In Strange Woods - Claire Cray

Chapter 1: Heartbreak Hotel

It was the first of November and trees were supposed to be bare, but apparently that meant nothing to the towering evergreens that ruled the Pacific Northwest. From the moment James landed in Portland, their presence was constant. Tall, dark firs covered the hills around the airport and loomed over the highway to the coast. For nearly three hours he drove through what felt like one never-ending forest.

It was just after five p.m. when he reached the busted little seaside town of Brooks, Oregon, population 1,472. It was dramatically situated on a steep, rocky hillside at the ocean’s edge, with a low stone sea wall spanning the length of the town. James pulled his rental car into a row of slanted parking spaces set along the wall, then got out and stretched his shoulders, examining his new surroundings with a tired grimace.

The sun had just set, blue light settling into the green and gray landscape. Waves exploded steadily against the black basalt cliffs below the sea wall, spraying white foam high above street level. Across the road, facing the sea, was a quaint strip of touristy shops and eateries that had seen better days. Behind them the town climbed up the rugged hillside, houses stacked in rows like a tee-tottering church choir.

James needed a room and a bottle of liquor. He locked the car and waited for a log truck to thunder past before he crossed the road and stepped into Brooks.

Only one of the shops was still open, with signs in the windows advertising postcards, ice cream, and whale watching tours. A bell above the door jingled as he stepped in, and a gray-haired woman reading a paperback behind the counter looked up in surprise.

“Hi,” James said, ignoring the bewildered way she was blinking at him. “Could you tell me where the nearest hotel is, and where I could buy some liquor?”

“Huh?” Now the woman looked doubly confused. “Uh, Mini Mart? Sea Witch?”

“Sorry? Which what?”

“The Sea Witch Inn?” The woman spoke very slowly as she peered at him sidelong, like he was testing her. “One block back, on State Street?”

“Thanks.” James turned and opened the door to leave.

“I heard they’re lookin’ for you.”

He glanced back. “Sorry?”

“The cops.”

His fingers tightened on the edge of the door.

Goddammit.

Nearly three months after the story broke, he was still getting recognized in public—but he had hoped it wouldn’t follow him all the way here. If only the press would let it go. If only people weren’t so hungry for salacious mysteries. If only this year’s hottest true crime event didn’t feature his family.

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“Thanks for the help,” James said evenly, and stalked back out into the cold salt air with his hands jammed deep in the pockets of his brother Robin’s brown leather jacket. Gulls were crying, and a fog was rolling in. Another wave boomed behind him as he made his way uphill from the seafront in search of the hotel.

The cops knew where to find him. Ironically, they were the only ones leaving him alone. They still had no suspects, no new leads. Nothing but a disturbing suspicion that the crime had been personal. The sheer brutality of the killings, no sign of struggle, no forced entry…we just can’t see this being a random act.

Like James needed any more of a reason to recoil from the maelstrom of attention that had descended upon him. On top of the tabloids and true crime forums, it seemed like everyone who’d ever met him suddenly wanted to be part of his grief. Whether they were really concerned or just wanted to ingratiate themselves with the sole surviving heir of the Worthington Crane fortune, it didn’t make one bit of a fucking difference to him. There were only three people in the world whose shoulders he’d ever been willing to cry on, and now they were all dead.

James was not doing well. In fact, he was doing extremely badly, and it was only getting worse. In fact, over the past few weeks, he had begun to recognize that this could actually kill him.

But while thus far he hadn’t even attempted to fight his downward spiral, that didn’t mean he was ready to just lie down and die yet. At the very least, he needed to think about it first. And he couldn’t think in New York. So here he was in

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