Page 68 of Trust No One

But Ken never did anything without a goal in mind. I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me, but it wasn’t wedded bliss. He knew I wasn’t prone to dramatic displays in public. I avoided conflict and was even willing to keep small secrets from him so they wouldn’t become a thing.

Even in private, I always kept my composure. I’d always seen anger as a weakness.

“No.” I jerked my hand free and left him sitting at the bar alone.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Raine

Monday, October 19, 2026, 11:30 p.m.

In the country, the black night could swallow you whole. No streetlamps or houses. No neon signs above corner stores. No cars slicking through traffic. Just dark.

In Alexandria, the sky was dull and washed out—you’d be lucky to spot a single star through the haze. But here, when I looked up, endless stars scattered the sky. No distractions. No noise. Just here.

I turned into the Hale House driveway, my headlights cutting a careful path through gravel and trees. We were headed into rut season. Bucks got reckless this time of year. People lost cars to deer strikes. Four-legged animals I could deal with, but the human type worried me. Fortunately, the road stayed clear as I drove toward the house.

I killed the headlights. The darkness rushed back, wrapping around me. I stepped out, convinced I knew the way to the stairs. I made it two feet. My toe caught and I tripped. I fell forward. My knee and palms hit the ground hard. The impact sent my sleek black phone skidding. The screen saver of the Potomac River vanished.

My phone was my everything—social connection, safety, and control. Ken used to say phones created the illusion of safety. A false sense of security. He wasn’t wrong.

I pawed at the dirt, pushing farther out, growing more desperate. “Shit.”

Frustrated, I rose, straightened bruised knees, and climbed the stairs. In my purse, I fumbled for keys and slid them into the lock.

Door open, I flipped on the porch light. The faint halo of yellow spilled down the stairs. At the edge, my phone glinted back at me. Relief hit fast and hard. I hurried toward it and scooped it up.

Back up the stairs, I closed and locked the front door behind me.

Instantly, I noticed the chill and the puffs of my breath.

The heater operated on a fuse box, and the old wiring wasn’t always up to the task. With the flashlight turned on, I headed to the kitchen, where a slim door led to a wooden set of unfinished stairs. The rustic staircase creaked and wiggled. If I renovated this house, this staircase would get overhauled.

Thick, musty air greeted me in the cellar. I located and opened the metal fuse box, then checked the round glass fuses. One looked scorched. I found the dusty box of replacements and screwed a fresh one in.

The furnace kicked to life.

I glanced toward the door to the root cellar, once designed for the winter storage of potatoes, home-canned tomatoes and green beans, and cured meats.

The door was always closed, but tonight it was open, swaying gently on its rusted hinges. I didn’t glance in the dark, dank space. I closed the door and threw the bolt into the latch.

Stairs creaked as I climbed to the kitchen and locked the basement door. Many living in this area bragged about their unlocked doors. Wide-open spaces created a sense of security I’d never felt. The sheer isolation was really catnip for any killer. My grip on my phone tightened.

In my bedroom, I stripped and showered. I donned a large tee and combed my wet hair.

Maria and I had made a connection today. Maybe we could figure it out between us. I didn’t want to be at war.

I thought about the times we’d spent laughing in my room.

Curious, I pushed open my old bedroom door and switched on the light.

The four-poster bed was stripped. White sheets covered the rest of the furniture.

Gently, I pulled the sheet off my desk. Colored markers still filled a UVA mug. A photo of Maria and me on Hale House’s front porch. We were laughing at a long-forgotten joke. Inexpensive bracelets remained where I’d scattered them seventeen years ago.

I opened the drawer and discovered a note from Judson.

Found this for you.