Page 59 of Trust No One

I rooted around on the closet floor. Dusty sandals. Riding boots from when we still had horses. Junior prom heels—silver with thin straps I’d worn with a blue designer dress.

Beyond the heels, my fingers skimmed the red waterproof waders that had sat untouched since high school. Dried dirt still clung to the heels. The last time I’d worn these, I’d been hiking to the creek bed where Judson and I had found Mom’s body.

Downstairs, I set them by the kitchen’s back door. I made a peanut butter sandwich and grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. As I ate, I looked out across the field toward the path that led to Edith’s house. The land was still. No movement. No Pete.

I dug the last two aspirin from my purse and swallowed them, washing them down with water from the faucet.

Outside, I tugged on the boots, kicked off the dried dirt. I locked the door and stared out across the field, past the cemetery, toward the path through the woods. Silence. I was alone.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, and as I burrowed deeper into the thicket, the world behind me vanished. This stretch of woods was a no-man’s-land, lingering between the living and the dead. It had been years since Maria and I had walked these woods, but some of the happier memories remained sharp and clear.

Maria and I were on our way to see Gabe. We took the path along the creek toward the shallow spot where crossing was easy.

“It’s where that killer lives. The one that took those girls all those years ago,” Maria whispered.

“There are no missing girls,” I insisted.

“Sure, there are. Remember the festival girls?”

My grin wobbled. Fifteen years ago, four girls had vanished from a music festival. Decades and the bodies hadn’t been found. “Okay, enough.”

She stopped, facing me and blocking my path. “Are you afraid, Raine?”

“No.”

“You are. I can see the way your lip wobbles.”

I was good at hiding my fear—Maria was better at jerking my chain. When we hit high school, ghost stories weren’t as thrilling as boys.

In the distance, something cut through the woods. My heart jumped. Silence ticked. Hands in my pockets, I continued along the path. The woods grew denser between the houses. The branches reached out into the path, grabbing at my coat as I followed the rocky path. An animal darted in the woods alongside me, mirroring my path. Distracted, I tripped on a root, forcing me to take several large steps to right myself.

I rounded the bend toward the wooded tunnel as it opened into the light. Relieved, I stepped into the high grass of the clearing. A hundred feet beyond stood the small brick rancher that had been Edith Durant’s home for over twenty years. The former housekeeper had left suddenly, and Mom needed help. She’d found Edith Durant from a want ad. Mom had hired her on the spot.

Edith had moved in with her son, Gabe, who was twelve at the time. While Gabe had been all smiles, his mother’s grins never eased the etched frown lines around her mouth.

The tall grass brushed my knees as I moved toward the cut grass around the house. I rang the bell. Young, fast footsteps ran toward the door. It snapped open and Molly stood there, wearing a sheet and a circle of ivy in her curly hair.

“Who are you?” the girl asked.

We’d FaceTimed on her birthday, but the call clearly didn’t make an impression. “I’m Raine Hale. I’m your cousin.” My relationship with the girl had been a casualty of the cold war with Maria.

“My middle name is Hale,” Molly said.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I grew up with your mother. I lived in the big house on the other side of the woods.”

She frowned. “The house with ghosts.”

Unable to keep the amusement from my expression, I nodded. “That’s the one.”

“Have you met a ghost?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

She regarded me. “I’m a Roman senator today.”