Chapter 14 - If She Stayed

David Fletcher lived in a modest split-level house on Oakwood Drive, the kind of middle-class neighborhood where the lawns were well-maintained but not professionally landscaped, and the cars in the driveways were practical rather than luxurious. Kate and DeMarco pulled up to the curb in front of a beige vinyl-sided house with brown shutters and a small concrete porch that showed its age in the form of hairline cracks and weather staining. The front yard was neat but unremarkable, with a few mature oak trees providing shade and a mailbox that had seen better days.

Kate noted the drawn curtains in the front windows as they approached the front door. It was early afternoon on a weekday, and most of the neighboring houses showed similar signs of daytime occupancy by people who didn't work traditional office hours.

DeMarco pressed the doorbell, and they could hear it chiming inside the house. After a moment, the door opened to reveal David Fletcher. He looked significantly more composed than he had during the previous evening's book club meeting. He wore jeans and a navy polo shirt, and his glasses sat properly on his nose rather than sliding down as they had during his nervous fidgeting.

"Oh… hi," Fletcher said, recognition dawning in his expression. It quickly changed to stark confusion. “Kate… right?”

"Yes, that's right," Kate said, "Mr. Fletcher, at the risk of seeming rude or uncaring, I must admit that I was not at the group last night as a potential member. I'm an FBI agent, trying to find some details about the murder of Margaret Carlise." She showed her badge, just in case he had trouble buying it. She'd also left out the news that Jennifer had also been killed. She wanted to see if he might slip up and say something he shouldn't. Plus, it wasn't exactly public knowledge just yet.

"You… oh. Wow, I would have never guessed. Do you… I mean…" His nervous tics were back now, though it was clear he was trying to hide them. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Fletcher, this is my partner, Agent DeMarco. We'd like to ask you some questions about your recent activities and your relationship with the book club members," Kate said. "May we come in?"

Fletcher hesitated for just a moment before stepping aside to allow them entry. "Of course. Please, come into the living room."

The inside of Fletcher's house reflected the same middle-class vibe as the exterior. The furniture was comfortable but not expensive, with a brown leather recliner that dominated one corner and a matching sofa facing a modest flat-screen television. Bookshelves lined two walls, filled with what appeared to be an extensive collection of mystery and crime novels. Kate immediately recognized names like Raymond Chandler, Ross Macdonald, and dozens of contemporary authors.

But what caught her attention most was the corner near the front window, where a desk held a laptop computer surrounded by stacks of printed pages, notebooks, and reference books about writing craft. A bulletin board above the desk displayed what looked like story outlines, character notes, and timeline charts.

"Please, have a seat," Fletcher said, gesturing toward the sofa. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, water?"

"No, thank you," DeMarco replied as they settled onto the couch. "Mr. Fletcher, we understand you were recently laid off from your job."

Fletcher's expression became slightly defensive. This was obviously not something he had expected to come up. But he went along anyway, fairly smooth. "Yes, that's correct. I worked for Consolidated Insurance for eight years as a claims adjuster. The company downsized in July, and I was part of the reduction in force."

"How are you handling the transition?" Kate asked, noting that Fletcher seemed much more articulate and confident in his own environment than he had appeared at Eleanor's house.

"Actually, quite well. The severance package was generous, which has given me time to pursue something I've wanted to do for years." Fletcher gestured toward his writing corner. "I'm working on becoming a mystery novelist."

Though Kate already knew this, it was surprising to hear him confirm it. Fletcher's admission aligned perfectly with what their research had revealed, but hearing it directly from him felt significant. It might be easier to get answers from him than she'd hoped.

"Tell us about your writing," DeMarco said. "What kind of mysteries are you working on?"

Fletcher's demeanor brightened considerably, and Kate could see genuine enthusiasm replacing his initial wariness. "I've been interested in classic detective fiction for most of my adult life. I love the puzzle aspect, the careful plotting, the way authors like Agatha Christie could plant clues that were hiding in plain sight." He frowned and said, “Not many modern authors can pull it off the way she does.”

"Have you published anything yet?" Kate asked.

