Reap The Whirlwind
Book 2 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 21
The next morning at work, I was busy in the back room, attempting, without much success, to force some sort of organization on the mess that had accumulated back there over the years. Hearing a noise, I looked up to find Nikki in the doorway with a worried expression on her face.
"Will?" she said. "There's a Detective Grafton here to see you."
I straightened quickly, dropping the clipboard in my hand with a clatter. Why was he here? Did someone else die?
Grafton's unpleasant face appeared over Nikki's shoulder. "I'll talk to Mr. Keegan right here if that's alright with you, Ms. Avanti," he said in a manner that made it clear that her approval was not really required.
Nikki looked at me, and I gave her a curt nod. She turned and walked stiffly back to the gallery. Detective Grafton stepped in, letting the door shut behind him.
"Mr. Keegan," he said conversationally, "since we last spoke, some interesting things have been happening. Your name keeps popping up everywhere I turn."
"Oh?" I asked carefully. I had a feeling that the less I said, the better it would be for me in the long run.
"Yes. Do you have anything you'd like to tell me?"
"I don't know," I hedged. "What things are we talking about?"
"I think you already know the answer to that, but why don't we start with Miss Parker's unfortunate demise? You probably heard about that on the news. What you may not know is that, while we officially released a report of suicide, we were still investigating her death. As you well know, Miss Parker was the person who found your friend, Mr. Taylor. There were many things about her death that didn't wash. That reminded me of our conversation about your suspicions concerning the death of your friend. We took a second look at Mr. Taylor's death and we found a few things that took on a different shade in the light of Miss Parker."
"Why are you telling me all this now?"
"Two reasons. Number one, you and your junior detective club have been royally fucking up our investigation. You're blundering through this whole thing like the proverbial bull in the china shop, destroying evidence everywhere and, in the few incidents where you've not destroyed it, you've outright stolen it."
"I... We..."
"We know all about the rock Mr. Maza so kindly kept for us. We swung by and picked it up on the way here."
I was starting to get nervous. Was I in trouble? Could he charge me with something? Obstructing an investigation? Tampering with evidence? To be fair, there was no investigation when we started, but I wasn't at all sure I would be able to convince a judge of that if it came down to it.
"What's reason number two?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I really wanted to know.
"Number two is simple. For your own protection, you need to stop this stupidity now. This isn't a game. It's not a TV show. Real people are dying, and you kids are in way over your heads. We're talking about a cold-blooded killer who has already murdered three people. Let's not make it four."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because, goddammit, despite myself, I kind of like you. Or, at least, I admire that you didn't just give up when I told you the first time. You knew something wasn't right and you stuck with it, for better or for worse. But we're on the case now, and you need to back off, for your own good."
"Wait! Did you say three?" My blood ran cold as his words sank in. "Joey, Keiyara, and...who?"
"I have half a mind not to tell you, but it'll hit the news sometime today anyway. We're trying to keep a lid on it as long as possible, but it's inevitable."
"Who?" I insisted, fighting a rising feeling of panic. "Who is the third?"
"Robert Meade, age nineteen, student at the tech school, attended the party the night Mr. Taylor died, and was with Miss Parker when she found Mr. Taylor. But you already knew all that. You talked to him on the phone last night, right before he was murdered."
"What? How...?"
"Phone records. In fact, the only reason you're not a suspect is because we know where your call was placed from and you wouldn't have had time to get to his house."
My mind was swirling. "He got another phone call while we were talking," I blurted out.
"We know. Another of your cronies — a Ms. Duvier, I believe."
My mind whirled. Laura had called Robbie? Why? And then he was killed shortly after. I felt sick to my stomach.
"But you know when he was killed?"
"Yeah. It was just minutes after you got off the phone with him. The neighbors heard the gunshot and were able to pinpoint the time of death almost to the minute. His friends found him less than half an hour after your call."
Did that give Laura enough time to get there? Possibly. We talked for a while, then called all those wrong numbers first.
"So he was shot?"
"Yep, five more times than was necessary. Didn’t even bother trying to stage it like a suicide this time. Put six rounds in him and left him bleeding on the doorstep."
