“I’ll be outside.” And then they’d head to camp and he’d debrief two grieving parents as he opened a murder investigation. He’d let her take as long as she needed to pull herself together. He needed to gather his wits for what came next. But he had work to do.
Seven
Emma splashed cool water on her puffy face. She’d thought she’d cried all her tears over her sister’s grave. But she’d still had a few left inside for Owen and a last, unexpected connection to her sister. Time was precious, and yet, she’d wasted the commodity. Whatever secrets Owen had learned died with him.
She studied the red and splotchy face staring back at her above the sink. Deep lines and dark circles aged her. She knew not to come back to town, and yet her heart had ached for the good times, too. She missed the cool summer breeze and the smell of fresh lake water. Falling asleep as rain hit the cabin roof or bugs echoed in the night sky. Memories of late-night laughter and sleeping hard, feeling safe and secure.
When she looked in the mirror, she faced the truth. She wasn’t the innocent girl who’d lived in a small town. She was a woman hardened by the twists and turns of life. She trusted in Him but could never share the burdens of her heart with another. Her job demanded she keep a steady head at all times.
Giving up a personal life hadn’t been a challenge. No one had ever turned her head or left her considering a different life. But then she bumped into Daniel again, and she was left in awe. His job required even more professionalism and yet his kindness and light for the Lord shone through. He was a beacon of hope for many when they might expect a lawman to signal their rock bottom.
She admired him. And she liked him, too. She’d harbored a crush on him throughout their youth but never wanted to risk their friendship with anything more. He’d been the person to know her the best, besides her sister. And when she should have turned to him, she pushed him away. Were they strangers now? Was this the chance she’d never imagined getting?
She shut off the water and dried her hands on her jeans. A spot of color under the sink caught her eye. Kneeling on the ground, she retrieved a balled-up sheet of paper.
No loose ends.
Emma recoiled. The script was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. The note Margaux received? The single word apology from Liz? Emma shivered. She had never considered the note was written by another’s hand. But recent events flashed a bright beam onto the past. If Daniel was right about the circumstances of Liz’s death, homicide, the killer could have written all of the notes.
She wanted answers for herself and her sister. But she wasn’t naive enough to imagine she’d accept what she learned with calm peace. The grieving process would start all over again. And Emma would have something else to be mad at herself for. Missing the signs, overlooking vital clues, and letting a killer off the hook to allow another murder.
A knock sounded on the door. “Emma? Are you ready?” Daniel asked.
She opened the door a crack. Behind him, Owen’s body was being handled into a bag and removed from the room. The staff would strip the linens and reset the bed, ready to take care of the next person, after the room was documented by police. They stood in an active crime scene now.
The morning had so quickly shifted; she almost couldn’t process and accept what happened. She hated to be the one to deliver the news to the Thomases. But maybe she could help track down the killer.
“Daniel, come in here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.
He was easy to move, probably from the shock at her forcefulness. His face was a mixture of surprise and caution. Did he worry she was about to make a romantic move on him? Her skin burned. “Look at this.” She thrust the crumpled sheet of paper into his chest, dropping her hold on his hand.
“Where did you find this?” he asked.
She pointed under the sink.
He crouched, scanning the bathroom from the lower angle. “It’s strange. Why write this out?”
“Almost like a to-do list? Like the perpetrator had to remind themselves of what to take care of?” Emma shivered again, rubbing her hands on her upper arms. “Does this look like the handwriting from the other note? The one Margaux shared?”
Daniel squinted and tipped his head to the side. “I’m not really sure. Let’s get going. Time isn’t going to make any of what we have to do easier.”
And their villain was slipping farther and further away with each passing second.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she whispered. “Do you trust me?”
He nodded, the gesture slow and solemn. “I do. Emma, I hate to say this, but for the time being, we can only count on each other.”
“Not the Thomases?”
He shook his head.
Her stomach lurched, a horrible off-balance sensation threatening to spill out of her and knock her sideways.
“Right now, I can trust you, and you can depend on me. We can’t tell anyone else about this note. And I want you to keep what I’ve shared with you about Liz between us as well.”
“Do you really think the Thomases were involved in something that killed their son?”
