The Overnight Guest

It isn't the dark you should be afraid of, the girl thought, it's the monsters who step out into the light that you need to fear.

Libraries, no matter what state or city Wylie visited, had the same comforting smell, and the Spirit Lake Public Library in Iowa was no different. The books, paper, glue, and ink - all in various stages of disintegration - had a musty, vanilla-like scent that eased her anxiety.

No,” Becky shook her head. “You need to listen to me. It’s Randy Cutter.” She looked at Wylie, terror in her eyes. “He’s outside right now. I know him. I know his voice, dammit, I’ve heard it nearly every day for the last twenty years.” Wylie stared at Becky and then looked to the little girl for confirmation. She nodded. “Jesus,” Wylie breathed. Randy Cutter? It didn’t make any sense.

Wylie stared down at the woman’s battered face. One mistrustful brown eye looked back at her. Wylie looked down at her own hand, where a matching horseshoe-shaped scar, though less pronounced, marred her palm.

The feud, if that was what you could call it, lasted for years and bled into their day-to-day lives. There were fences that William Doyle was sure Randy Cutter had damaged and calls to the sheriff about wayward cattle. And there was Ethan’s friendship with Randy’s son, Brock. That didn’t sit well with either family.

Wylie,” the little girl said shyly. “My name is Josie.” And they stepped out into the brittle sunshine.

It wasn’t your fault,” Becky said. “It was Randy Cutter’s fault—his alone. Let go of it,” Becky begged. “I never blamed you, not even once, so please stop blaming yourself.” Becky took Wylie’s hand in her own. “Sisters forever, right?” “Sisters forever,” Wylie whispered.

You’re sick,” Wylie said with disgust. “Evil and sick. And now you plan on killing us all. Finish what you started.

You beat my brother, strangled him, and hid his body in the barn. You tried to frame him and you kidnapped my best friend. You shot me. Why? I don’t understand.

His shadow crawled across the wall. He was getting closer. “Come on,” he called out. “Did you really think I would let you leave? You know better than that. You belong to me.

He told me she was dead. He told me that you were all dead—your family, your dog—and it was all my fault. But I snuck out of the basement and I called home. And she answered. My mother. She wasn’t dead. But I couldn’t say anything. I just hung up.” Her mother wiped at her eyes. “But your parents? Your brother?

Yes, Jackson Henley. There just wasn’t enough evidence to arrest him for killing my family and your disappearance. They couldn’t find the gun he used or my brother’s missing truck. They couldn’t find you. But don’t worry. He’s caught now. I locked him in the toolshed. He’ll never hurt you again.

Finally, the woman spoke. “I’d forgotten what you looked like. I mean, if I closed my eyes really tight, I’d get little flashes.

One woman reported that Henley, along with a group of other male soldiers, mentally and sexually harassed her to the point of a near breakdown. Another woman accused him of false imprisonment after he purportedly refused to let her leave after the two spent a night together.

Jackson Henley did not like to follow orders, liked to drink, and to harass his female soldier counterparts.

Her grandparents tried to create a new life for her, but her past haunted her no matter where she went. She was always Josie Doyle—the girl whose family was murdered, whose best friend vanished without a trace.

But even on the days he brought treats and touched the girl’s hair and told her she was pretty, he was quicker to slap and push and pinch.

She and Agent Randolph were staying at the Burden Inn, a low-rise motor lodge that was as grim as its name. It was clean at least.

She never wanted to set foot on this farm again. Her family’s blood now coursed through its soil. She imagined the corn and alfalfa rising from the earth stunted and black with rot.

Brock and Ethan are not friends,” Deb said sourly. “We told those two boys to stay away from each other. Nothing good ever came out of those two boys being in the same space with one another.

She’s only thirteen,” Margo said plaintively. “Why would he be interested in a thirteen-year-old? She’s just a baby,” Margo said, her face pale and desperate with grief.

Randy Cutter was quite angry with my daughter and her husband over a parcel of land,” Caroline explained. “It got pretty ugly at the time. William bought a piece of farmland that Randy thought should have gone to him. It came to blows, lawyers got involved. When several of their livestock were found dead, William was sure Randy Cutter had something to do with it.

Maybe Becky had left willingly with Ethan. Young love gone rogue? Another Bonnie and Clyde or Charles Starkweather and Caril Fugate? Star-crossed lovers who went on deadly crime sprees. Santos had a few more questions for Margo and Kevin Allen.

After seeing the medical examiner pull into the Doyles’ drive, Margo nearly passed out. She had never felt such fear before in her life. It was as if someone had reached right down her throat and snatched her breath away.

A current of anger slid through Levi. Had the little fucker lied to him? Maybe he knew something that could break this case wide-open. Holding the weapon off to the side, careful not to smudge any possible fingerprints, Levi began to walk back toward the farm. He needed to find Brock Cutter.

Two teenagers missing along with a truck. Parents dead, sister shot. Butler pulled Levi aside, out of earshot, his mouth set in a grim line. “Put out a BOLO for Ethan Doyle’s truck.

Her father would come soon, and what would he do when he saw the mess? He’d be angry. He’d swear and yell and then hurt her mother, who lay in the bed too weak to move, too sad to eat or drink. She wouldn’t be able to take it.

If he had run the license plate, he would have seen that Brock Cutter had a suspended license and a bench warrant for a failure to appear for a court date related to a harassment case over in Kossuth County. He would have learned that Brock Cutter wasn’t as innocent and good-natured as his cousin, Brett.

What I know is you have had a serious lack of judgment lately,” Lynne said. “Kara, driving on the baseball field...

Yeah,” Cutter interjected. “Little girls shouldn’t be playing with such big weapons.” He held the shotgun at crotch level and waggled his tongue suggestively.