"Oh my God," I whispered.
"Are you scared, Mr. Keegan?"
I nodded, fighting the urge to projectile vomit all over the detective.
"Good. You should be. You might be interested to know that our killer is getting sloppy. Or cocky. Or desperate. All three are bad, but the last one is the most dangerous. Desperate people do stupid, reckless things. You've been poking a beehive, and, if you don't stop, you're going to get stung. I hope you're scared out of your mind, kid. Fear might be the only thing that keeps you alive. Now, stay out of police business. That’s not a suggestion."
A wave of anger suddenly burned through me, making me forget the nausea. "If you'd done your job in the first place, I wouldn't be in police business," I snapped.
He stopped on his way to the door and turned slowly back to face me.
"You're not wrong, and that's why I'm going as easy on you as I am. And why I'm probably telling you more than I normally would. But I'm warning you, we're on it now, and I want you out of it. Got it?" He turned to leave again.
"Do you know there was a girl with Joey the night he died?" I called out.
He turned sharply on his heel and crossed back to me, coming much closer than before, until he was looming over me. "What did you say?"
"It was a girl, with Joey, right before he died. They were arguing—"
"How do you know that?"
"Robbie told me last night when I called. You mean the junior detectives found something out the big bad policemen didn't know?"
"Listen, kid," he growled, poking a sausage finger into my chest, "I've tried to be nice up to now, but you're really pushing it. You're goddamn lucky I'm not bringing you up on obstruction charges...and even luckier that you're not six feet under. Two kids are dead because you wanted to play detective. Does it make you feel better that you were right? Does that somehow justify their deaths? They'd be alive right now if you stayed out of it."
"And a killer would still be walking around scott free."
"Newsflash, buddy. The killer is still walking around, and if you don't back off, you can bet your sweet ass that you'll be the next to die. Then your dead friends can thank you in person for getting them killed."
He stared down at me for a few seconds before turning and walking away. "Stay out of this, kid," he said as he opened the door. "I mean it."
When Nikki found me a few minutes later, I was crying so hard I couldn't talk. I was still crying when Aidan arrived to take me home. By the time we got to the apartment, I had pulled myself together enough to tell Aidan what had happened. He was as shaken up about the news of Robbie Meade's death as I was. He already knew about the police visit to Gabe's house. Gabe had called him as soon as they left.
"Grafton was way out of line," Aidan said. We were sitting on the couch, Aidan with his arms around me, holding me close. "He can't know that Robbie died because of us. He should have never said that."
"He's right," I sniffled. "We're as much to blame for his and Keiyara's death as if we'd killed them ourselves."
"That's insane," he argued. "The killer would have found them herself eventually. What were we supposed to do, just let her get away with Joey's death?"
"At least no one else would have died."
"You don't know that. We did what we thought was best, and I still think it was the right call. If someone is crazy enough to kill once, chances are they'll do it again. Especially if they get away with it the first time. This killer always seems to be one step ahead of us."
I sat up and pulled away.
"I'm sorry, Will. I didn't mean to bring that up again."
"Laura called Robbie last night."
He froze. "What?"
"While I was talking to him. That's why he hung up on me. He had another call coming in. Grafton said it was Laura."
"Why would Laura call him?"
"To get his address?"
"Will, don't go jumping to conclusions."
"You and Killian are the ones that suspected her."
"We said it was a possibility. Look, we'll talk to Laura and figure it out—"
"No."
"What?"
"We're done."
"What do you mean? We can't just—"
"Aidan, we're done. This...investigation is over. I'm calling it off. Three people have died. I can't lose anyone else. I...I can't risk losing you."
He pulled me into his chest again, and I cuddled into him gratefully.
"You're right," he said, rubbing his hands over my back. "I just wish I could be there when they bring this bitch in, after all she's put you through. I'll talk to Killian and the others."
"Thank you. I'm so lucky to have you," I whispered.
By some sort of silent mutual agreement, the topic of Joey, his killer, or the other murders didn't come up the rest of the night. We watched some TV and went to bed early. The next morning though, it seemed Aidan assumed it was open season again.
"What happened after Joey attacked you and you ran away?" he asked out of nowhere while we were eating breakfast.
