Page 9 of The Smart Killer (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #4)

B one-tired after a grueling night shift and a long stretch of work through the day, Noah finally relented to the exhaustion gnawing at his bones.

While they waited on the results of the video canvassing and verifying Adam’s alibi, the promise of a good night’s sleep beckoned him like a siren’s call.

Still, he couldn’t let go of what Jason had told him.

As he wearily drove past Big G’s, the local bowling alley, a flicker of curiosity lit up his fatigued eyes. The recently renovated bowling alley was sandwiched between a pizza joint and a two-star hotel just off the main stretch.

Bringing the Bronco to a stop and letting the engine idle, he scanned the area and locked onto a group of teenagers outside the bowling alley.

They were a typical bunch, a mix of young boys and girls, probably ranging from sixteen to nineteen years old.

Their clothes bore the marks of teenage rebellion, with torn baggy jeans, hoodies, and sneakers.

Some of them had piercings and colorful hair, reflecting their youthful defiance.

Noah cracked his window just a hair.

They laughed loudly and exchanged banter, blissfully unaware of his watchful gaze across the road.

He had to wonder if their parents knew they were there. Single-parent families were more common than ever, and with responsibilities and bills and the ever-present wolf at the door, it would have been easier to just let teens do their own thing.

It was a juggling game that even he struggled with. If it wasn’t for his aunt Gretchen, Luke’s wife, or his neighbor Ed Baxter, he would have had difficulty keeping them out of trouble.

That only became more evident since the death of his ex, Lena.

At seventeen, his daughter Mia had already been a handful, falling in with the wrong crowd. Still, even she had learned fast the error of her ways.

Ethan, who was about to turn sixteen, not so much.

While Mia had openly gone against his house rules, Ethan was a bit of a wild card.

He’d gone quiet since the death of Lena and retreated into himself.

Only in the past few months had he seen a change.

He’d begun wearing darker clothing, listening to heavier music, and smoking.

He’d never caught him, but the smell was unmistakable.

Instead of coming down heavy on him, he tackled it in a way that he would have wanted, checking in on him daily and telling him if there was anything he needed to talk about, he was there.

Lately, the once-long conversations he had with his son were now no more than a few minutes.

He’d ask, “How are you doing today, Ethan?”

He’d shrug.

“How was school?”

“All right. I guess.”

Afterward, he would take himself off to his room, disappear into the gaming world, and gaze at his phone. Gretchen had told him not to worry. Just like Mia, he would grow out of it. It was a phase, she said.

He hoped so.

Noah’s attention was piqued. A few of the teens broke away from the group and headed toward the back of Big G’s.

Noah’s instincts kicked in, and he followed them discreetly.

He pulled the Bronco up and caught a glimpse of a suspicious transaction: money changing hands in exchange for something likely illicit.

One of the teens pointed toward a house almost hidden behind a cluster of trees.

Swiftly, the ones who made the purchase darted into the nearby woodland, disappearing into the shadows. Noah followed cautiously via the road, his trained eyes scanning the surroundings. When he thought he had lost them, he spotted the teens again, entering a home on the west side.

Curiosity piqued, Noah considered confronting them to verify Jason’s claims about the source of drugs, however, he resisted the impulse.

Instead, he mentally noted the location and decided to retreat for now.

Exhaustion from the night shift and the day’s events had caught up with him, and he knew he needed a clear mind to gather more information.

As he pulled away, he knew patience and careful investigative work was his most potent ally in uncovering where the goods were coming from at the top of the chain this time. Busting one dealer would only cause it to go back underground.

As he drove away, ready to put the whole day’s events behind him, Noah’s tired eyes caught a glimpse of movement in his rearview mirror.

With a jolt, he slammed on the brakes, his heart skipped a beat.

There, standing outside the house, was Ethan.

Disbelief washed over him as he watched Ethan laugh, exchange fist bumps with a group of kids, and then casually walk away with three of them.

Time seemed to freeze as conflicting emotions flooded his mind.

As a father, his instinct screamed at him to do a U-turn, return, and confront his son.

Yet, another part of him hesitated, considering the possibility of misunderstanding, wanting to give Ethan the benefit of the doubt.

