“I dreamed about another victim,” I admit, and Lanie inhales sharply. “Who is she?”
She swallows, pulling out her phone. “Sierra Montgomery. A young girl from Knox Harbor.”
She turns the iPhone around, and there she is, the girl from my dream, standing next to a smiling Chelsea Grayson.
We pepper Lanie with questions, concern etched into every line of our faces. She doesn’t have much information, just that thebody of Sierra was discovered at the docks, just down the road from where Chelsea was found.
“Do they think she was in Falls Haven searching for Chelsea?”
Lanie shrugs. “No clue. They’re not really speculating. All they’ve said is that her death bears a striking resemblance to Chelsea’s, and they’re not ruling out a potential connection.”
“Ally,” Nina says, turning to me, drawing my attention. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Sierra’s last name is Montgomery?” I furrow my brow, not quite grasping her insinuation. “You know, considering our questions about the secret society and Chelsea’s death,” she clarifies.
I tilt my head, indicating my continued confusion.
“The place with the ghost was called Montgomery Estate. Could there be a connection between her and the society?”
Dread settles in the pit of my stomach. It may seem far-fetched, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that spirits don’t appear to me without reason. There’s something more to all of this. There’s a connection.
“What am I missing?” Lanie asks.
We fill her in on the party at the estate, the mystery surrounding the dream, and the symbol I saw. I describe the tattoo that Harlan and the snobbish woman both had, and how the bartender let it slip that there’s a secret society. Lanie is speechless, taking it all in.
“This tattoo, can you find it online?”
I shake my head. “No. I’ve looked. But I did make a rough sketch.”
Pulling up the picture I sent to Nick, I turn it around and show Lanie.
“That’s…an interesting symbol,” she says, tilting her head to the side.
An idea sparks in my mind. “Should we call Corinne? Have herlook into it on the dark web?” I suggest, and both Lanie and Nina agree.
“Hey, Corinne,” I greet when she answers the call. “Lanie and Nina are here with me, and we need your investigative skills.”
“This should be good,” she drawls. “What do you need?”
“Can you look into the symbol I’m sending through text?”
It’s quiet on the other line for a moment before Corinne calls out, “Got it. I’ll search the web and get back to you.”
She ends the call without a goodbye, which is typical Corinne.
We eagerly await her call, each passing minute heightening our anticipation. Finally, the phone rings, and I hang on Corinne’s every word as she unveils the revelation she’s unearthed.
“The group behind that symbol is called the Order of Providence.”
I’m staring at Lanie while Corinne delivers this news, and I don’t miss the way her eyes darken and her throat visibly tightens.
She knows something about the Order of Providence.
I wait for her to spill what she knows, but instead, she dons a mask and pretends to be oblivious to what it represents.
I’m hurt and confused.
We’ve been friends long enough that I should absolutely call Lanie out on this. But I don’t. Because the only reason Lanie Anderson would keep secrets is to protect me. She’s just like Nina in that sense.
A hush falls over the room as the weight of her words sinks in. The name makes every hair on my body stand at attention, conjuring images of clandestine meetings and dark secrets lurking beneath the surface.