I stared at my bowl of cereal for a second, then pushed it away. I seemed to have suddenly lost my appetite.
"Do we have to talk about this now?" I asked plaintively.
"I'm just trying to settle all the loose ends in my mind."
I sighed. "I ran downstairs and then I went outside."
"Right away?"
"Huh?"
"You went straight outside after you came downstairs?"
"No, I was upset. I knew I was going to throw up so I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in. Why?"
"I'm just trying to create a timetable between when you last saw Joey and when Keiyara and Robbie found him in the pool. How long were you in there?"
"We're out of this, remember? It's up to the police now."
"For my peace of mind, Will. How long were you in the bathroom?"
"I don't know. I forgot my stopwatch."
"Five minutes? Ten?"
"More like fifteen or twenty."
"That long to blow chunks?"
"No, once I was in there I didn't want to come out. It was like... I don't know. It was my safe space. I was...devastated." Even just thinking about it was making my hands shake. I slid them under my legs. "I just sat there on the floor and cried until the banging on the door became too much. Then I went outside."
"And Caitlin was there? Under the tree?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"Okay? That's it?"
"Yeah. That's all."
"Aidan, what's going on? What was that all about?"
He got up, walked around the table to my side, and bent over for a kiss.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "I've got to get to school now, and you've got to get to work. I'll see you this evening."
The next couple of days passed without incident. I assumed Aidan must have talked to everyone because there was no mention of continuing the investigation. I couldn't speak for anyone else, but to me at least, it was obvious that we'd been playing out of our league.
Neither Aidan nor I was in exactly a party-planning mood, so we left all the wedding plans to Adam. We were going to be almost as surprised as our guests.
On Wednesday, Caitlin called and said she'd sign the agreement if I included her revisions and handed over five thousand dollars. I felt a little like I was being blackmailed, but Nikki had finally paid me for all my sales and I had the money, so I agreed.
I called Ilana and asked her to write up the agreement. She suggested Caitlin and I come by her office the following day and she'd go over the agreement with us.
Caitlin was strangely quiet on the ride over to Ilana's office Thursday afternoon.
"Are you okay?" I asked her as I parked the car.
"Yeah, why?"
"You just seem kinda distant."
"This is a lot, Will. The whole baby thing, there's a killer running around murdering people, you're pressuring me, and I'm trying to figure out what's best for me. I'm overwhelmed. Give me a break."
"I'm sorry," I said in a small voice. "I'm not trying to pressure you or make things worse."
"Well, you are, so let's go sign these damn papers and maybe that'll be one less thing for me to worry about."
The explanation of the papers was long and somewhat boring, filled with legalese and formal phrases that didn't make much sense. After that, the actual signing of the papers was surprisingly quick and more than a little anticlimactic. It seemed hard to believe that simply signing my name on a few lines could make such a huge difference to so many lives, including one that was yet to be born.
Once we were back in the car, I handed Caitlin a check.
She frowned. "I was expecting cash."
"You wanted me to just walk around with five thousand dollars in cash? Did you want them in small, unmarked bills, too?" I tried to make it a joke, but she just pursed her lips and shoved the check into her purse.
She was quiet all the way home. After I dropped her off at her apartment, I just started driving. I needed some time to myself and I wasn't ready to go back to the apartment. I'd expected to feel celebratory after signing the papers, but instead, I felt a vague sense of dread. I tried to convince myself that I hadn't made a mistake. I was just guaranteeing that Joey's child would be a part of my life.
It took me a while to realize I was subconsciously driving to my old house. When I did, I decided that it was a sign and continued. I parked on the street in front of my childhood home and just took it all in. I was surprised to see Dad's car in the driveway in the mid-afternoon. He was almost never home during the day. He practically lived at the church.
I shifted my attention to the house. It looked like every other cookie-cutter suburban house in the neighborhood, but a few things made it distinctly ours: the basketball net over the garage door, the front door my dad had painted "heavenly blue" when I was in middle school, the trees we'd planted together one Arbor Day when I was in elementary school.