"I've been self-publishing, actually. Nothing that's gained much attention, but it's been a good learning experience." Fletcher walked over to his desk and picked up one of the printed manuscripts. "I'm working on something more ambitious now, though. A novel that I'm hoping to shop around to agents and publishers."

Kate noted the pride in Fletcher's voice when he discussed his writing aspirations. "How does the book club fit into your writing goals?"

"Oh, it's been incredibly valuable for my education as a mystery writer," Fletcher explained, returning to his chair. "Being part of a group that analyzes classic detective fiction on a regular basis has helped me understand story structure, character development, and plotting techniques. It's like getting a graduate-level education in the genre."

"Have any of the book club members read your work?" DeMarco asked.

Fletcher nodded. "I asked Jennifer and Sandra if they'd be willing to beta-read my current manuscript. I wanted feedback from people who really understand mystery fiction. But I also asked them to keep it quiet. I don't want a lot of people, you know, you know?"

Kate felt her pulse quicken. "And what kind of feedback did you receive?"

Fletcher's expression darkened slightly. "Well, Sandra was very encouraging. She had some helpful suggestions about pacing and dialogue." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Jennifer's feedback was more... comprehensive."

"Comprehensive how?" Kate pressed.

"Jennifer was quite blunt about what she saw as problems with the manuscript," Fletcher said, his voice carrying a note of lingering frustration. "She felt the plotting was amateur, that the characters were wooden, that the mystery elements were too obvious. She essentially told me the book wasn't ready for professional submission."

DeMarco leaned forward slightly. "How did you handle that criticism?"

"Initially? I was angry," Fletcher admitted. "I'd spent months working on that manuscript, and Jennifer's feedback felt more destructive than constructive. She didn't just point out problems, she seemed to suggest that the entire thing was fundamentally flawed."

Kate watched Fletcher's body language carefully. His hands had begun to move more animatedly as he discussed Jennifer's criticism, and she could see traces of the nervous energy that had been so apparent during the book club meeting.

"What about Margaret?" Kate asked. "Did she read your work as well?"

Fletcher let out a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't have dared ask Margaret to read my manuscript. Even if I was the next Raymond Chandler, she would have torn it apart! Margaret had very strong opinions about literary quality, and she wasn't shy about expressing them."

"So you were aware that Margaret could be critical of other people's work?"

"Margaret was critical of everything," Fletcher said. "She corrected people during book club discussions, she dismissed popular authors as inferior, and she had very rigid ideas about what constituted serious literature. If she'd read my manuscript, she would have found a dozen reasons why it didn't meet her standards. I mean, I’m used to rejection, but not quite at that level."

Kate noted the way Fletcher talked about Margaret in the past tense, using language that suggested frustration rather than recent grief. "Mr. Fletcher, you seem to understand where our questions are leading. Do you want to address that directly?"

Fletcher stared at them for a moment, then shook his head with what appeared to be genuine disbelief. "You want to know if I killed Margaret because I was afraid she might not like my writing?"

Kate noted that he had not mentioned Jennifer as a victim or in past tense. It was interesting, but she wasn’t yet sure if it meant anything.

"We're simply exploring all possibilities," DeMarco said diplomatically. "Can you account for your whereabouts on Tuesday evening when Margaret was killed?"

Fletcher stood up and walked back to his desk, picking up his laptop. "Actually, I can do better than account for my whereabouts.” He said this with a bit of venom in his voice, the tone of a man who was about to prove them wrong. Or thought he was. “I can show you exactly what I was doing."

He opened the laptop and navigated to what appeared to be a social media platform that Kate wasn’t familiar with. "I've been doing live writing sessions on TikTok under my pen name. It's a way to build an audience and create accountability for my writing goals. Two or three times a week, I do these writing sprints where people can watch me work in real time. Some people ask questions about my process, the story, things like that."

Fletcher turned the laptop screen toward Kate and DeMarco. "Tuesday night, I did a three-hour writing session from seven to ten o'clock. And then Wednesday, I did another session from eight-thirty to nearly midnight."

