Page 59 of They Say a Girl Died Here

She groaned, stumbling to the bathroom, sure she was going to vomit. Dreams or memory? Anna put her head under the cold running faucet, the water making her gasp, but it was nothing compared to the chill of realization that suddenly gripped her. The awful pain in her skull. The ache in her throat that was fading fast. Had she been murdered again?

She reached for a towel and straightened up. This was her last day unless something changed. What had she done wrong last time? What could she do right? She took a deep breath. She was alive now. Anything was possible. And after her research last night, at least she had a lead to go on.

Callie was long gone to school, and as Anna came downstairs, she felt a sharp pang of grief that she hadn’t been awake to say goodbye, or to at least make some kind of amends for what she’d done, to try to explain. To hug her little sister one last time. Just in case.

She pulled herself together as she headed to the kitchen for coffee, the headache almost gone. None of that maudlin thinking was necessary. Because this time she was going to catch the bad guy. This time, she was going to survive.

“Glad you’re up.” Dr. Burdett was pouring two mugs of coffee. “This is fresh, if you want one. I know you’ve got work, but I didn’t feel comfortable coming upstairs to wake you.” His hand trembled as he added sugar to his drink, and Anna wondered if there was more than arthritis going on with him. Maybe the start of Parkinson’s. Perhaps that was why he always had a lot of patience with Grandma. Because he knew someone was going to have to be as kind to him in the future too.

“I had a headache. Overslept.” She poured herself a cup, keeping it black and adding some cold water so she could drink it quickly. She had stuff to do.

“Your sister is really excited about this weekend. Especially the party tomorrow.” He smiled, his crinkling eyes warm. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to be young. To have everything so new.”

“Can’t believe she’s not still freaked out about that whole Farmhand urban legend bullshit. She gets creeped out easily.”

“She’s over that. We had a good talk. Came up with a plan to deal with it.”

“Oh really?” Anna looked across at him, curious.

“That’s between me and her.” He winked.

“If it stops her being scared, then it’s fine by me.”

“Her hair looks good,” he said cautiously, studying her over the top of his cup. “Was that the kind of look you’d been going for? When you messed up the cut by accident?”

As her cheeks burned, she felt a rush of affection for the old man. No accusations. No anger. Just a polite pretense that Caroline’s hair had been unintentional so they don’t have to talk about what Anna had really done. “Yeah. Something like that.” She downed her cool coffee, waiting for the caffeine hit. “Are you going to be here tonight? Visiting Grandma?” For the first time the idea of a man being here with her and Grandma felt comforting rather than terrifying. Not that she was sure an old man could help if someone came for her, but it was better than being alone.

“Sorry, no.” He burst her bubble of hope fast. “I’ve got some scheduled patient visits—human and animal—out across the farms that are going to take most of my night. Your mom said you’d be home, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. I’ll be here.” A cloud blocked the sun outside like a coffin lid closing on her.

“Good, because I don’t think she’s doing great today.” He glanced out toward the hallway and the loud TV. “She was agitated when I got here. I’ve not seen this disease come on so fast in a person before.” He paused. “But there’s still moments of Evelyn there and that makes it worth it.”

“It does.” Anna looked down at her phone. “I really have to go. Thanks for sitting with her. I’ll go say goodbye.”

Grandma was staring at the TV but not watching it, one hand twitching on top of the blanket that any normal person wouldn’t need in this stifling heat. She looked thinner than yesterday. Anna would make it better. She had to. She leaned forward and kissed the old woman’s cool, dry forehead. “I’ve got to go. I love you, Grandma. I’ll see you later.” There was no response and she was turning away when Grandma’s hand grabbed hers.

Anna looked back. Grandma was still staring, vacant, at the TV. “I can’t do it again,” Grandma whispered. “This is the last time.”

After a long moment, Anna squeezed her hand before putting it carefully back on her lap. “It’s okay, Grandma. It’s going to be okay.” As she grabbed her scooter and left the house, she prayed to a god she didn’t believe in to make it so.

71

Anna called in sick to the diner from the side of the empty road, where she pulled her jeans on before taking off her Jeannie’s dress and stuffing it into her backpack. She’d already got a T-shirt on underneath, now more than a little sweaty, and she put a baseball cap over her ponytail, wearing it down low over her eyes. If Jeannie happened to go out around town—which was unlikely, given she was now a waitress down—she might not recognize her. Still, at least Anna knew that possibly getting fired was the least of her problems today, and might not even matter by tomorrow. The dark humor made her smile and by the time she got to Creek Motors, the car repair shop at the other end of Main close to the turnoff for the Cornerstone Motel, she was feeling bullish. She imagined herself flanked by Lila and Bonnie with all the dead Annas trailing behind. Their vengeance was down to her. She wouldn’t fail them. She couldn’t.

Alexa George had been in a few of the yearbook photos alongside Bonnie, enough to make Anna wonder on a second look if maybe they’d been friends. A search for Alexa George had brought up too many social media profiles to go through, but Alexa’s boyfriend at high school, Chris Winters, had been her one true love, according to her class photo caption, and a search for Alexa Winters led Anna to her Insta, and after that, she’d been pretty easy to track down, the car shop the couple owned featuring in plenty of her posts.

The first thing Anna saw when she went into the small, hot office in the back was a framed picture of Alexa and Bonnie on the wall, both smiling at the camera that was lifted high for a perfect selfie. The second thing was that Alexa was no longer that skinny, shining girl of her teens but had grown into a curvy, confident married woman with a styled blowout that suited her but belonged on someone a decade or so older.

The other pictures on her desk were of her with Chris and two identical small boys, two or three years old. It was hard to believe she and Alexa were pretty much the same age. Anna’s thought must have showed because she was still staring at the happy family photo when Alexa said, “Yeah, we settle down young around here.” She smiled, open. “Luckily I settled down right.”

“Looks like you did. But twins must keep you busy.”

“The joys of small-town living. Grandparents on tap. We have to fight them off sometimes. But can’t say no to free childcare.” She nodded Anna into the chair opposite, which was in the face of one of the three fans doing their best to push the heat around fast enough to minimally cool it. “You’re writing about Bonnie?” Anna had called before she came, figuring she’d get a better result if Alexa wasn’t surprised into defensiveness.

“If I’m honest, I’m not sure what I’m writing about. At first, it was about trauma and loss, but the more I dig, the more I wonder if enough was done to investigate the murders properly. Especially with Bonnie. They caught that guy awful fast in the aftermath.” Her Boston accent had slipped into Midwestern as soon as she’d started talking. She needed Alexa to see her as one of them, not an outsider who had no business poking around in the murders. “I guess I’m trying to find out the truth. Maybe he was the killer. But I want to be sure.” She paused, taking a breath. “Some bad shit happened to me in college. I figure I feel some kinship with Lila and Bonnie. I was luckier than them.”

“We’re all luckier than they were. Sometimes their murders feel like yesterday and sometimes it’s a lifetime ago, you know? I’m a different person now. It didn’t feel real until it was Bonnie. Until I knew I was never going to see or speak to her again. I grew up fast after that. I look at my husband and boys and my small-town life and I realize how blessed I am. I’m happy. Bonnie never got to have that. Lila never even really got to think about it. She was so young.”