Read The Butterfly Forest (Mystery/Thriller) for Free Online

Elizabeth asked.  “Why would some sick person follow my daughter?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Please, Sean.” she said.  “You’ve got to help us.”
    “The police are better at that than me.”
    “But you’re here.  That says something.”
    “I’m here because you asked me to come by, and that’s—”
    “That’s what?  Please!  What if he comes back?  What do we do?”
    “You need to tell the detectives working this case everything we've discussed here today.  You need to call them right now and give them this new information.”
    Molly fed Max another little piece of cheese.  “He’s gonna come back.”
    I said, “Maybe not.  For some reason, it appears this Frank Soto had followed you from Gainesville to your home here in Sanford.  The question is why?”
    Elizabeth said, “Because he’s a pervert, one of those predators who stalk young women like Molly.  He could have seen her come and go from the restaurant.”
    “You may be right,” I said.  “But I think it’s something deeper than that.  When do you return to school, Molly?”
    “I’m supposed to go back tomorrow.  I’ve got classes and need to be at my lab job, too, on Monday.”
    “Maybe you should stay here for a few days.  Give police time to sort this out.” 
    Her eyes lifted toward the open window where she focused on the limbs of a mimosa tree blowing in the breeze and the tinkling of wind chimes coming into the room.  Her face filled with thought.  “Have you ever held a live butterfly in the palm of your hand, Sean?  They like the human touch… the warmth that comes from our hands, and maybe our hearts.”
    “It’s been a long time since I held a butterfly, not since I was a boy.”         
    Molly smiled, her eyes darkening.  “I’m not going to let some jerk cause my brain to freeze with fear.  Mom, remember you kept Dad's .38 pistol after he died?  He taught me how to use it.  I’m gonna take it back to school with me.”
    Her mother’s left eyebrow rose.  “Molly, maybe that’s not such a good idea.  And you don’t even have a permit.”
    “I don’t care!  He pulled a gun on you and me.  If he comes around again, this time I’ll have a gun, too.”
    Elizabeth looked up at me, searching for words.
     I said, “Remember this, Molly: if you have to use it, you won’t have time to think about it.  You’re a young woman with noble ideas and ideals.  People like you are the glue to save the planet.  That quality is what makes you do what you do, and what you do with the butterflies is very special.  Before you put a pistol in your purse, answer this question: if you had to shoot a man in the heart… to shoot to kill… could you do it?”         
     

 
     
    TEN
     
    Luke Palmer warmed up a can of beans over an open fire.  It had been more than a week since the drums stopped.  He stared at the yellow flames and thought about the first night he heard the drums.  It was his first night in the forest.  He wondered if the girl and her commune had moved on to some other desolate place.  He thought about her smile, brighter than the moon that dark night.
     
    HE DUCKED UNDER A low-hanging limb, pushed through Spanish moss, and walked toward the drumbeats in the distance.  Mosquitoes followed him, buzzing in his ears, biting at his exposed forearms and neck.
    Within fifteen minutes, he’d reach the site.  A few dozen old cars and vans were parked in a small field off one of the dirt roads.  Palmer hid in the shadow of trees under a bold moon and watched as people moved in and around the parked cars.  The scent of burning marijuana caught his nostrils.  He saw the tiny moving orange dots as the pot was passed among two women and one man.
    He crept closer to the sounds of the drums and chanting.  Moving behind the underbrush, Palmer pulled back branches and looked out onto a small meadow area.  At least fifty people sat around a bonfire.  Some chanted.  Some