So many of my core memories were made right there, but, on some level, they felt like they'd happened to someone else. I remembered them, but distantly. I felt like a different person. My life had changed so much in the few short months since I'd moved out. I'd changed so much.
I didn't get out of the car. Once I was there, I wasn't sure why I'd come. Was I expecting a warm greeting with open arms? If so, I suspected I was at the wrong address. I remembered Mom's voice on the phone the day they found out I was gay. "Your father says you're not welcome back here..."
Just as I was about to start the car and drive away, the door swung open to reveal my mother. She waved, a confused expression on her careworn face.
With a sigh, I got out of the car and started across the lawn.
"Will?" she said as I got closer. She looked older than the last time I had seen her. "I thought I heard a car pull up."
"Hi Mom," I said. I couldn't think of anything to say, so we stood there awkwardly, looking at each other through the screen door for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I said, "I don't know what I'm doing here. I shouldn't have come."
"No, I'm glad you're here," she said softly. "Come in. Please?"
She held the screen door open. I hesitated just a second before stepping inside. I hadn't been in the house in months, but nothing had changed. Everything was right where it always was.
Mom headed for the kitchen, and I followed.
"Where is Dad? Why is his car here?" I asked as we walked.
She didn't answer until we were in the kitchen. She sat in one of the worn wooden chairs that had been around longer than I had and let out a deep sigh.
"Your father is sick, Will."
"Sick? With what?"
"It's his heart. He had some kind of attack last Sunday, collapsed at the pulpit."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"He didn't want you to know. You know how he is. It's...it's been hard. He's not recovering like he should be. The doctors say he needs surgery, but your father refused. He says it's in the Lord's hands and he trusts in his timing."
"How do you feel about that?"
She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. She just sounded tired. "I wish he'd get the surgery, but you can't tell him anything, the stubborn old goat."
"Can I... Will he see me?"
She thought for a moment. "Maybe. These last few days, I've felt like he was starting to make peace with the world, almost as if he's saying his goodbyes." She rubbed her eyes, then looked up at me. "He actually apologized to me for not being a better husband yesterday."
"When can we go?"
"We can go to the hospital now, if you want. But let me go in first to talk to him. He's...he's so weak now. I don't want to upset him..."
"You don't want to upset him if he still doesn't want to see his gay son," I finished for her.
She looked away, then stood up slowly and walked out of the room. I noticed that she moved like an old woman, as if every movement were an effort.
I walked over to the refrigerator and looked at the photos and notes attached to the door by the alphabet magnets that had been there since I was a toddler. There was a grocery list, a dentist appointment reminder, a few other bits of ephemera, but the thing that caught my eye was a photo of Joey and I, taken in the backyard when we were about ten or eleven. We were both squeezed into the tire swing, grinning like idiots. I touched the picture, almost like I needed to know it was real, that we really had been happy at some point.
"I remember the day we took that," Mom said from behind me.
I jumped. I hadn't even heard her approach.
"It was the fourth of July," I said.
"You fell and scraped your knee later. You would have thought you'd lost your whole leg the way you carried on."
"Joey pushed me," I said, almost to myself.
"Hmm," she hummed softly. "He always was the wild one. I still... I still can't believe he's gone. My heart breaks for Monica."
I turned to face her. "Have you talked to her?"
"We went over right after...after it happened. And I saw her at the funeral, of course."
"But not lately?"
She shook her head. "No, but I should have been checking on her. I just got caught up in other things, and then all this happened with your father." She forced a smile. "Speaking of your father, are you ready?"
"I guess so," I didn't sound very convincing, even to myself.
She nodded. "No surprises, though, Will. And don't be too shocked when you see him."
I drove separately, though I followed her all the way to the hospital. We parked and went inside, where we had to check in at the front desk and get name tags, then she led me silently through the halls until we reached his room.
The door was closed, and, as instructed, I waited in the hall while Mom knocked lightly, then let herself in.
I stood awkwardly in the hallway, wondering if he'd refuse to see me even now, when he was on what very well might be his deathbed. Then I wondered what I was hoping to get out of this. The goodbye I never got from Joey, maybe?
The door opened before I could spiral any deeper, and Mom nodded and motioned me in.
