Page 13 of We Already Dug the Grave

It would’ve been easy to convince myself I was being ridiculous. Delusional, even.

Except for the body that was found in Moss Grove.

Moss Grove, where my sister lived in a rambling farmhouse, penned in by pristine whitewashed fence.

And what about that damned message?

Could Frances have received the same?

I inhaled slowly, but there was no calming my racing heart. It hammered against my chest.

I squinted at the screen a moment longer, then sat back. No. The wine must’ve hit me harder than I realized, because I was being crazy. This was crazy. If my sister was in trouble, she would go to her well-connected husband.

The camera zoomed in tighter to where the Anderson grandsons stood. First it focused on the twins, Barry and Brett, and their families, then it panned to the younger brother, Burt, with his wife, Frances. Perfect. Poised. Terrified.

I gnawed at my bottom lip. There was no mistaking it.

My little sister was spooked.

No one else would notice, but she was my sister. No matter how she pretended otherwise, I knew her like no one else.

Frances was afraid.

And calling for me.

Chapter 4

Then

As if my day couldn’t get any worse. Casey’s dirt bike was locked to a lamppost in the nearly empty parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly.

Shit. I crumpled Aunt Hattie-May’s shopping list in my damp palm.

It was too hot for October, and sweat prickled my upper lip as I ran through the schedule ingrained in my head. Today was Wednesday. Casey wasn’t supposed to be here on Wednesdays.

He stocked shelves at the feedstore during the week. The Pig was his weekend job. He’d had the same schedule throughout high school, mixing in lawn work whenever he had free time.

But today was definitely Wednesday, and that was definitely his bike. No one else tooled around our small town on a dirt bike, and besides, I’d recognize that cherry-red helmet strapped to the handlebars anywhere. If I were to walk to the other side, I’d see my name doodled in faded Sharpie, a remnant from the beginning of junior year, back when things between us were still easy. Milly+Casey BFF. Before senior year, I’d thought nothing of leaving my mark on any of his possessions: his notebooks, his book bag, the soles of his sneakers. From this angle I could see my most recent scribble. A lone wonky star near the helmet’s visor.

Not even six months had passed since I’d drawn that star at the start of summer, but it felt like a lifetime. Because somehow, in that short time, everything had changed between me and my best friend.

And now he was the last person I wanted to run into. Not while I was sweaty and red-faced from helping Aunt Hattie in her garden. God. Especially not after what happened at Jordan Clement’s party last weekend. I grimaced, replaying the moment in my head. Me standing outside the group of kids pressed around an empty wine bottle in the center of a folding table, still sticky from games of beer pong. Someone noticing me trying to slip away, grabbing my wrist, voices taunting me to spin spin spin. The way time stopped when the bottle pointed toward Casey. The catcalls and chanting of kiss him kiss him kiss him! How someone said I was too afraid to do it, so I’d charged forward, grabbed Casey’s cheeks, and kissed him. Sharp and awkward.

And then his eyes. The complete surprise followed by my instant mortification. Me bolting, while everyone laughed, because somehow, I was always the butt of the joke.

God. The bottle could’ve pointed at anybody else. It would’ve still been embarrassing, but not like this. Why hadn’t I laughed it off? The way I’d ran out of there had been humiliating, made worse when Casey hadn’t immediately followed.

I’d only gone to that stupid party because Casey said he would be there. And okay. Maybe I’d hoped we would kiss before the night was over, but not like that.

Spin the bottle was a stupid game played by middles schoolers. As a senior, it should’ve been harmless fun. Yet once again I’d embarrassed myself like the awkward loser everyone thought I was.

I tilted my face to the cloudless sky and groaned. This was just great.

I stared at his dirt bike, biting my bottom lip as I considered my options. There were none. Hattie-May was waiting for me. If I left without purchasing what she needed, she’d pester me until I confessed why. I wasn’t ready to admit to her or anyone else that maybe I’d developed the tiniest, most ridiculous crush on Casey. The same boy who, in ninth grade, had tackled me in our front yard and farted on me.

Also, he was the only person outside of our family who’d never judged me even once. Not for the leaves. Not for my aunts. Not for being not quite as smart or beautiful as my sister. Not even for the circumstances that dumped me in Puddle Creek.

Hell. He’d even been nice about the kiss, which somehow felt worse, because I suspected my embarrassment led him to pity-invite me to homecoming just after. As just friends, of course. The clarification ringing in my brain.