I find my dad’s old beat up truck waiting in the pick-up area. I toss my bag in the back, and hop in, relieved to finally be out of the airport.

My dad looks like an older version of myself. Tall, solid, his tanned skin weathered by age, but still one good looking dude for approaching sixty. He hurt his hip a few years back, and he has a cane he’s supposed to use, but he never does. The guy is more stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met.

“You look like hell, kid.”

“Nice to see you too, Dad.”

I’m not surprised he thinks I look bad. My body has lost its sense of time. Tampa. London. Monaco. And now, Maine. All in the span of a week—with little to no sleep, at that. My clothes are rumpled. I have circles under my eyes. And with the exception of Care’s stew, I’ve been surviving off fast food.

He leans in to give me a hug, slapping me on the back. “It is good to see you, son. How long are you here for?”

“Just for the day. I’m flying back after this is over.”

I lied to Davey about leaving Europe. Since he’s nearing the end of his tournament, I didn’t want to spur him into a panic and cost him the game. He still thinks he’s in crisis mode after leaving the Vancouver girl. I’d like to tell him that he never would have left if he actually gave two shits about her, but I won’t waste my breath. The guy lives in a different world than most people. So I made up a story about finishing up a side job in London. Technically I am finishing up a side job. I’m just not in London. And Renzo took me off this job a long time ago. Minor details.

My dad shakes his head, but I can tell he’s not surprised. He’s watched me jump around for the last three years. “You can’t run forever, you know,” he says, which is his way of saying he doesn’t approve.

“So you keep telling me.”

He punches in an address on his phone’s gps and starts up the engine. “Well, we better get going. I told Jaqueline we’d be there by two—she’s one of the sisters. They live in Surry, which is a forty-five-minute drive from here.”

He’s had this old truck forever. The dashboard is cracked, the seats are ripped, but it doesn’t matter how tired or worn it gets, he refuses to trade it in.

“How was the flight?” he asks once we’re on the highway.

“Long. I had to take a connection.”

“Out of London?”

“I was in Monaco, with Davey.”

He tightens his grip on the wheel. He doesn’t like hearing about how I’ve been making a living; he thinks I’ve thrown my real career away. “Win any money?” he asks, and I’m grateful because it means he’s trying to be supportive.

“Yeah. Twenty grand, actually. I came in first place in one of the tourneys.”

“In that case, you’re treating me to a steak dinner after we’re done talking to Judy’s sisters.”

“Sounds good.” Anything to keep him off my case about wasting my life. “By the way, what did Renzo say about me coming today? Last time we spoke, he more or less fired me.”

My dad snorts. “He’s still angry, but he’s not steaming mad like he was before. And I didn’t tell him you were coming. Figured that’s something we can keep between us.”

“Does he think you’ll find anything?”

“Not sure. But he’s the type that likes to explore every avenue, and he’s definitely looking forward to hearing back from me. If he wasn’t so busy fulfilling his Chinese contract, he would’ve come himself. But he said he’s glad it worked out this way, with me going in his place. It’s easier for me to be objective.”

My dad is more familiar with the Serra murders than most, having lived through them, and watching the family die off, one after another. He struggled with the inability to do anything for years, so I’m not surprised he offered to make this trip. He doesn’t work for Renzo anymore, but they’re still friends. He still wants to see the guy get justice. Or if nothing else, answers.

And my guess is, Renzo is trying to wrap things up before Hugo’s wedding. If he goes to the wedding. I hope he does. It’s one thing for me to tell Amelia why Renzo cut her off, but it would be more meaningful coming straight from him.

“I know what you’re doing, by the way,” Dad says, breaking into my thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“The Serra girl. You’re worried she’s next, right?”

“In the short time I’ve been with her, she’s been stalked, had her car broken into, came close to having her house broken into, and even came face-to-face with the killer inside her hotel room. She is next.”

Dad stares ahead at the road, sighing. “Poor kid. You’re trying to save her, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind all of this.”

He’s quiet for several long moments, frowning. After a while, he looks over at me. “It was awful, back when this whole thing started. To watch Renzo suffer—I barely had the stomach for it. You know, I admire what you’re doing, Casper. But I regret asking you to go to Florida. I didn’t realize it would become this complicated, or that you would become so invested.”

“This coming from the same guy who is always bitching at me to care about something?”

