THE NEIGHBOR’S DARK PAST

  BEXLEY SQUIRES MYSTERY #6

  QUINN AVERY

  CONTENTS

  Bexley Squires Mystery Series

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  II. Part II

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part III

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. Namely: Expedition, Star Wars, Mandalorian, BMW, Tesla, GTO, New Balance, Coup, Maverick, Polaroid, Botox

  The Neighbor’s Dark Past

  Bexley Squires Mystery #6

  1st Edition

  Copyright © 2024 Jennifer Naumann

  Cover: Najla Qamber Designs

  ASIN: B0CYVS6GCK

  Library of Congress Control Number: (applied)

  www.QuinnAvery.com

  BEXLEY SQUIRES MYSTERY SERIES

  The Dead Girl’s Stilettos

  The Million Dollar Collar

  The Guard’s Last Watch

  The Skeleton Key’s Secrets

  The Notebook’s Untold Truths

  The Neighbor’s Dark Past

  PROLOGUE

  PAPAYA SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

  APRIL 5TH

  The man watched with rapt attention as the blonde woman bent over the flower bed, gingerly inspecting the intricate dahlia petals with the care of a mother tending to her newborn. His heart thudded with an excited staccato when his eyes feasted on her graceful hips and long, sinewy legs. Hair the color of dried wheat grass curtained her face, elbow-length and almost entirely straight with the slightest of waves at the tips.

  She was nearly as beautiful as the love of his life had once been when he was a much younger man. His aging mind struggled to remember the details of her, but they shimmered at the edges with fading recollection. She’d been bold and carefree, unafraid to stand up for what she believed was right and unwilling to take direction from others. She had a light, tinkling laugh that had never failed to make him smile. Her skin was as soft and sensual as a rose petal.

  They’d been in love for the better part of a year. After a few weeks, they’d begun living together in a small, rundown apartment a few blocks from the beach. She had somehow managed to transform the drab space into a welcome home with her ability to sew and make secondhand items appear new. They’d spent many late nights planning for their future together and even discussed possibly having children.

  Then, one day, he had planned to surprise her with a special night, only to discover she was ending their relationship. She wasn’t the slightest bit apologetic when she announced that she was leaving to explore the world on her own. He begged her to stay, or at the very least to let him join her, but she insisted she had to do it alone. He never heard from her again.

  It happened long before the internet was inside every home in America, before everyone shared their every move on social media. He spent years trying to track her down before he was driven mad with agony. Before long, he began mistaking her for the woman at the bank, the woman he passed on the street, and the woman who took his order at the drive-in. He built a shrine with her pictures and various things she’d left behind and prayed to it every day that she’d return to him.

  Then, one afternoon, a beautiful blonde knocked on his door, asking him if he wanted to know more about the good word of Jesus. In his desperation, he was convinced it was his love returning to him. He invited the woman inside, discreetly locking the door behind them. He only vaguely listened to her rambling about religion as he sipped a cup of lukewarm coffee. When she finished her spiel, he told her he was glad she’d returned to him. The woman’s eyes had become wild, and she’d attempted to leave. He did everything he could to stop her, begging her over and over to tell the truth and to quit lying to him and herself. The next thing he knew, his hands were around her neck. Before long, the light left her eyes.

  He buried her beneath the garden his One True Love had once tended that had tragically become nothing more than a dry patch of dirt and weeds.

  No thanks to an old war injury, he couldn’t maintain steady employment. At least it gave him the freedom to move around the country. He was desperate to find a trace of the real her in every city he visited, every art gallery he stepped into. There were more instances where he had similar experiences with women he believed to have been his One True Love in disguise. But none of them ended up being her.

  With time, his frustration grew.

  He became impatient.

  He supposed he should’ve considered himself lucky that he had gotten by without ever making it onto law enforcement’s radar, having avoided so much as a speeding ticket in decades. But ever since he’d learned the unmistakable location of his One True Love, the urge to experience the power again had kept him awake at night for months on end. He couldn’t decide if the dark sensation festering in his gut that prevented him from eating or thinking straight was a deep-set anger because she had left him or if it was a need to be reunited with the only woman who’d ever had his heart.

  As he watched the beautiful woman tend to her garden, it almost seemed a waste knowing what he had planned. Although he admittedly felt rusty, a thrill overpowered his nerves. It had been far too long since he’d taken a woman’s life in his hands, and he was so close to being reunited with his One True Love that it was imperative he not make any mistakes.

  “Best to get it out of my system before I see her,” he muttered. “Then I’ll be able to think clearly.”

