An hour after the boys had left, Peighton was elbow-deep into the boxes Clay had brought and she’d actually made a dent in the load. She picked up a small box, spying a spot for it on the top of the closet racks, and stood on her toes trying to reach it. She lost her balance suddenly, dropping the box and ducking out of the way. It scraped her back on the way down, papers going everywhere. She bent down to pick them up, spying something that caught her eye.
She picked up the paper, staring at the words. It was a conversation between Todd and Beelzebub.
MrSenator1: Late night?
Beelzebub9677: Always. What are you
doing up?
MrSenator1: Thinking of you.
Beelzebub9677: Don’t tease me. I’ll be
there in a second.
MrSenator1: Peighton’s home.
Beelzebub9677: I thought Kyle had
practice.
MrSenator1: Its eleven at night, moron.
Beelzebub9677: They don’t practice
that late?
MrSenator1: You wish.
Beelzebub9677: Yeah I do.
MrSenator1: Why are you still using
this screenname? I thought your job
was done.
Beelzebub9677: I’m being mysterious.
U like?
MrSenator1: I like you.
Beelzebub9677: I love you.
MrSenator1: I love you too.
Beelzebub9677: I’m gonna go to bed.
I’ll be over bright and early.
Peighton’s heading to work at seven, right?
MrSenator1: Yep. See you in the
morning beezle.
Beelzebub9677: Good night Wonder.
Peighton dropped the paper instantly, chills running down her spine. Her blood ran ice cold and her heart plummeted. Wonder.
Forty-Three
FRANK, 2016
Frank sat across from Todd at the restaurant, staring down into the stack of papers he’d been working on.
“How would you catch your husband having an affair?” he asked.
Todd coughed, inhaling a bit of his wine. “Is that a trick question?”
“No, I’m serious.”
“I don’t have a husband,” he said, rubbing his foot across Frank’s calf softly. Frank looked around nervously.
“I need to catch a cheating husband. His phone records are clean, computer is clean, I’ve had him followed and can’t catch him doing anything. What am I missing?”
“Maybe he isn’t cheating,” Todd told him.
“No, the wife seems certain.”
“She could be wrong.”
“Okay, you’re not helping,” Frank said heatedly. He looked up, laughing as Todd drank wine from a straw. “Why do you do that?”
“It tastes better,” he insisted. “You should try it.”
“No thanks.” He laughed. “I’m not four.”
“Well, if I’m four, you’ve got a serious felony on your hands, bub. Intoxicating minors and all.”
Frank rolled his eyes at his goofball of a date, looking back down into his paperwork. “You are absolutely no help. We should go home.”
“Oh, yeah?” Todd laughed, raising his eyebrows.
“Not for anything fun. That wine is just starting to make you batty, Mr. Senator. We can’t have that.”
Todd sat up straight, sobering a bit. “Okay, you’re right.”
They paid their tab and headed to the car, Todd staring at his phone as it went off.
“Who’s that?” Frank asked.
“Peighton texted me. She wants to know what we want Isabel to cook for supper.”
“Up to you,” Frank said, climbing into the car and beginning to drive. “I don’t know if I’ll stay tonight or not. This case is killing me.”
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing to find,” Todd insisted.
“There’s always something to find.”
“Well, then, if you’re so sure, why don’t you prove it?”
“What do you mean?” Frank asked, turning around a sharp curve.
“I mean, if you’re so convinced he’ll give in to temptation, then tempt him.”
“He’s not gay,” Frank argued.
“So, become a girl.”
“I think that takes a little while,” Frank joked.
“You can be anyone you want on a little thing called the internet,” Todd said simply, leaning his seat back. “Oh, I have a headache.”
Frank was intrigued. “Temptation, huh? You really think that could work?”
Todd laughed. “It worked on me, didn’t it?”
Forty-Four
PEIGHTON
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Peighton screamed into the phone, driving twenty miles per hour over the speed limit on her way to the airport. Her heart pounded as she pieced every bit of the story together.
Beelzebub. Beasley. Todd had always called Frank ‘Beezle.’ The 9677 was a play on Frank’s birthday: July 7th, 1969. She cursed herself, slamming her hand into the steering wheel. How could she have been so stupid? All the late nights and business trips together, the fact that she’d never, not even once, seen Frank with a woman. Frank was always a weird part of their marriage, but to be honest she’d always thought it was her that he wanted.
“Hello?” Clay answered finally.
“Where are you? Has Kyle gotten on the plane yet?”
“Yeah, I’m leaving the airport now. What’s wrong?”
“Dammit!” she screamed, her insides twisting in turmoil. “You have to stop the plane!”
“I can’t stop the plane, Peighton. It’s already gone. What’s happening?”
“It’s Frank. You were right. It’s Frank. Beelzebub is Frank. Frank and Todd were together all along. Lovers. He called him ‘Wonder’ in the messages. It was Todd’s nickname. Frank killed Todd. And Sarah. And Drew.” She panted, forcing the words out.
Seeming to make sense of all that she was saying, he spoke with urgency. “Peighton, are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m almost to the airport.”
“Get here. We’re going to beat the plane.”
“Beat the plane?”
“I’m calling for backup. He can’t get ahold of Kyle.”
The line went dead as Peighton pulled into the airport. She drove aimlessly, parking in a place that wasn’t a parking spot as soon as she saw Clay. She leapt from the car, rushing toward him and collapsing in her arms. “We have…to…stop him…he’s going…to hurt…Kyle.”
He grasped her shoulders. “Calm down. Come on, I have a cruiser waiting for us. My department has contacted the New Orleans police. They’ll be waiting for Kyle at the airport. Frank won’t get his hands on him.”
She nodded, though what he was saying only brought her a tiny bit of relief. He ushered her into the police car that waited for them, another officer in the driver’s seat.
“Step on it,” Clay directed, and the car lurched forward, the sirens going. She leaned over, pressing her forehead onto the window as if she could get to him faster that way.
“Should we try to call Kyle?”
“We don’t want to scare him. He’ll have his phone turned off anyway. Let’s just get there first.”
“Are you sure we’ll beat him? What if we don’t make it?”
“We’re going to make it, Peighton. I promise you we’ll make it.”
They drove for hours, the two huddled together in the backseat as they flew down the interstate, passing cars at lightning speed. No matter how much Clay assured her, Peighton couldn’t calm the unease that sat in her core. If Frank got ahold of her son, the way he’d gotten ahold of Todd, she might never see him again. She wanted so badly to call Frank, to make him assure her that she had it all wrong, but Clay told her not to. It would only give him the heads up that they were coming for him.
When they finally arrived in Louisiana, and then in New Orleans, a small bit of hope washed over her. Kyle’s flight hadn’t landed yet, they’d been tracking it online. The officer pulled into the airport, slowing down at the entrance. They climbed out of the car, Peighton’s limbs feeling numb and unused.
“Thanks, Duncan,” Clay thanked the officer. “I owe you one.”
The officer nodded. “Anytime. I hope your boy’s okay,” he told Clay, and Peighton couldn’t help but realize she liked the way that sounded. Her boy. Not Frank’s. Hers.
Clay shut the door and they walked into the airport. Peighton gasped as she looked around, seeing cops in every corner.