“So that’s what this is? You care about the girl? Take it from someone who has seen too many of them die, you can’t save her. Don’t try to be the hero you wish you could’ve been for Evie, son. That’s too much weight on your shoulders. I can’t watch you go through that kind of pain all over again.”

“That’s not what this is about.” I tighten my jaw, looking out my window.

“Then tell me what it’s about.”

“It’s about me watching her get terrorized. It’s about knowing someone has plans to kill her. It’s about being a fucking human being and trying to prevent Amelia from becoming another Serra victim.”

“It’s too late, I see. You’re too attached.”

“I’m not…” I am too attached. Sighing, I say, “Can we change the subject please?”

He nods, still frowning, but moves on to lighter topics. We fill the rest of the drive with idle conversation about the Giants, his favorite nfl team, and the weather.

Before long, we’re in Surry, parking in the driveway of a navy blue and white cottage overlooking the ocean.

“This place is nice,” I say as we get out, shutting the truck’s door behind me.

On the front porch, there’s several painted driftwood signs hanging along the door, each with various beach slogans like The Beach Is My Happy Place, and Just Another Day In Paradise. Dad presses the doorbell, and the two of us wait there, unsure of what to expect.

A chubby five foot nothing elderly woman peeks around the door, smiling when she sees us. She has short white hair, wrinkles around her cloudy blue eyes, and is wearing a pantsuit with a sailboat print. “You must be Griffin. I’m Jaqueline. We spoke on the phone.”

My dad turns on the charm. He reaches for Jaqueline’s hand and squeezes once. “Pleased to meet you, Jaqueline. Thank you for letting us come out to your home. This is my son, Casper.”

She smiles and nods my way. “Come in.” She holds the door open, and we venture inside where we are surrounded by fishnets, anchors, and brightly colored furniture. Outside the French doors is a view of the beach.

“Have a seat over there by the fireplace,” Jaqueline instructs us. “I’ll go and get my sister, Jessa. She has arthritis, so it may take a few minutes to get her down.”

She disappears up the stairs.

We sit on the plush sofa, and my dad chuckles to himself as he looks around. “What’s so funny?” I ask him.

“Just hard to imagine a killer living here.”

“Yeah…it is.” The place is like a hug for the soul.

A few minutes later, Jaqueline is back, helping her sister to sit in the recliner across from us. Jessa is rail thin, hunched over, and she’s wearing goggle-like glasses that make her eyes bug out.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Jaqueline offers.

“No, thanks,” my dad replies. “We won’t take up much of your time. We just came to ask you a few questions.”

“Regarding Judith, right?” She sits in the chair next to her sister. “Now, then. What would you like to know?”

My dad looks at me, giving me that Where the fuck do we begin? look.

“Well, she passed away recently,” I start off, figuring it’s as good a place as any.

“Oh, dear me. I hadn’t heard. That’s terrible. We weren’t especially close, but it’s still sad to hear. How did it happen?”

“Natural causes. She went in her sleep.”

“Not a bad way for anyone to go,” Jessa says, her voice as hoarse as a toad.

“Were the two of you close to her?” Jaqueline asks us.

“Not her, specifically,” my dad replies. “But we are with her son and his family.”

“That’s nice. It’s good to hear she had so many children. I remember she always wanted a big family.”

“The thing is…” I rub the back of my neck, unsure of where to go with this.

Thankfully, my dad steps in for me. “We’re making a family tree for Lorenzo Serra, her eldest son. He owns a construction management company, so he’s pretty busy these days, and we wanted to do something nice for him. You see, Judith never talked about her birth family. Out of respect, Renzo didn’t question his mother, but now that she’s passed, he’s really interested in getting to know her side of the family.”

I look over at my dad, watching as he shifts in his seat. The lie came out of left field. Right away, I realize why he’s lying. Family trees are light and friendly. Safe, even. If he focuses on the murders, they may not reveal crucial information.

“I’m not surprised,” Jaqueline says, sniffing. “She only visited us one time, years ago, and she didn’t show any interest in keeping in touch. Jessa and I were adopted together, but Judy was adopted to another family.”

“Yes, we’d heard,” my dad says.

“It’s a shame,” Jessa adds. “But understandable. She remembers what mother was like before we were all adopted. Her life with us was all bad memories of a broken home.”

“What were your birth parents like?” I ask, curious.