  With the high pitch of the young woman’s laughter, he froze. Had she heard him? Did she know he was watching and was laughing at his inept abilities? His hands balled into fists at his sides, tight enough that his fingernails drew blood.

  He’d show her⁠—

  “I knew you’d call as soon as you got my message!” the woman said, rising to her feet and peeling her garden gloves from her fingers.

  It was then that he noticed the white earbuds jammed inside her ears.

  “Damn technology,” he snarled. He couldn’t take her while she was on the phone. He waited until the woman had retreated inside the house before he made his move. Ending the woman’s life was only a temporary fix.

  There was only one woman who could scratch the several-decades-long itch.

  The sun had just crested over the hills when Currie County Sheriff’s Department and detectives from the Papaya Springs precinct swarmed Anita Taylor’s property. Some took pictures of the crime scene, while others secured the area with yellow tape. Several deputies spanned out to interview the gawking neighbors who had gathered with the first sound of approaching sirens.

  Anita’s younger sister had called 9-1-1 after discovering her older sister unresponsive on the kitchen floor. It was quickly decided by the county coroner on the scene that the cause of death had most likely been strangulation.

  Deputy Danks was the one to discover a handwritten note tucked inside the victim’s jeans pocket after giving her a gentle pat-down. The young deputy had initially come to California with the aspiration of becoming an actor but had decided he wanted to serve the public after portraying an officer in a movie. He’d been consuming an excessive amount of true crime documentaries for years, deciding it was more training than he would get on the job under his current employ. He remembered the story of a killer who left notes to his victims as his calling card, tucking the pieces of paper beneath his victims’ bra straps.

  Frowning at the strange clue, he gripped it with one gloved hand and brought it to his supervisor, Sheriff Blair.

  “Found this on the victim,” Deputy Danks announced, handing the note over. He felt a spurt of pride for having discovered the evidence after the detectives from the police department had examined the scene. The other deputies often teased him as he was still the department’s newest hire, but he sometimes sensed they were simply jealous of his intelligence.

  The sheriff smoothed a finger and thumb over his dark mustache as his beady eyes scanned the note. “Your next, My Little Mouse,” he read. Scoffing, he turned to Deputy Danks. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I think it means the killer intends to murder more than just this one woman, Sir.” Knowing someone had died and more were likely to follow in her footsteps, Deputy Danks tried to dampen his excitement. “Seems we could potentially have another serial
killer on the loose.”

  The sheriff scoffed and shoved the note back at his deputy. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Danks. This might be some kind of sick foreplay from her lover.”

  When the sheriff shuffled away, Deputy Danks stared down at the crude scrawling on the note while fisting his other hand at his side. The sheriff may not have been willing to entertain his theory, but there was someone who certainly would…someone much more intelligent than the corrupt sheriff who only seemed interested in cases involving large sums of cash or prominent community members.

  He had become friends with the woman after they’d worked on several cases together. He admired her spirit and her ability to solve complicated cases. She was part of the reason he wanted to become a detective one day.

  If anyone would understand the importance of the note, it would be Bexley Squires.

  PART I

  1

  PAPAYA SPRINGS, CALIFORNIA

  APRIL 6TH

  Bexley Squires crossed her arms and leaned back in her office chair, gaze honed on the blinking cursor on her computer monitor. She’d completed the online application and entered the credit card information required to process the fee but couldn’t muster the courage to press RETURN on the keyboard. Wondering what could possibly be holding her back, Bexley glanced at the framed picture on her desk of herself posing with her ridiculously handsome husband just hours after he’d been released from serving time in the Papaya Springs jail. Mere minutes before they’d snapped the selfie, she’d asked him if he wanted to get married. She nearly rolled her eyes at her flushed cheeks and cheesy smile, deciding she looked like someone madly and ridiculously in love. The same could’ve been said for Brewer as he was kissing her cheek in the picture with his eyes closed and cheeks stretched to their limit with a massive smile.

  While she’d learned the definition of domestic bliss since marrying Brewer Hawkins and couldn’t remember a single moment in which she’d regretted the decision to elope with him, something was unnerving about officially changing her last name that she had yet to come to terms with. In truth, she lost the claim to “Squires” the moment she married another man. Still, she’d become well-respected in the community of private investigators, so a part of her was allowed to worry the change would make it harder for someone needing her services to track her down. Although Brewer hadn’t pressured her in any way whatsoever to make the change, she suspected a part of her was still harboring guilt because she wasn’t interested in carrying on the Hawkins surname with any rug rats. Luckily, Brewer felt the same about children.

