Page 54

REN

Siren Song, Maine

R en walked along the bluff path in a hoodie and jeans, tossing a tennis ball into the woods for Newton to fetch.

Ginny was baking, and Ren inhaled the faint scent of warm bread.

He glanced out at the turbulent ocean. Behind him, the sun was setting, the cloud cover turning the water an ominous black.

White-capped waves crashed against the cliffs.

Beneath him, the town was quiet. Ren observed the fishing boats bobbing in the water.

The colorful shops and buildings lining Main Street in a gentle curve looked like a toy model from this distance. In many ways, Siren Song was a utopia.

Every paradise had a serpent.

Every rock he turned over regarding Hyperion revealed more troubling information.

The organization was essentially a closet dictatorship controlling the government and shaping the world’s political landscape.

Granted, Ren was filling in a lot of holes with conspiratorial assumptions.

He was a few steps shy of being in a small room with webs of yarn connecting index cards, but something smelled.

Newton barked, and Ren looked over to see the dog trotting along the bluff walk toward Siren Cliff. When Newton weaved through a cluster of boulders and jumped down to a lower ledge, Ren ran along the path to where Newton was growling and digging in the dirt.

Footsteps behind him alerted Ren to Stella’s presence. When she caught up, she said, “I was about to take him for a walk when I saw him jump down there. What’s he doing?”

“I’m guessing he’s after a squirrel, but we need to get him off that cliff. There are snakes and some pretty dangerous animals nesting in those rocks.”

As they approached the spot, Stella clapped her hands. “Newton, come on, boy.”

The dog ignored her and continued digging furiously under a rock. A moment later, a chipmunk popped out on the far side and scurried down another level.

Ren climbed down to the dog and grabbed his collar as he tried to chase the tiny creature. He scooped up Newton and backed away from the ledge. “Gotcha, Buddy.”

He passed the dog to Stella, who pulled the leash from her back pocket and clipped it on.

Ren leaned against the cliff wall and ran a hand through his hair.

He’d never had a pet, but in just a few short weeks, Newton had burrowed into Ren’s heart.

He couldn’t explain the feeling; he just knew deep down the dog was his, and he needed to protect him.

Funny how that worked.

Ren shook off the errant thought and looked for a handhold. As he turned, a glint from where Newton had been digging caught his eye. Sinking into a catcher’s stance, he scraped away the dirt and rocks.

Stella called from the clifftop, “What are you doing?”

Ren yanked down the sleeve of his hoodie to cover his hand. Then he pried the object from where it was wedged under the rock and held it up to her.

“Is that—”

“I think so,” he confirmed.

Questions raced through Ren’s mind as he looked down at the blood-caked blade of the missing knife from Franklin’s kitchen block.

Stella

“ O h, wait. Here.” Stella pulled the green plastic dog poop bag from her pocket and held it out. Ren dropped the knife in.

After slipping the bag into her jacket’s side pocket, Stella held out a hand to him. Ren grabbed on and boosted himself with a foothold in the cliff face. As his head broke the surface of the bluff, he looked past her. Stella turned and spotted movement in the woods.

Stella nearly fell on her ass as Ren flew by her. She turned to see what had sparked his sprint. A man was disappearing into the pine trees. Ren moved like a gazelle. It took him all of five seconds to catch the intruder and tackle him to the ground.

Newton was already straining at his leash, and Stella followed, hurrying to catch up.

“Keep him away from me!” the man bellowed face down in the dirt.

“I’m not moving until you explain yourself,” Ren said, calmly sitting on the guy’s lower back.

“Not you. The dog. I’m terrified of dogs!”

The man was in his fifties and flailing beneath Ren’s weight. Stella touched Ren’s shoulder. “He doesn’t appear to be a threat.”

Ren agreed and stood, pulling the creep up by his collar. Stella walked Newton back and tied his leash to a tree.

The guy was barely five-six with a fringe of dark hair and a paunch that strained the button of his suit jacket. He brushed mud and pine needles from his lapels and extended his hand as if Ren hadn’t just flattened him like a pancake.

“Gary Bonapart, and you must be Mr. and Mrs. Jameson.” When Ren kept his hands in his pockets, Mr. Bonapart reached into his inner jacket pocket and withdrew a silver business card holder. With a slight tremble in his hand, he plucked out a card and passed it to Ren.

“Bonapart he had some knowledge of anatomy.”

“Or she,” Stella corrected.

“Or she.”

“Then what?” Stella asked. “The killer returns to the party and hopes no one noticed their absence?”

Ren looked out the window over the sink toward a moonlit Siren Cliff. “Maybe it wasn’t a guest. Maybe it was a robbery gone wrong. The criminal assumes the home is empty. The noise of fireworks and music would mask the sounds of a break-in. Franklin surprises the thief and gets stabbed.”

“Was anything taken?”

“I don’t know,” Ren replied. “Either way, someone got very lucky.” Ren sank to the kitchen floor. “Franklin knows he’s dying. He forces himself to his feet. What is he thinking?”

Ren mimicked Franklin’s movements and used the edge of the sink to pull himself up. Stella watched as Ren positioned himself, leaning over the counter facing the window.

“His wife. He scattered her ashes over that cliff. He wants to get to her.”

“So, with a knife in his gut, he staggers along the path in full view of the party guests and falls over the edge.”

Ren turned from the sink to face her. “And in doing so, changes the act from a murder to a suicide. None of the witnesses know about the knife. Franklin has his back to them as he walks to the cliff. All the guests see is a staggering, seemingly distraught man walking to his death. The local police don’t investigate the primary crime scene because no one knows it’s a crime scene. ”

“As long as the knife never turns up, the killer is home free.”

They both stared down at the dirty blade on the table. Ren knocked on the wood surface. “I’ll pay the police chief a visit in the morning.”

Stella nodded. “In the meantime, I’m going to take a long, hot shower and climb into bed.”

REN