I don’t have to look up to know she’s furious. “Don’t listen to them, darlin’. You were a child. None of this is your fault.”
My legs feel rubbery as I sink into the passenger seat.
“Let me lock up and we’ll go home,” she promises, and then she’s gone, ushering the FBI agents out of her office. From the truck, I can’t hear what she’s saying to them, but I can guess. The rigid set of their shoulders as they stalk toward their SUV tells me they received another Maggie Shipley rebuke.
On the way home, my aunt stares straight ahead and says, “Maybe the letter will make more sense to you later.”
A hot stab of pain slices into my chest. She wants me to look at it again? That means she thinks the same thing the agents do. That I’m the only one who can tell the world where my father hid his victims.
My stomach roils at the thought of reading his suicide note again. Reading his unhinged thoughts, sifting through word by word, trying to decode it, to make sense of the ramblings of a crazy mind.
When Maggie pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, I glance over at her. “Can you put that…” I gesture to the envelope sticking out of her purse. “Maybe put it in your office or something? I don’t want it in my room where Jasmine might see it.”
“Of course. Let me know if or when you’d like to read it again. But don’t push yourself. Take your time.”
By the time I’m trudging through the front door, my body feels drained. Like all my nerves have been wrung out and left to dry. I keep my head down, ducking straight into my room. Jasmine follows, crowding me, peppering me with questions about what happened with Everett. Apparently, Nikki told her I went over there.
I keep it vague, all of it. My talk with Everett, the pretend errand Maggie and I had to run in town to prepare for Sunday’s open house. Only when I fake a headache and start getting ready for bed does Jasmine back off. Sort of.
I’ve just burrowed under the covers when she says, “We’re still good for the lumberyard on Saturday, right?”
My voice is muffled beneath the blanket. “Yeah, sure.” The words feel thick, sticking in my throat. Jasmine’s palpable excitement only makes it worse.
I barely sleep. I toss and turn, my father’s face flashing through my mind, twisting into different shapes. That note…Why? Why would he do that to me?
How could he ever think that I’d guard his precious bodies? Even if I knew where they were, I would never keep them hidden.Keep them safe.
He was crazy.
He must’ve been. I know they ran psychological tests on him. I know he was declared sane and therefore eligible for prison and not an institution for the criminally insane.
But hehadto be crazy. A sane man wouldn’t murder seven women. A sane man wouldn’t charge his daughter with the task of protecting their remains.
I desperately try to purge him from my brain, to rid myself of the terrifying thoughts, but every time I shut my eyes, those thoughts creep back in, holding me captive.
twenty-four
Dead Parents
When morning comes, I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I board the school bus with my cousins, pulling my hoodie tight around me, hoping no one looks my way. I’m taking my seat when I spot a guy a few seats ahead of me wearing a black jacket with my father’s mug shot printed on the back. It’s that Trevor kid. Proud member of the Gabriel Thorn fan club.
I shrink down, trying to disappear. I’m so tired of keeping this secret. So tired of lying to everyone about everything all the time.
I’ve gotten so good at it that I probably wouldn’t even know the truth if it stopped me on the street and said hello.
Maybe that’s what happened to my father. The deception snowballed. One small lie led to another until he was living a double life. He held on as long as he could, but eventually those two halves blurred, until he couldn’t tell where the normal father ended and the demented killer began.
When we finally arrive at school, I feel like I’m about to be sick. I stumble off the bus and make my way to my locker, my mind so numb I barely notice where I’m going until I slam directly into Chase Hedlund’s broad chest.
“Just causing destruction everywhere you go, eh, Shipley?”
I snap out of my doom spiral. “Sorry,” I mutter, brushing past him.
To my dismay, he stays on my heels.
I tamp down my aggravation when he follows me to my locker. “What is it now, Chase? Have I done something new to offend your BFF Everett?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. Have you?”
