411 Sandpiper Lane

July 6, 2021

Clayton, Mississippi

“Well now ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Peach sidled over to a booth occupied by a well-dressed man, flashing her chipped-tooth grin. “What can I do you for today?”

“Straight to business, Peach?” the man asks, amber eyes wide with mock hurt. “Don’t you want to know how I’ve been?”

Peach gives him a quick once-over, taking in his carefully styled hair and manicured nails. “From the looks of you, don’t needa ask. What brings you back to these parts?”

“Unfinished business.” He pulls a small black notebook from his front pocket and flips it open. “411 Sandpiper Lane – know where that is?”

“That’s the old McCrary place down past the gas station at the edge of town. You won’t find a soul out there no more though. The whole lot of ‘em left with what happened to Jennie five years ago. Ain’t nobody been back since. I reckon the place is filled with nothin’ but rats, coons… n’ her ghost, they say.”

The man’s laughter sprung from deep within his belly. “Well, I’ve got enough ghosts chasing me already. I’ll take the usual, Peach, assuming you still remember what that is,” he teases, slipping the notebook back into his pocket

“Now I ain’t that old yet! And I always remember my best customers.” With a wag of her finger she was gone, leaving nothing but trail of indignation behind her.

“I know you do Peach!” the man laughs after her. “I know you do.”

***

The thick summer heat wrapped around him like a blanket, heavy and suffocating. It took only a minute after leaving the artificially cool air of the car for his shirt to soak through and stick like paste to his skin. He berated himself for his choice of clothing— a fancy button-down and long jeans fit for another climate—but like most, he’d left Clayton to forget. The greasy diner food churned in his stomach, from nerves or indigestion, he wasn’t sure.

Peach had been right about the McCrary place. Five years looked more like fifteen, with moss-covered steps leading to a crumbling façade of chipping paint and rotting woodwork. He pulled out the black notebook, rereading the careful instructions etched inside:

“Fourteen paces west from the left rear window. Ninety-degree turn north toward the woods. Sixteen paces down the slope to a large rock. Dig.”

He follows the instructions precisely to where the rock should have been. But there were no rocks in sight, much less a large one. He thumbed through the notebook for what must have been the hundredth time before pausing, again, on three words written on the last page: “Twenty-thousand dollars.”

Peeling off his shirt, he pushes his shovel into the dirt and starts digging.

***

“Back again so soon? An’ lookin’ like somethin’ the cat dragged in to boot.” Peach stares at the sweaty, disheveled man while pouring a glass of water.

“I guess I just needed to get one last glimpse of you before I left,” he smiles.

“Flatter me with one of them good tips, yeah? My daughter’s new baby needs a lotta work, born with a broken heart, poor thing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Peach.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life for you. You get what you get. You finished up your business here right quick though.”

The man’s hands trembled imperceptibly as he sipped the water. “Sure did.”

“Now, I ain’t nosy, but does it have somethin’ to do with that black bag of yours? Not often we get customers comin’ to the diner carrying luggage, you know.”

The man glanced at the black duffle sharing his seat in the booth. “Well, some things shouldn’t be left alone, I guess,” he shrugs. “Now let me try today’s special, if you’d be a peach,” he says, laughing that deep belly laugh again.

“Funny thing is, though, that you’re not the first person in here with a bag today.”

“What did you say?” the man asks, speaking his words precisely, slowly.

“The bag.” Peach tilts her head to the left. “There’s a woman, two booths down behind you, with a black bag jus’ like yours.”

“Well, that’s quite a coincidence,” the man murmurs softly.

“Not just that,” replies Peach. “She’s got one of them little notebooks, too.”

The man’s hand instinctively flies to his shirt pocket.

“Strange day, idn’t it? Two visitors in Claywater and then you comin’ back, Jesse.”

Two? Heart hammering, Jesse’s mind races, considering the possibilities. Maybe he could leave the bag and never look back. But he’d come so far... There was no opportunity to consider the options before he found himself looking up at the diner’s only other customer.