  Just as her phone dinged with a notification of local news reporting a woman had been murdered in Papaya Springs the night before, the office phone trilled with a call from a 212 number—someone in New York. It was early enough that Red, her sometimes-secretary-sometimes-tech-guru, wasn’t yet in for the day, so Bexley answered on the second ring. “Stronghold Investigations, Bexley Squires speaking.”

  “As in Bexley Ferguson?” a man’s deep voice inquired, sounding slightly amused.

  The mention of her maiden name still managed to stir up a barrage of mixed feelings. She didn’t suppose she’d ever rid herself of it. Clearing her throat, she sat a little taller. “If you want to be technical, it’s Bexley Hawkins now.” While it wasn’t legally correct—at least until she hit that RETURN button—she hoped to acclimate herself to the change before making it official. It almost felt invigorating when rolling across her tongue. “How can I help you, Mr.—?”

  “The website says you’re going by Squires.”

  Bexley paused, thinking the man’s voice was starting to sound familiar. “It’s the twenty-first century. A woman is allowed to ponder a name change after being joined in matrimony.”

  The man responded with a skeptical hum. “Hopefully, this one has no falsified issues that could lead to an annulment and a deflated ego.”

  Her heart plummeted, making her breathless. She’d asked her first husband—something she’d agreed to on a whim as a precarious college student—to claim he couldn’t sexually perform so their marriage would be wiped from all records. Her mind scrambled to recall how long it had been since she’d last spoken with the man who’d saved her from bearing her father’s name any longer. When they’d been classmates at NYU, Jack Squires had been a kind and honorable man who tended to make her laugh. She hadn’t thought of him in ages and wondered if he’d changed. Ironically, he was calling the exact moment she contemplated losing his name.

  “Jack?” she exclaimed. “Is it really you?”

  He released a deep chuckle that unleashed a flood of pleasant memories. “Do you have more than one ex-husband?”

  “Jack! It’s been…”

  “Forever. Feels like a lifetime since we were a couple of wild kids, madly in love.”

  A warm flush spread across her skin with the mention of “love.” She’d only recently become comfortable using the term of endearment with Brewer. “How are you? Are you still in New York?” Better yet, why was he calling?

  “Things are good. I recently relocated to San Diego after accepting a big network sports commentator position.”

  “Congratulations, although with a face like yours, I can’t say I’m surprised. I am surprised that you switched coasts, however. I figured you’d die before you’d move out of the city.”

  “I’ll always be a New Yorker at heart. And I should be congratulating you. I understand you’ve made a respectable name for yourself as a private investigator.”

  Bexley’s thoughts flashed to a 1-star review she recently received on Yelp. A disgruntled wife who’d hired Bexley to investigate a woman stalking their family wasn’t too pleased to discover her husband had impregnated said stalker. Somehow, the wife had decided Bexley was to blame for her situation. “Depends who you ask.”

  “Well, I’m hoping you live up to the hype because I’d like to hire you to help me resolve a sensitive situation.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’d rather not rehash the details over the phone. Can you meet me for a quick lunch? I’m headed to Papaya Springs Academy to shadow a potential Division One recruit for the day, so something nearby that location would be ideal.”

  A tangle of nerves twitched inside Bexley’s stomach. Brewer wasn’t generally the jealous type, but he’d become increasingly romantic and sentimental since being released from jail. How would he feel if she met in private with her ex-husband? “How long will you be in town?”

  “Just until tomorrow night. I’m also planning to interview the kid’s coach and parents.”

  “How about I bring takeout to the Academy while we go over the details? Then you can come to my place tonight for dinner. It’d allow you to meet my husband, and we could catch up in a more informal setting.” Brewer had thrown a beef roast and vegetables into a crockpot that morning. At least one of them had become domesticated.

  Jack let out a low hum. “You might change your mind about dinner once I’ve brought you up to speed.”

  Bexley doubted that would be true. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Before she powered down her computer, she hit the “return” button, officially submitting the name application, and left her office grinning.

  Bexley maneuvered through the massive Papaya Springs Academy campus until she spotted Jack sitting at a small table beneath a giant flowering tree behind the gymnasium. A strong sense of déjà vu socked her in the stomach with the sight of his perfectly styled hair and chiseled features. He’d been a lighter blond when they’d met, and he’d worn his hair longer, but not much else had changed aside from his preference for jeans and band T-shirts. Jack Squires was broad-shouldered and fit with bright blue eyes that sparkled in the California sunlight as she approached. He wore a navy blue suit that made it easy to picture him sitting behind an anchor’s desk, charming all of America through a camera lens.