinking.

But there is something about Phillis that feels performative. Like this whole speech has been rehearsed for an audience, and yet maybe not the one sitting here tonight.

“Grief isn’t just about loss,” Phillis says as her voice lowers to a whisper. “It’s about regret. It’s about punishment. The choices we make in this life…” She glances at Jack and me and her eyes lock onto ours for a second too long. “They follow us. They shape our fate.”

Talk about driving home a point.

Buddy lets out a small whimper as if he, too, feels the shift in the room. I glance down, scratching behind his ears, but my focus is still on Phillis.

“Most people think death is an ending,” she continues. “But I’ve come to understand that it’s simply a transition. A crossing over. And what waits for us on the other side isn’t the release we hope for.” Her eyes sweep across the room again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s the reckoning.”

The word hangs in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.

Reckoning?

She drones on for another twenty minutes before stepping back from the podium with a serene expression, and I’m left wondering if she was talking about grief or something else entirely.

A smattering of polite applause circles the room, but it’s subdued as if no one’s quite sure what they just heard. Phillis steps back up, beaming as if the talk has gone perfectly, as if her life’s work has just been validated.

“Thank you all so much for coming out this evening. I’ll be signing books at the table if you’re interested.” She gestures to the coffee and dessert table to the left before inviting everyone to mingle.

But I’m not in the mood for mingling. Phillis evoked a few genuine emotions in me and not in a way that brings me comfort .

“What do you think?” I whisper to Jack as the room comes to life with conversation all at once.

He frowns to his left. “I think I want to try one of those brownies.”

Buddy lifts his head with a hopeful look on his face and I shake my head.

“No way, Buddy. No chocolate for you, remember? We’ve already had a long talk about this.” I lift my chin to Jack. “And don’t you let his big puppy dog eyes manipulate you into giving him one either. You know they can be lethal to him.”

He shakes his head at Buddy. “Isn’t that just like a woman,” he teases. “Everything fun is lethal. Come on, I see a sugar cookie with your name on it.” He gets up and Buddy rises to all fours. “Manipulator.” He chuckles as they head for the dessert table.

I rise to my feet and nearly bump right into Brenda.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, tucking my elbow to the Glock at my waist. It’s a reflex at this point when people get a little too close. Not that she can see it under my wool blazer.

“No, it’s my fault.” She laughs as she pats me on the hand and I note a fresh scratch running down the inside of her arm. I quickly meet her eyes and pretend I didn’t see it. By nature, anything we do as federal agents makes people squirm, and heaven forbid we notice a nick or a scratch. People immediately feel the need to make amends for them as if they need an alibi for breathing in my vicinity.

But Brenda doesn’t. She simply gives a little laugh and gestures to the book table.

“I’ve arranged for complimentary copies for the two of you. Please head over. Phillis is just as excited to get them into your hands.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Jack and I make our way over and stand at the back of the line. Soon enough, it’s our turn and Phillis generously signs a couple of copies of her books and gifts one to each of us.

The night quickly wraps up, and before we know it, we’re one of the last to walk out the door along with Brenda and Phillis.

Both women have their arms laden with a banker’s box filled with books, so I get the door for them and Jack promptly takes the boxes from them and offers to help them to their car.

“No, please,” Phillis says, taking the box precariously balancing on top from him. “I’ve done this a thousand times. But I’ll admit, they’re heavy.”

“That’s right.” Brenda laughs. “We’ve amassed quite the muscles as of late doing just this.”

The night air bites as we tread into the near-empty lot and Phillis steers us to a blue sedan where we drop off the goods right into her trunk before thanking them for a lovely night.

“Thank you both for coming out,” Phillis says with a breathy laugh. “Especially you, Buddy. Everyone should have a buddy like you in their lives.” She offers him a hearty pat and a hug as she says it.

“Yes, thank you both,” Brenda adds as she presses a hand to her chest. “I hope you catch whoever is out there hurting women. It’s not a good feeling to know there’s a predator out and about hunting women like prey. It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not,” I tell her. “But don’t worry. They won’t be out there for long.”

“So you’re making progress in the case?” Phillis looks winded as she slams the trunk closed.

“You can say that.” Jack shrugs because he’s not so sure himself.

Brenda pants as if she were breathless at the thought. “Oh, and I hope you catch them soon. I haven’t been able to sleep ever since I found out what happened to that poor girl, and her friend, of course. It takes a certain monster to do something like that.”

“Yes, it does,” I say. “The irony being that the monster usually doesn’t feel like a monster at all. Sometimes it’s quite the opposite.”

“A slaying savior.” Brenda gives a little laugh. “Now that’s morbid. Although with the women they’re going after, they might be onto something.” She winces. “Sorry. Talk about morbid. My humor leaves much to be desired. Please call or stop by if you need us. We’re both local. I’m just past the university, and Phillis has acreage about fifteen minutes from here.”

Phillis nods. “I moved into the carriage house after my husband and I divorced. Losing a child can destroy a marriage just as good as anything else, and I never could get used to rolling around in that big old house all by myself. Maybe once the dust settles from the book tour, I’ll consider selling it. If either of you is on the lookout for a fifteen-stall horse ranch with a fountain large enough to swim in, just let me know.”

We share a polite laugh before saying one last goodnight and parting ways.

“Where to now?” I ask as soon as we’re settled back in the truck and I give Buddy a few of those doggie biscuits I actually approve of.

They’re so good, Jack has snacked on a few himself. And he wonders why I’m not doling out the kisses.

“Where else? Barhopping in Denver,” he says as we head onto the main road. “It’s time to end the night with a little Social Disorder.”