“Why not?” Tess was immediately interested. She didn’t seem to care that Hazel didn’t belong amongst the group.
“Just seems like too much work when nobody really cared at the time how people died. He could have just thrown them into the street, and nobody would have connected them to him. It was the times.” She felt she was rambling.
“Interesting take on it. I’ve heard that the house was exaggerated and not as elaborate as they all say it was,” Ruth said from her spot in the kitty-corner from Hazel on the outside of the booth.
Warmth flooded Hazel as she realized these women were actually listening to her, paying attention and wanting to hear what she said. Maybe it would be okay after all.
The bell over the door rang as someone entered. Turning, she looked to see who it was. Natalie Beckett. Panic filled her, and she was trapped in the booth. She needed to get out of the room, away from the other woman.
Trying to control her breathing in hopes of not hyperventilating, she felt Mia put her hand on Hazel’s thigh and pull her into a hug with the other arm. “It’s okay, Hazel. Natalie didn’t do anything. You’re okay.”
Still being held by the bubbly waitress, Hazel tried to let the panic go. Tears filled her eyes, and her hands shook as Mia said to Mandy, “Go in the kitchen. By the flour on the shelf is a bottle of whiskey—and bring glasses.”
Once the nurse came back with the requested items, she poured a generous round for everyone. Each took a glass and downed the contents. Then Tess Thorn refilled them, a little fuller this time, and when all the glasses were empty, Mia finally let go of Hazel, who was not shaking as she had been before.
“Well, that was one way to start a book club. Too much emotion for a murder book club, ladies.” Tess sat back down, sliding into the booth where she had been sitting before. Then she poured more whiskey into everyone’s glass.
“I guess I need to ask,” Mia said, “can you two be in a room together? I’ve seen you two avoid each other for years.” Turning to the other two, she added, “Church is a tense place when they both show up.”
“Why?” Tess was not from the area and didn’t know. She had no way of knowing the history.
“Can I say?” Ruth asked the two women, one in the corner of the booth, downing another glass of whiskey. The other was sitting in the booth across from the booth the four had started in.
“No,” Natalie replied, “I can say it. Hazel hates me for good reason. I killed her brother and sister.”
“Jesus Christ, Natalie, you did not kill them. You just survived an accident they didn’t,” Mia protested.
“That’s not how Hazel sees it.” Natalie looked right at her as if daring her to deny it.
“It’s not that you killed them. You got hurt really bad, but you survived,” Hazel whispered into her glass.
Mia put an arm around her and said to Tess, “They were not just her brother and sister, Tess, they were triplets. That makes it a bit harder for Hazel.”
“So, Natalie, we were talking about H. H. Holmes. Do you know of him?” Ruth tried to bring the conversation back to murder, which was oddly away from death.
“Yes,” Natalie said shakily.
“Actually, we weren’t introduced. I don’t know Natalie,” Tess said to the group.
“My name is Natalie, and I work at the library,” Natalie told the group, offering far less information than anyone else had provided.
“From what I hear, she’s engaged and getting married late this summer,” Mia added. She knew everything that happened in Landstad.
“Yes, in July,” Natalie agreed.
“Favorite killer?” Ruth winced that she did not add ‘serial’ to her sentence.
“The Co-ed Killer,” she supplied.
Soon the group was talking about the book they were to read. They all had already read it, and most had read more on the same topic. They discussed, agreed, and disagreed about the killer for three hours.
The memory of that day still brought a smile to her face—she had made the best friends she had ever had that day. To this day, they still get together every other weekend to talk about killers and life. But instead of reading one book about a killer and talking about it, Natalie had changed the group into a podcast. They all read a different book, talked about what they learned, and recorded the conversation, jokes, and all. Afterward, they released the recording to the world. They had gained a small following in the months since, but nobody in town knew anything about it. Even family and partners were unaware of what book club really was.
Pulling up to the farmhouse she had been raised in and still lived in with her grandparents and son, she turned the radio down, noticing it had not taken her as long as it should have to get home. She must have been speeding the entire time.
She walked through the grass, damp from dew, to the house. It was unlocked, so she quietly walked up the stairs and took a quick shower to clean off the makeup and settle the spikes she loved to wear out on the town. Still damp, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in and carried her party clothes to her bedroom. Throwing them in the corner, she turned to check her on her son, who slept soundly in his crib in the corner of their shared room.
There were three other empty rooms on this floor for him to sleep in—one was storage, and the others remained closed—but she needed him close. She needed to know he was safe. Running her hand through his light blond hair, she was happy he stayed asleep. He was her everything.