In the Dead of Night by Aiden James Read Free Book Online Page A

weeks ago. Tastefully decorated, I might add. If not for Tom’s consistent admiration of the fairer sex, I’d swear he’s gay. Nothing wrong with that, but I’ve honestly never met any male who could put a house or wardrobe together with ‘Project Runway’ flare that isn’t.
    Anyway, tonight Tom planned to unveil his new paranormal investigation studio, which he built inside a converted storage building behind his house. We couldn’t wait to see it. I hoped it’d take the edge off of what happened earlier that afternoon, when Fiona told me what she discovered inside Dickey Rollins’ office.
    After leaving Dickey’s place, she and I stopped at one of our favorite diners, the Elliston Place Soda Shop—another famous Nashville fixture from yesteryear. An authentic soda shop from the late 1940s, very little has changed in the building. One can even enjoy the unique pleasure of sipping on a genuine chocolate soda, almost unheard of in the progressive landscape of twenty-first century America.
    We planned on grabbing a bite, but the horror of what Fiona witnessed—both real time and the psychic images she picked up from the other side—dampened her appetite. Significantly, to where an iced tea was all she could handle. I didn’t want to seem insensitive, so I did my best to ignore my raging hunger. Just as well in light of what she revealed to me inside the restaurant.
    “I told Ed that I didn’t sense two killers, which is the most popular assertion, based on most of the evidence,” she told me, after adding a dash of lemon and artificial sweetener to her tea. “I see just one murderer…slender in build and with a lust for cruelty. Definite male energy with red hair….but I can’t see the guy’s face.”
    “So, I take it you think this is the same dude who murdered Candi, Brenda, and Johnny,” I said, sipping on a cold Killian’s Red. I rarely get the opportunity to drink during daylight hours, and felt damned grateful for this chance. Just too bad it couldn’t be under better circumstances. “Can you tell his race?”
    She frowned and looked beyond me to the soda counter, and shook her head ‘no’.
    “Not yet,” she confessed. “The hair would normally point to a white guy, but he might be Asian. He likes to dress in dark clothing secured by straps…like some modern day ninja—that’s how he sees himself.”
    She grabbed her left wrist with her right hand to illustrate her point, and I could almost sense the strength, determination, and worse—the killer’s cunning discipline in carrying out his debauched brutality.
    “His face is covered with a mesh mask that allows him to breathe and see through it clearly, but won’t allow anyone to discern his facial features,” she added.
    “Like that silly ‘Death’ Halloween get-up you made me wear at Cynthia’s party last October?”
    I was only half-kidding—both in the seriousness of what we were dealing with and how I hated any masquerade unless attending a KISS costume party. Again, just the way I roll. Rock n’ roll, that is.
    “Yeah…I guess it is, sort of,” she agreed.
    But the look on her face said she had either caught a glimpse of my hidden contempt in word or picture, or that she literally heard my unfiltered thought. Pick your poison. Either option wasn’t good, and it could be days, weeks, or even months before she’d share what just now happened—long after I’d forgotten the incident and would be helpless to defend any of it.
    I should’ve stopped there, but then I asked her about the office’s condition and a semi-vague question about blood spatter and where Dickey was found—all based on what Freddie told me. Bad move again, and probably another instance of her knowing more about my hidden agenda than I did.
    She went for a direct hit. Suffice it to say his office looked even more like a gore fest than Johnny and Brenda’s place had the night before. The floor, walls, and furniture were covered in a collage of