Page 47 of Trust No One

“No.” I shifted. “Ken stuck his nose too deep into this investigation.”

“He wants something unrelated to Maria. Give it a day or two, and he’ll show his hand.” Fists in her pockets, she took a step away from the room.

“Keep me posted on Ken,” I said.

“Sure.”

“Not a request, Raine.”

A small, careful grin. “I didn’t think so. If I find out anything worthwhile, you’ll be my first call.”

Her gait was slightly uneven as she walked toward the elevators. When the doors opened, she stepped inside and pressed the button. She didn’t look up as the doors closed.

I used to believe . . .

Silence meant peace,

and trouble had to shout or bleed.

But here’s the truth.

Trouble can skim under the surface.

A snake, waiting to strike.

A shark, circling unseen.

A person, planning.

Silence isn’t peace.

Silence is preparation.

Chapter Eighteen

Raine

Sunday, October 18, 2026, 8:00 p.m.

Ever since I was a child, I’d sensed that the dead lingered at Hale House. Generations of loss had scarred the house—and the blood-soaked land beneath it. No renovation would ever change that.

After the orange-red sun had dipped behind the mountains, the sky darkened to ink and the moon struggled against the black. The air shifted, charged. Mom called this the time for fairies and demons.

My headlights carved a single path down the long driveway toward Hale House. Gravel cracked under my tires.

I cut the engine in front of Hale House. Night surged in. Groceries in one hand, phone flashlight in the other, I stepped into the cold air, breathing in the sharp, green scent of boxwoods lining the front.

My collar up, I walked around the side of the house. Moonlight trailed freshly cut grass tunneling a path through tall weeds toward the family cemetery.

Each step forward felt like a funeral march. My grandfather’s stone marker was the largest in the graveyard. He’d lived eighty years, and his roots had burrowed deep in the community. My father’s stone was almost as big, and so was his funeral. Dad’s legacy had been cut short by a sudden death that had rattled peers only just beginning to reckon with mortality.

My mother’s service had been small. A dozen old friends from before she’d become ill. Most hadn’t seen her in years and were lured here by loyalty.

I gripped the cemetery’s cold wrought iron. Old hinges resisted. After a harder shove, they groaned open. I stepped inside.

That day, Maria, Gabe, Amy, Judson, and Ken had huddled around me as I stood at Mom’s fresh grave. The minister spoke a few words. I didn’t. The service was over almost before it had begun.

Amy hugged me. “I’m sorry for your loss.”