“Hello, there, handsome,” a lanky, auburn-haired woman smiled tightly as she slid into the booth across from him. He notices her left hand gripping a black bag, identical to his.

“Who are you?”

“Well, that’s no way to greet a stranger. What happened to Southern hospitality?”

“I’m done with the game,” he declares.

“Too late for that, I think,” she says, eyeing the black bag next to him in the booth.

She places a small black notebook on the table, nudging it in his direction. When he doesn’t move, she asks “Don’t you want to read it?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t, you know. But aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“I don’t have to play anymore.”

“But I’m already here. And we know what you’ve got in that bag. So you can leave the bag with me per the instructions, and walk out of here clear, or you can keep it and take your chances. Though I have to tell you, from what I’ve already seen, they’re not so good.”

Only the innocent win…

“We agreed to the terms,” she reminds him.

He pushes the notebook back across the table.

“I’m done,” he snaps.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the woman manages to respond before face is suddenly slammed down onto the tabletop.

“Jesse!” Peach cries, dishes clattering to the floor.

Spinning around, Jesse grabs his black bag and shoves it into Peach’s arms.

“Take this,” he commands. “Use it for your granddaughter. But no matter what happens, you never saw this bag, ok? Just walk away now, Peach, and put that bag in your car before you call the police.”

“I…I…don’t understand,” Peach stammers.

“I don’t, either. But you’re innocent, so you can win.”

“Win? What’s goin’ on here Jesse? I can’t take nothin’ that don’t belong to me. I got to get help.”

A small moan turns their attention back to the booth. Grimacing, Jesse grabs the woman’s head in his hands again, slamming it back onto the table, only vaguely aware of Peach’s screaming. Then he grabs her bag and notebook and runs.

***

July 6, 2022

Los Angeles, CA

“Lipstick check.”

The tall, blonde reporter bared her teeth to the cameraman.

“No, Lindy, the only lipstick you got is on those luscious lips of yours.”

“You better stop it with those comments, Mike, before I slap you with a sexual harassment suit.”

Mike rolled his eyes, pointing to a spot on the lawn. “Stand there, so we can get the shot of the house in the background.”

Lindy smoothed her skirt, getting into position. “Ready.”

“And we’re live in 4, 3, 2, and…”

“Hi, this is Lindy Taylor with Channel Six news, reporting live from Sycamore Street, where the body of resident Jess Langdon was found this morning, stabbed over 27 times. Neighbors say Jesse was a kind but quiet man who lived in the neighborhood for almost six years but kept mainly to himself. A small black notebook was found next to his body containing a single message: Only the innocent win.

There are identical circumstances to the deaths of five other individuals across the country over the past five years, also stabbed to death and also found with small black notebooks containing the same message. And same as the other victims, there was a black bag found in Mr. Langdon’s home containing a knife. Police believe this knife will be identified as the murder weapon in one of the past cases. It’s a deadly chain where the latest victim is found with the weapon that was used to kill one of the past victims. Which leaves us all wondering, who’s next?”

***

July 6, 2022

Clayton, Mississippi

The man placed a twenty on the counter, tipping his hat. “Have a wonderful day, ma’am.”

Peach didn’t like those types. Big talkers, small tippers. What good is a twenty on a $19.11 bill? You’d think they didn’t know what it’s like to work for a living. Shaking her head, she leans over to clear the plate when she notices what looks like a wallet underneath the stool. But it’s not a wallet. It’s a small black notebook. Shaking, Peach flips through the pages, stopping when she finds a message written inside:

We know you kept our money.

You will have one chance to redeem yourself, if you agree to play the game. Win, and the $20,000 will be yours, free and clear. All you need to do is follow the instructions in the notebooks and tell no one, or the game is over. We begin tomorrow, 10pm, at 411 Sandpiper Lane.

Remember one thing: only the innocent win.