Christine stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Emma.
The unexpected embrace held more than comfort. Grief and concern gripped Emma’s shoulders along with care. “How are you handling this?” Christine asked, stepping away but keeping a hand on Emma’s back, rubbing in a circle like a mother would do.
Emma studied her friends, seeing the depths of the adult women they had become. The pair weren’t silly girls anymore but mature wives and devoted mothers. They knew how to look after someone. She hadn’t realized how much she needed their attention until they gave it to her. “I’m heartbroken about what has happened. But if you mean, is this stirring up anything, the answer is no.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Jennifer said, relief sagging her shoulders.
“I’m not grateful,” Emma replied. “I came to this reunion to try to get my memories back, to reclaim a bit of who I was back then. To make myself whole.”
“Have you?” Christine asked.
Emma shook her head.
“Maybe you’re protecting yourself by forgetting,” Jennifer added. “Sometimes the past must be left behind.”
Emma didn’t agree, not when she’d been living for the last two decades without the complete sense of who she was. With Owen’s death, she lost the last real chance she had for understanding what happened that night. The killer wasn’t likely to answer her questions before taking her out.
“What do you want to do?” Christine asked.
“I want to stay for Owen’s funeral, help the Thomases where I can. The camp is probably closing. This might be our last visit here.” And the final opportunity for closure.
“Did the Thomases say they were selling?” A line formed between Jennifer’s brows.
“No,” Emma replied. She wasn’t sure what to make from Jennifer’s cagey reaction to the news. “Why?”
Jennifer lifted a shoulder. “It would be a shame for the forest to be developed. Can you imagine how many secrets are buried out here?”
An uneasy silence settled over them.
Jennifer wasn’t always the most empathetic person. The conversational slip bugged Emma after what she had shared.
“Well, if you’re going to stay for the funeral. Then that’s what we’ll do, too,” Christine agreed, patting Emma’s hand. Her stomach growled, the sound more snarl than rumble.
“Any chance that dinner is still being served?” Emma asked.
The trio continued down the path.
Emma forced a laugh as much in response to the awkward situation as an attempt to lighten the mood. She felt cold to her bones.
They entered the almost empty mess hall. Only a handful of tables remained occupied. How many of those would still be present in the morning?
Emma shivered. Would the killer leave, too? Or would those staying behind prove too tempting to resist? What if this was the work of two people? She couldn’t understand how one person was capable of doing so much unless they had impeccable timing. If the idea of a single murderous person sent a chill down her spine, however, the thought of two chilled the blood in her veins. She couldn’t give in to paranoia or she’d stop trusting every one she knew.
She hated that she wanted her presence to bait the killer into revealing themselves. Daniel hadn’t asked her to do so. But she meant what she said. She wanted to help the Thomases. And she wanted answers. Also having an opportunity to be surrounded by others and not alone with her grief was tempting. But nothing more than the chance, no matter how strained, to reconnect with Daniel.
As if on cue, the screen door snapped open behind them, and Daniel and Margaux entered. He motioned for Emma, and she almost tripped over her feet in her haste to be at his side. Eagerness looked like desperation. But she didn’t care about appearances.
“Remember what we discussed?” he asked. “Between us?”
“I do. I swear you can trust me.”
He held her gaze.
She felt warm from the steadiness and caring reflected back at her.
“I know I can. I’m going to stick around and eavesdrop what I can before everyone leaves. I don’t want to miss my chance.”
She eyed him from head to toe. “You’re the Sherriff. You won’t exactly blend in to your surroundings.”
