BooksBarbecue
Back Season of Fear
Chapters (67)
  1. Contents
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONETHE EXTREMES
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. PART TWOSOMETHING BAD
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. PART THREECHAYLA
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. PART FOURHIT AND RUN
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. EPILOGUE
  67. AUTHOR’S NOTE

She didn’t want anyone knowing about her late-night visit, but she knew she was leaving electronic footprints. That was the risk she had to take. If someone looked, they would see that her pass card had been used to enter the building at 1:52 a.m. If someone looked, they would also see that the dormant foundation computer account for Justin Kiel had been accessed at 1:57 a.m.

She knew his password. She hoped that no one had thought to completely deactivate his account, but when she keyed in Tyger1827, it was as if Justin had never died. His files were still there. His office e-mail was still there. She assumed the police had been through everything following the murder, but they were looking for evidence of drugs, suppliers, and customers. Peach knew there was nothing like that to find.

She ran a search of his files. Alison.

She ran a search of his e-mail. Alison.

Both searches elicited no results. She tried again with the last name that Deacon had given her – Kuipers – and got no hits again. If Justin had been in touch with the attorney at the foundation law firm, he’d done it offline. Peach knew him. He wouldn’t have left digital records.

His e-mails made her sad. Many of them were to her. As she scrolled through his file of sent messages, she found herself smiling. Then crying. He wrote to her about work. He wrote to her about music and poetry. He wrote to her with his little philosophies about the world. He wrote to her every day, and then he didn’t write to her at all. That last week, he dropped off the radar completely. As she studied his account, she saw that his last sent message was dated a week before he was killed. He hadn’t been in the office those last several days.

However, Peach studied his mail folders and saw two draft messages. Unsent. When she opened the folder, she saw that both messages had been composed the evening before his death, and for some reason, he’d left them undelivered. She wondered where he had written them, because he hadn’t been in the office that night. She’d been here herself, alone.

The first message was to her, and it included an attachment. Peach held her breath as she clicked on the draft e-mail, wondering what she would find. She expected something deep, something secret, that only she would be able to interpret.

Instead, the mail message said simply: Cool place!