Kate examined the screen, which showed a TikTok profile with the username @MysteryWriterDave. The profile contained dozens of videos, most of which appeared to show Fletcher sitting at his desk, typing on his laptop while occasionally commenting to viewers about his progress.

"These are live streams?" DeMarco asked.

"Yes, completely live. Well, what you're looking at is the recordings, but yes… it was all live-streamed. You can see the timestamps and viewer comments." Fletcher clicked on one of the recent videos. "Tuesday night, I had forty-three people watching me work on Chapter Seven of my novel. Last night I had fifty-one viewers while I revised Chapter Three, based on some of the feedback I'd received."

Kate felt a sinking feeling as she realized what Fletcher was showing them. If he had been conducting live video streams during the times when Margaret and Jennifer were killed, he had dozens of alibi witnesses who could verify his exact location and activities. And, of course, a record of what he'd been doing.

"Mr. Fletcher, we'll need to ask for the links to these," Kate said. She kept it at that because, quite honestly, she wasn't sure how TikTok or livestreams really worked.

"Of course. I can give you the contact information for several people who watch my streams regularly if that helps." Fletcher seemed genuinely eager to cooperate now that he understood he was being considered as a suspect. "I understand why you might think I had motives to hurt Jennifer and Margaret. I mean… I guess it makes sense in a way. But I would never actually harm anyone over literary criticism."

"You said you were initially angry about Jennifer's feedback," DeMarco reminded him.

"Yes, I was angry. But that's a normal response to harsh criticism. I spent a few days being frustrated, then I started working on the revisions she suggested." Fletcher gestured toward the printed pages on his desk. "Half of those pages are rewrites based on Jennifer's feedback. She was probably right about most of her points, even if her delivery was brutal."

"So let me ask you this,” Kate said. “During your time with the book club, have you noticed any tensions between members? Anyone who seemed particularly upset with Margaret or Jennifer?" Kate asked.

Christ, she said, scolding herself. I’m looking for him to slip up, and there I am… slipping up. Jennifer’s name was out of her mouth before she could catch it. But Fletcher seemed not to have noticed.

He considered the question carefully as he set his laptop back where it had been. "Margaret definitely rubbed some people the wrong way with her critical approach. Sandra Morrison and Margaret often ganged up on newer members during discussions, which created some resentment. And Jennifer could be overly dramatic about her emotional responses to books, which annoyed some of the longer-term members."

"Anyone specific who seemed particularly bothered by these dynamics?"

"Patricia Dunham always looked uncomfortable when Margaret started lecturing about literary standards. Diana Clark seemed to withdraw whenever the discussions got too intense… she’s never been good at confrontation. Carol Stevens tried to play peacemaker, but you could tell she was frustrated with the constant need to mediate." Fletcher paused. "But none of these people seemed capable of murder. They're just ordinary women dealing with typical book club personality conflicts. Which I know sounds sort of petty and low-level. But these women take this shit seriously. One of the reasons I stuck around as long as I did was to get their insights. A lot of their breakdowns are a goldmine for plot and character development in terms of the craft."

As Kate and DeMarco wrapped up the conversation and prepared to leave, Fletcher provided them with contact information for his regular TikTok viewers and promised to send them links to the specific live streams from Tuesday and Thursday evenings. DeMarco admitted to having a dummy TikTok account—mainly for just researching potential suspects for cases—and followed him to make the process a bit easier.

"I hope you find whoever did this," Fletcher said as he walked them to the door. "Margaret deserved better than this."

When they left Fletcher's house, Kate felt a wall of frustration at having hit another dead end. Fletcher’s alibi appeared to be airtight, and his response to Jennifer's criticism seemed proportionate and mature. Whatever anger he had felt about the harsh feedback, he had channeled it into productive revision work rather than homicidal rage.

As they drove back toward the field office, Kate found herself thinking about Fletcher's description of the book club dynamics. Everyone he had mentioned seemed to fit the profile of ordinary people dealing with typical social tensions, not potential murderers. But someone in that group had committed two elaborate, carefully planned murders within three days.

The question was whether the killer was hiding in plain sight among the remaining book club members, or whether Kate and DeMarco were still missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.