Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Twenty-One: The Missing

Chapter Twenty-One:  The Missing

I’d attempted to run after Matthews when he’d power-walked away from the trailer (and my crazy grandmother), but decided to give-up on that endeavor fairly quick. The man had extra-long legs, and I’d never admit it out loud, but it’d been a struggle to even keep up with his ‘normal pace’ all day.

So I knew that I didn’t stand a chance this time around; it took only a minute or so for me to lose sight of his leather jacket, and around three to stop hearing the clanking of his boots.

Knowing I’d arrive at the parking lot significantly behind him no matter how fast I moved, I slowed down my pace, and allowed myself to catch my breath instead. I couldn’t afford to waste my energy on such insignificants things anyway, especially not with a murderer on the loose.

And that was the one thing that I could be ninety-nine percent sure of…that Matthews wasn’t the killer (at least not directly). He wouldn’t have been alive at the time of Carlo’s murder to be the original culprit, and thanks to my all-nighter, I was positive that no one had left the house.

Of course, the possibility still existed that he was guilty nonetheless (despite not being openly involved), which meant he had a partner elsewhere. Immediately, all his creepy research on my family came to mind, as well his suspicious phone conversations in that strange language of his, and the option became all the more probable.

Make that only seventy-percent sure. He might’ve charmed everyone else, but I couldn’t allow myself to forget the situation. Someone had smashed my uncle’s headstone after-all…and had most likely crept around the old warehouse as well, trying to destroy any remaining evidence.

Both events occurring after our ‘guest’ arrived; Matthews could very well have orchestrated the whole thing to keep tabs on me (the bastard). But on the off chance that he wasn’t consorting with the murderer, the man was still dangerous and clearly up to no good.

Nate had been right, if Matthews ever recovered the ‘Black Lilac’, his earnings would be worth killing for.

With my senses on high alert, I reached the main gate, which had been unceremoniously left open. Bubba and Harriet were nowhere to be seen (apparently the threat was over, and there was nothing left to guard). I figured they were shacked up in their narrow booth again; another lesson I’d learned the hard way, and one that I didn’t want to repeat.

Using my hands as visors, I blocked both side views and hurried towards the car. It was clear that someone was already inside though; I found him sitting stoically on the passenger’s side, the keys already in the ignition.   

“Sooo…”

“Yeah, we’re not talking about it,” Matthews answered.

He remained pensive for the entire ride home, so I refrained from questioning him further; allowing him to wallow in my grandmother’s harrowing predictions (I’d just fish for answers later).

The sun had set by the time we made it home; the trip to and from the campgrounds was a long one. Teresa had even left the porch light on for us, something she always did during her nightly lock-down if someone hadn’t made it home by then (usually me).

We entered cautiously, careful not to cause a ruckus in the echo-y hallway, but the house was already silent and seemingly empty. Evidently, everyone had long since retreated to their own space for some much needed privacy (the Reynaldi’s weren’t big on bonding, and there’d been a lot of that lately).

Matthews stood frozen at the entrance, either still contemplating my grandmother’s predictions or unsure of what to do in the darkness. I’d slinked around the house so often during my childhood that I’d memorized every corner by the time I was ten; I didn’t need a light to see, but turned it on for his benefit anyway.

“What’s next?” I asked, stifling down laughter. The suave and menacing Matthews was a couple shades paler than usual, and he could barely look me in the eye; his gaze still haunted by the day’s events. And then there was that silly nervous habit of his, I’d noticed that he was twirling his precious hair a lot more since speaking with my grandmother.

“I’m going to bed,” he said abruptly, making a beeline towards the main stair case.

“She told you that you’d lose all your hair…didn’t she?”

“Your grandmother is crazy.”

“That’s rude.”

“Your whole family is crazy…and it’s obvious the jewels were never here, so I’ll be leaving in the morning,” he said, eyes darting from left to right.

Something had definitely managed to frighten him, his fidgeting hands giving away his frantic state of mind. I didn’t believe his reaction was due to the mere fear of losing his hair; I made a mental note to speak to my grandmother soon (I wanted to scare the man off, not traumatize him for life).

“I thought you weren’t scared of anything?” I teased.

“I’m not,” he answered, a hint of his typical sass coming back.

“She’s never been wrong, you know…”

I noticed the fear of my insinuations distort his features, so I finally relented my teasing and waved the poor man goodnight with a smile. I was relieved that my plan had worked so well, and that he’d be leaving soon; hopefully taking whatever trouble had followed him to Rosswood with him.

Dragging my body up the stairs at an exaggerating slow pace, I followed Matthews from a safe distance. At the landing, I took a quick left without thinking and ended up in Elena’s bedroom.

She wasn’t there, of course. The bed still hadn’t been touched; in fact nothing had been moved since I last checked. All her clothes hung neatly in her closet, and I could see every inch of the floor; weird since she changed several times a day and the evidence should have been there.

I made one last attempt to reach her, but in my gut I knew that she wouldn’t answer. The reasonable part of my brain told me she was little too busy with Nate to answer.

But no matter how I tried to calm myself down…I went to bed with a very unsettling feeling.