How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 68: Final Destination

Four years ago, they stopped coming back... At least he did. She came back with a boy. The old lady's voice rang in my mind. My father had died four years ago.

So Julia had only brought Adrian after dad's murder? Coincidence?

Eight and a half hours later, I found the old woman still in her seat, still staring at her surroundings entertained.

Her eyes filled with concern as she saw me, "Is everything okay, dear?"

I nodded distractedly, "I was just wondering... Do you remember what Carl Edwards was doing on the last day he was here? Perhaps anywhere he went, anything he said... even anyone he was with?"

Confusion filled her eyes but she thought hard, "It was a long time ago, dear. But I did look back on that day many times, and wonder why our Carl never showed up again. The last time he came was a bit strange. It was the first time he came with a friend, dear..."

She frowned, "The specifics escape me. He was a giant blonde haired man."

Morgan.

"Do you remember anything about what they did?"

"No, only that the tall man left soon afterwards. He... wasn't in a splendid mood. They fought. Loudly. That was before he drove away."

My eyes narrowed, the wheels of my brain working. Maybe it was that day that dad had told Morgan about the affair. I remembered the teenage Morgan in the video at Sam's house, and how smitten he'd been by my mother.

Morgan must not have taken the news of the cheating well.

"What did Carl Edwards do after his friend left?"

The lady shrugged, "He retired to the house, I think. It was such a long time ago, dear."

"Do you know which places they would frequent the most?"

She shrugged, "Daisy's Diner? The bar over there? Same as everyone else, dear."

I nodded.

Walking back inside the house, knowing what it contained, was disconcerting. But it was perhaps my only hope in finding evidence. Or at least, that's what I told myself as I pushed through the prickly thorns that snagged painfully at me.

I pressed through, checking every dusty room, feeling empty inside with each that I covered. Most of them were bare, lonely furniture sidling on the side; perhaps the house had always been this way or perhaps its belongings were stolen. There was no way to know.

It was only when I reached the room at the far end of the corridor that I stopped. It was fairly large and brighter than the rest of the house. There was a window seat that overlooked the street below, sunlight filtering through the glass and along the far wall was a shelf, containing hundreds of books.

It was only upon closer inspection that I realized they were on a wide plethora of topics. The realization made my heart sink further in my chest; so that was why Adrian was so well read.

Another shelf in the corner snagged my attention.

It was separate from the first, closer to the window seat as if to be within nearer reach of it.

Reluctant curiosity turned into shocked interest as my gaze flickered over the names of the books that brimmed the shelf.

The Subtle Art of Gardening

All You Need to Know About Flowers

Carnivorous Plants: To Grow or Not to Grow?

There were all books on gardening.

I recalled how every article I had read had detailed that the plant Atropa Belladonna was insanely difficult to grow. The fact that Mary Clark had quite the green thumb and so would be capable of growing such a complicated plant was something the prosecution had used against her.

The air rushed out of me at the realization.

What were the chances that my father's mistress would have precisely the same skill required to murder him in the fashion that he was?

Was Julia Hunt the culprit?

My heart sped up.

But why would she do that? If my father was paying her bills, why murder him?

Maybe she grew tired of him? Wasn't that what normally happened?

But it still didn't explain the beating, stabbing or shooting. Why would she do all that to a man she had already poisoned? A man she already knew would die soon.

Poison was used by those that had mastered the art of deception, used primarily because it allowed subtlety to a murder; the victim wouldn't know who had done it even at the time of death. That was the unsettling beauty to it.

She had chosen it as her means to kill, because she had something else to gain from the murder, not because she took pleasure from the murder. It was a crime of incentive, not passion. That was why she had fed him just enough so he would live cluelessly a few more days. She hadn't wanted to see him die.

Using poison wasn't the same as directly confronting the victim, bludgeoning him with a bat and driving a knife through their body. That was taking pleasure in the torture.

It was then that I remembered Adrian's father, Julia's husband.

I remembered the horrific, brutal things he had done to Adrian; the monstrous things he had done to his own son, with absolute pleasure.

I imagined how furious one would be to discover his wife had been unfaithful to him, and what inhuman things a man of his nature would go so far as to do.

And suddenly, I knew who had done the rest of the killing.  

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A/N- Happy New Year!!! Let me know what you guys think of the new chapters/ story. Your feedback really helps! Thanks for reading<3