The Vanishing Girls by Callie Browning (great novels of all time .txt) 📗

results, but never before had any assistant put so much care into him or his business. It was so unfamiliar and profound that it filled him with a joy that felt like it was pried from deep within his shoes. She said she didn’t want to work there much longer, but maybe Eileen would be willing to stay with him. Provided he could get his head out of his ass and finally tell her how he felt.

“I think this is my best work yet,” she effused as she floated into the office with two massive pink wreaths. The scent of lilies and roses wafted around her as she laid them on his desk.

Holden was impressed. “They’re stunning.”

“Why thank you. Oh, the postman came?”

“Yeah, he left the letters on your desk. I know you have your system so I didn’t touch them.”

“Aww. I’m not that uptight, but thank you,” she said, patting his hand warmly.

Her smile almost made him melt. He’d come to realize that pleasing her had become his favourite hobby. He tucked his head and looked at his ledger, trying to hide the look on his face.

As she sorted the letters, he noticed a square white one in her hands addressed to H. Davis Jr.

“Just throw that in the garbage,” Holden said when he saw Eileen looking at it.

She frowned and glanced at it before extending it to him. “It doesn’t seem like a chain letter.”

He didn’t look up from his ledgers as he replied, “It’s an invitation. I never go so just throw it away.”

“Oh…okay,” she said. She was about to throw it in the trash when she noticed the return address. “But…it’s from Paul.”

Holden stopped writing for a moment and looked up at Eileen. The two wreaths on his desk lent a hazy, dreamlike glow to the office, making Eileen look like she were afloat on a pink cloud. Would going to the party really be so bad?

He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s Paul’s birthday party, but he treats it more like an annual ball. Clifford loves that kind of thing. Would you like to come too?” As much as it pained him to invite Clifford, he knew it was necessary to keep the optics above board. Plus, Clifford never turned down a chance for free food and booze.

Eileen grinned and bounced on her heels. “Yup. It’s tomorrow, but that’s okay. I’ve already got a pink dress that would be perfect.”

* * *

EILEEN COULDN’T SLEEP. She drank water, ate a slice of sweet bread and still couldn’t calm her mind. She’d had that dream again, the one where she was dragged out of bed.

Eileen wanted to feel better, to feel less alone and afraid. There was only one person she could think of at that moment, one person who could lighten her mood and make her laugh. She leaned over the edge and felt around for the phone. Never before had the urge to hear Holden’s deep voice been so strong. She began dialling his number and then caught herself. It was almost midnight and she didn’t even have a plausible excuse for calling him so late. Plus, she didn’t know how — or with whom — he spent his nights. She slammed the phone back on its cradle, frustrated by the idea of him being with someone else. In an instant, her irritation turned to rage.

Her brain ticked and before she knew what she was doing she pulled out the slip of paper she kept folded in the side pocket of her handbag, even though she had called the Cane Slasher’s number so often that she knew it by heart.

Bitterness coursed through her. She hoped the phone woke everyone in his household. If she was right, and the number was residential, a wife or elderly grandmother wouldn’t want that annoying trill in their ears. She held her breath, praying that the odds were in her favour.

The phone rang eight times before someone answered. But instead of a woman's sleepy mumble, a man’s drunken voice asked, “Is this Jesus?” Wind blew into the receiver, muffling his response as whistling frogs and crickets chirped so loudly that Eileen thought they were right inside the telephone.

“Uh no…” Eileen was caught off guard but she quickly said, “I have an urgent person-to-person call from someone important. What’s your name, sir?”

The man wept and said, “Um is an angel. The Lord sent you. This is a sign. I gonna stop drinking right now.” Glass smashed on the ground and echoed through the line as the man slurred, “See?”

Eileen wrinkled her brow. If he was drunk, there was a good chance that he’d rat himself out. Her heart beat faster. Catching the serial killer might be so much easier than she thought.

“Yes…that’s very good. But what’s your name?”

“Them does call me Skunk,” he rasped with a drunken giggle.

Eileen rolled her eyes. She didn't doubt that his nickname alluded to him always being drunk like a skunk. How clever, she thought sarcastically.

“Where are you, Skunk? I can come and get you.”

“But you know where I is,” came the petulant reply. “You is an angel.”

“Yes, but I want you to tell me so I can make sure you get help.” In the background, a clock chimed loudly and Eileen’s heart beat so fast that she feared she would faint.

Skunk stupsed. “You ain’t no angel. All you do is frig me up and make me throw 'way my rum for nothing.” And with that, he slammed the receiver down and ended the call.

Despite not getting an answer, Eileen had heard enough to know that not only was Skunk not the killer, but he was at a payphone near the parliament building.

Chapter 16

Family Feud

Paul’s home was an uptight Victorian affair that looked like a replica of Angela Channing’s house from Falcon Crest. It was set on a sprawling hilltop with an unencumbered view that spawned miles of shoreline on the west coast. The home was ablaze with lights and loud music poured through the