The balance between protecting his son and knowing the truth hung in the air, a heavy burden bore down on his shoulders.

There was a moment of indecision before he drove on, heading home.

The image of Ethan lingered in his mind, fueling a new mix of worry and confusion. Was he skipping school? Noah knew he couldn’t ignore what he had just seen, but he also knew he needed to approach the situation carefully to avoid embarrassing himself or driving Ethan further into his shell.

The drive home, which had initially promised rest and respite, now felt like a journey into uncharted territory, where the role of investigator and father blurred.

The Bronco curved gracefully along the winding roads of the Adirondacks, its tires crunching on gravel and leaves.

The late evening was alive with the crickets’ symphony and the loon’s distant call.

Tall, ancient trees loomed on either side, their branches reaching out like gnarled fingers toward the night sky.

The landscape was a tapestry of deep greens and blacks, the darkness broken only by the occasional burst of starlight filtering through the dense canopy.

As Noah navigated the serpentine road, his mind buzzed, the image of his son etched in his thoughts. The scent of pine was heavy in the air, and the occasional rustle of leaves through his cracked-open window reminded him of the vast wilderness surrounding his home.

Finally, the Bronco emerged from the dense forest, revealing a clearing bathed in moonlight.

Nestled beside the tranquil lake, his home stood proudly against the backdrop of the Adirondack Mountains.

The prefabricated house he had meticulously chosen was a testament to modern comfort.

It blended seamlessly with rustic charm.

The exterior was clad in weathered cedar.

Large windows adorned the home, offering panoramic views of High Peaks Lake and the forest beyond.

As he killed the engine, Noah’s gaze drifted to his neighbor Ed Baxter, a kind-hearted soul who had provided shelter for Noah and the kids during the construction of the house. Ed’s home, a cozy cabin made of rough-hewn logs, exuded warmth and hospitality.

Grateful for the support of his neighbor, Noah took a moment to collect his thoughts before he stepped out of the vehicle.

The night was still; the only sounds were the distant murmur of the lake and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

As he made his way toward his home, he thought back to all the work that had gone into the place.

The land he stood on once belonged to Alicia Michaels, the Fish and Game warden who had become more than a friend.

Noah had only made it up a few porch steps when he noticed the front door was ajar.

He glanced at Ed’s place and saw him through one of his windows.

He was the only neighbor he had on the east side of the lake, and with only one road in and zero cars out front, his instincts kicked in.

Heart pounding, Noah removed his service weapon from the holster with practiced precision, the weight familiar and reassuring in his hand. He approached the door.

Every instinct went on high alert.

With silent steps, he entered, his senses on edge.

Inside, the house was eerily quiet, amplifying the sound of his own breaths in his ears.

Moving cautiously down the hardwood corridor, he approached the living room at the rear of the house.

In the dim light, he saw a figure seated in his recliner chair, a beer in hand.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Steady on the trigger, son.” A familiar voice cut through the tension. “I only helped myself to one beer.”

Relief washed over Noah as he recognized his father, Hugh Sutherland, wearing a mischievous grin. “I could have shot you,” Noah chided, his voice full of irritation.

Hugh took a swig of his drink, unaffected by the gravity of the situation. “I bet you would like that,” he said, teasing.

Noah, his heart still racing, holstered his gun, his exasperation giving way to a brief, tense chuckle. “How did you get in?”

“You suffer from the same problem your mother did. OCD. You leave a key in the same place, too, under the mat. Seriously! Son. You’d think you’d learn by now.”

“How did you get here? I didn’t see your truck out front.”

“That’s because I came across the lake. We’re neighbors, remember?”

“How could I forget? You took my old house.”

“First, it wasn’t yours. You rented it. Second, you gave it back to the Ashfords. Remember? I might add Luther was quite offended,” Hugh said, chuckling as he tapped the air with his beer bottle. He got up from the seat. “However, he was ecstatic when I said I would take it over.”

“I bet he was.” Noah walked out and entered the kitchen.

“I see you stacked the fridge again with beer. Back on the hard stuff, eh, son?”

Noah never answered. His father was constantly baiting him into an argument.