Page 23 of We Already Dug the Grave

“Fine. I’m coming,” I said, voice shaky as I slid my phone into my apron pocket.

I did my best to push past the growing anxiousness, and for the next thirty minutes, I hustled, pouring coffee and dropping off food and entering orders. I smiled at jokes that weren’t funny, flirted with men who turned my stomach, complimented women’s purses and babies, but no matter how busy I was, I failed to shake the dread creeping in.

It had started as nothing but a flicker of worried recognition but now was undeniable. Like when the sky darkens, but there’s no report of rain, much less a storm. Then you notice the birds flying low, and you wonder how worried you should be.

I had just set down the coffeepot when the phone rang. A twisting in my stomach. A flutter behind my ribs.

I reached for the receiver.

“Diner,” I said, clicking open a pen.

Only silence on the line. I scratched my ear, then repeated, “Diner. What can I get you?”

A deep laugh sounded, forced and male, breathy enough to trick my ear into feeling wet. I lowered my voice, my heart pounding. My stomach twisting ever sharper.

“Who is this?”

A beat passed. “Oh. You don’t know who this is?”

“No, I don’t. Stop screwing around. It’s not funny.”

More laughter, gravelly. The pitch somewhat off, like the caller was trying to disguise their voice.

I inhaled, ignoring the tremble in my hands, ignoring how that place inside me had perked up and was paying attention. Calm the hell down, I mentally ordered. Prank calls happen all the time.

I was about to hang up when the voice said, “I think it’s quite funny, Millicent Waters.”

Millicent. No one here in Persimmon Key knew me as Millicent. The name had only ever been dragged out by the aunts when I was in trouble or by the occasional schoolteacher. I’d left the name behind in Tennessee.

Around me, the noise of the breakfast rush faded. I leaned against the counter, and when I spoke, anxiety strangled my words. “Tell me who you are.”

“You know who I am,” the voice said. “And I know what you did. What you both did.”

Later, I’d think I should’ve kept him on the line. Figured out who he was. The caller ID said Blocked Caller, but there had to be a way to learn who was on the other end. But in that moment I panicked and slammed the phone down. My ears roared with the sound of my blood. Of my heart and lungs pumping, thrwmp thrwm thrwmp.

The name from yesterday, the one scribbled on a message pad. I could see it again, scrawled in Larry’s handwriting. The curve of the S. The way the e hooked, sharp and spiky. Like the edge of a scythe.

Shane.

But that was impossible.

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I flinched.

“You okay?” Barb asked. “You’re shaking.”

“Yeah.” I sniffed, her menthol scent grounding me. With forced cheer, I added, “I’m fine. Just another stupid prank call, that’s all.”

I turned away, blinking back tears. Falling apart wouldn’t do me any good. I needed to figure this out. Figure it out and stop it. Because it was now clear that whoever was behind these calls knew secrets I’d buried a long time ago, back in Puddle Creek. The kind of secrets that I could never let come out. And if they were connected to the body found in the Moss Grove creek, they were also dangerous.

I grabbed the coffeepot from the warmer and took it to a table in my section. The police officers were the last people I wanted to talk to but possibly the only ones who could give me any new information.

They were still discussing the death of the university student. No surprise there. Cops loved talking about dead girls and what they’d do to find them, how they’d have the case solved by now. I refilled their mugs and asked if they needed anything.

“Only the check, darlin’.” The balding cop smiled beneath his mustache, then turned back to the others.

I drummed up courage and waited for a break in the conversation, then asked as nonchalantly as I could manage, “Everyone’s saying it’s the boyfriend, but how can you be sure?” I offered a saccharine smile. “I guess what I don’t get is, why Moss Grove? Seems out of the way from their school.”

“It’s always the boyfriend. And as for Moss Grove… Who knows?” The balding cop gave a small shrug. “Usually these places are chosen for a reason. They always mean something, but we can only guess at what.” He raised his bushy brows at another cop at the table, as if confirming the fact. “But I can tell you one thing: Getting evidence is going to be a whole hell of a problem. That creek is low ground, and it looks like it floods. Probably washes everything away. This kid might have known what he was doing.”