Dad was lying slightly elevated in a hospital bed in the center of the room. A single chair sat next to the bed. If Mom hadn't warned me, I probably would have gasped out loud when I saw him. He was wearing a hospital gown, and tubes and wires seemed to sprout from everywhere on his body. He was a pale shadow of his former self, gray and faded.
"Will, I...I didn't want you to see me like this," he said weakly.
"Like what, Dad?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light and knowing there was a slight quiver in it anyway. "You look great."
"I look like death warmed over. I won't be here much longer. I...I'm glad you came."
"Don't say that, Dad." I moved closer to the bed and sat down on the edge of the chair.
"Why not? It's the truth. I feel it. I see it in the doctors' faces, although they're scared to say it. I see it in your mother's face, although she's terrified to even think about it. I'm not afraid to die, Will. I've been preparing for it all my life. I know where I'm going. I have peace about death. What I don't have a peace about is how I left things with you. And here you are. God brought you to me so I could make my peace with you before I go."
"Dad, stop talking like this. You're not going anywhere. If you'd just get the surgery—"
"Son, I know I handled things badly." He continued like I hadn't even mentioned the surgery. "I know I hurt you."
"Don't worry about that. I'm okay now. You should listen to the doctors—"
"If you're okay, it's no thanks to me. You almost died. If that had happened I don't think I could have forgiven myself." He held out a trembling hand. I hesitated a second, then slipped mine into his. His skin felt dry and papery, but his grip was tight.
I was amazed at the difference that had come over him. Could this be the same man who had practically disowned me just a few months before?
"I handled things badly," he went on. "I should have known that you're my son and, above all else, family comes first. I...I made a mistake. I thought I was doing what was right, as far as the church was concerned, but I never stopped to think about whether or not it was right for you, for our family. I'm sorry, Will. I failed you as a father."
"You know I'm still...gay, right?" I asked hesitantly. I wasn't sure if that was too much, but I felt like I had to say it. I needed to know just how conditional his apology really was.
"I know, Will," he said. His eyes closed, and for a second I was afraid he'd passed out...or worse. But then they opened again. "I still can't say that I accept it. I'm sorry. I don't understand. Everything I've ever been taught says that homosexuality is wrong, but my heart says that you're my son — the same sweet, gentle, talented boy you've always been, not just some faceless sinner. I don't know if I'll ever be able to accept it, even if I had all the time in the world, but I love you and that's all I can offer right now."
"It's enough, Dad," I said around a lump in my throat.
"I'm...I'm a bit tired now," he said. He did look even worse than he had when I'd come in, if that were possible, and his voice sounded weaker.
"I'll let you rest," I said softly.
His eyes fluttered shut. If the various machines he was attached to hadn't kept their steady soft beeping, I would have thought he'd passed away then and there.
I turned to find Mom slumped against the doorway, tears rolling down her cheeks. She shook her head, signaling me not to speak, then slipped into the hallway. I followed.
"That's what he's been waiting for," she said once the door was gently closed. "He'll go now."
"What do you mean?"
"He's been hanging on. I wasn't sure why. Now I know."
"For me?"
"Yes, he needed to know you forgave him."
"Then why didn't he call me?"
"You know your father, Will. He's a proud, stubborn man. I think he would have called you eventually, but it's not easy for him to admit he's wrong. I'm just glad you're here now. I've...I've missed you."
"I'm getting married tomorrow, Mom," I blurted out suddenly.
"Married? To who?"
"Aidan."
She turned and wobbled down the hall to the little waiting room, where sat down heavily in one of the chairs. I followed, unsure if I'd pushed too far.
"I don't expect you to be happy," I said quickly. "I just wanted you to know. It seemed like you should know."
"Don't tell your father."
"I won't. I wasn't..."
"How can you get married? You're so young!"
"You were my age when you married Dad."
She sighed. "You're right. I was. I thought I was so grown up then. But you...you're still my baby. I feel like I barely know you anymore."
"That's because I'm not the same person I was when I moved out, Mom. So much has happened."
"I know. But you'll always be my little boy, no matter how old you are." She shook her head and gave me a weak smile. "So tell me all about this wedding."