“Our father passed early on. Pneumonia. Jess and I don’t have many memories of him. And our mother was an alcoholic,” Jaqueline tells us, without holding back. “She abused and neglected the four of us for years up until the state got involved. They eventually removed us from her home. But before that, we all went through traumatizing situations. Being left home alone for days by ourselves. No food, sometimes no water, and no heat. Mother would beat Judith with the broom handle. She’d scald her with boiling water. Force her to stand outside when it was snowing without a coat.”

“Oh, yes. She was terrible to Judy,” Jessa says, scratching her chin. “Once Judy accidentally spilled a drink on her dress, and as punishment, Mother chopped off all her hair to look like a boy.”

“That’s…wow. That’s terrible.”

Living under that kind of treatment would seriously fuck a person up for life. But from what I’d heard from Renzo, and Amelia too for that matter, Judith Serra was perfectly normal.

“Judith, being the eldest, took the brunt of our mother’s abuse, unfortunately. Even after Mother sobered up and turned her life around, she didn’t want anything to do with her. There was too much damage done to their relationship.”

“What happened to your brother, Joseph?” My dad asks.

According to the records Renzo’s investigators sent, there were three siblings all together. These two sisters, and their younger brother who was sent to a family in Connecticut.

“Unlike our sister, Joe actually wanted a relationship with us. He was just a baby when we were taken into state custody, so he didn’t share those same awful memories. I’m sorry to say he passed away nearly thirty years ago.” Jaqueline shakes her head, sighing. “A boating accident. Shocked us all. He loved sailing, and he was the epitome of safety every time he went out on one of those boats.”

My dad and I share a look. Accident?

“I’m so sorry,” Dad tells the sisters politely.

“It was heartbreaking. I felt so bad for his fiancé. They were planning to get married, settle down, have some kids of their own. All those dreams, dashed to pieces.”

“Speaking of children, do the two of you have any I can add to the family tree?” Dad asks, likely fishing for more deaths.

“Us—heavens, no,” Jaqueline says, snorting. “I was unable to have any, and Jessa’s husband passed away in his early thirties. It’s just been the two of us for years.”

My mind spins, piecing that together. The two sisters with no children are alive, while the brother who planned a family dies.

Ending the Hollick bloodline.

“How long ago did Judith visit you?” I ask them, trying to draw the time line in my head.

The two sisters count back, looking at each other for help. “Let’s see, we were living at the house in Waterville—weren’t we, Jess?”

Jessa nods. “Suppose it was right around the same time as Joe’s accident, actually. Thankfully she came to visit before it happened. It’s nice that the two of them were able to reconnect before he went.”

Yeah, nice—and conveniently fucking timed.

Judy comes to visit, leaving a dead relative in her wake. There’s something really goddamn suspicious about that.

My dad and I glance at each other again. I have a feeling the car ride back will be interesting. We now have one major topic of discussion needing to be dissected—figuring out how the family’s matriarch is connected to all these murders.

* * *

Dad wraps up the visit by collecting the few names attached to Judith Serra’s birth family, which aren’t many; and then we thank Jaqueline and Jessa for their time. Once we’re back in his old truck, he says, “I’m not sure whether that was a giant waste of time, or if we struck gold.”

“I don’t know what to make of it either,” I mutter, rolling the window down for some much-needed fresh air. “Did Judith just become a suspect?”

“Considering she’s dead, and someone is still terrorizing Amelia—I’m not sure how.”

“Those sisters are not involved,” I say, shaking my head. “Unless you think ancient and decrepit are good qualities for a murderer.”

“Murderers can be hired, son.”

“True, but they didn’t come off as jealous.” That seemed important since that was one of the things I’d been looking for. “They pitied Judith.”

“I agree, they did.” He starts up the engine. “And Joe’s been dead a long time, which takes him out of the realm of possibility.”

“Where does this leave us? At a dead-end?”

“It leaves us back with Judith. It’s pretty obvious she’s tied into this somehow.” He scratches his jaw, thinking. “Let me talk to Renzo. He’s not going to like hearing his mother may have been involved—”

“We’ve always said the murderer could be a Serra.”

“Yes, but I don’t know if Renz has ever really considered it. I’ll talk to him, press him to check further into his mother’s background and see where it leads.”

I nod. It is what it is.

I’d been hoping we’d find more, but it was just one conversation. At the end of the day, Amelia is still at risk. And if it doesn’t pan out, I can help the Serras eliminate their newest theory.