"Not much to tell. I don't even know all the details. A friend of ours is doing all the planning. We're just showing up. It's kind of a surprise wedding."
"A surprise wedding? I've never heard of any such thing. When is it?"
"Tomorrow night at six. And there's more."
"More?" she repeated in a voice that made me wonder if she could handle more.
"This is complicated. Before Joey died, he got a girl pregnant. As far as I know, Mrs. Taylor doesn't even know so don't tell her. I think that should be up to the baby's mother, but I want to be a part of the baby's life, like an uncle, or a godfather sort of thing. We signed papers..."
She stared at me dumbstruck for several minutes before she spoke.
"What? Why would you do something like that?"
"Joey was my best friend, Mom. I loved him. This baby is all I have left of him."
"I don't understand."
"I'm not asking you to understand. I just...I wanted you to know."
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she buried her head in her hands.
"I need to call Aidan, let him know where I am," I said as I pulled my phone from my pocket.
"I'm going to go check on your father," she said as she fled from the waiting room.
I dialed Aidan and was relieved when he answered on the second ring.
"Hey, the papers are all signed," I told him.
"Good. Where are you? I expected you back a long time ago."
"I'm at the hospital."
"What? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm not here for me."
"Then who?"
"My dad. He had some sort of heart attack this past weekend, a bad one."
"Did your mom call you?"
"No. After we signed the papers and I dropped Caitlin off, I just...ended up at my parents somehow."
"Oh, wow. Unannounced? How'd that go?" he asked carefully.
"It's...complicated," I said. "But better than it could have, I guess. Mom told me about Dad, and we went to the hospital to see him. He looks so sick. They don't know how he's lived this long without surgery. Mom said it was just because he wanted to see me again, but he was too stubborn to make the first move. Aidan...it was like he was a different man. He apologized for how he treated me, said he'd failed me as a father."
"Wow."
"He still can't really accept the whole gay thing but he said he loves me and he should have handled things differently."
"That's better than nothing. Did you tell him about you and me?"
"No, but I told Mom."
"How'd she take it?"
"I'm not sure. She was kind of stunned, I think. My news about the baby kind of took precedence, though."
"Jeez, Will, you really know how to dump it on someone, don't you?"
"Everything just kept coming out. I don't think I could have stopped even if I'd wanted to. I should probably stay here for a while. I'm sure Mom will have a lot of questions once everything sinks in."
"Okay. Call me if you need me. I love you.."
"I love you, too, Aidan."
I hung up just as I noticed several nurses rushing by. They burst through the door to Dad's room.
I stood frozen for a moment, then dashed after them, but I was intercepted at the door by a male nurse, who stopped me and said I couldn't go in. A few seconds later, Mom came out of the room, her face pale and taut with fear.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I was just standing next to his bed when all of a sudden all these alarms started," she said shakily. "Then the nurses came in and kicked me out."
"Is he...?"
She burst into tears and threw her arms around me. I gently steered her toward the waiting room, where she eventually calmed down enough to make a few calls to church folks to update them.
While she did that, I called Aidan and filled him in.
I felt like I'd barely hung up the phone before the elevator doors opened and Aidan stepped out. I hadn't even known he was coming, but I ran gratefully into his arms.
Then, much to my surprise, Aidan and my mother exchanged hugs.
"One of these days, we actually have to hang out outside of a hospital," Aidan said to her.
Mom actually managed a chuckle. "Doesn't that sound nice?"
We all settled into a long, tedious wait. After some time had passed, a young doctor came out to tell us that Dad had suffered another heart attack and had slipped into a coma. They didn't expect him to come out of it. "There's nothing we can do. I'm sorry."
"How...how long?" Mom asked.
"There's no way to know. It could be hours, it could be days, but it's just a matter of time now."
After that, they allowed us back into his room. He looked surprisingly peaceful, like he was just sleeping.
We sat with mom for a few more hours. The staff very kindly left us alone as visiting hours came to a close. Eventually, though, Mom insisted we go home and get some sleep.
"I'll let you know if anything changes," she said when I tried to argue.
Aidan and I drove our separate cars back home where I collapsed into a fitful sleep filled with nightmares.
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