Page 38 of We Already Dug the Grave

“Your name came up quite a lot. We talked to your aunt, a Ms. Ruth Robbins, and—”

Aunt Ruth? Ruth would never talk to a cop.

Me and my aunts had only spoken once since I’d ran away. I’d borrowed a stranger’s cell and called home and told Aunt Ruth I was okay. I told her I wasn’t missing, but that I had to disappear for a bit. She’d been quiet, then assured me she understood.

Her words had been an arrow in my heart, because I’d known she couldn’t understand. Not when she didn’t know the truth of what I’d done.

Even then, she wouldn’t have talked to the cops. Not about me. Not about family.

The sound of the apartment door opening and shutting cut into my thoughts. “Mill? You home, babe?”

Shit.

I stepped into the hallway and held up a finger. Mouthed, one sec.

Carla looked me over and wrinkled her nose. “What in the world?”

I peered down at my clothes. Oh. I’d never made it to the shower and looked like someone who’d spent the night sleeping next to a toilet after nearly twelve hours of driving. It’s certainly how I felt.

I ignored the question on my roommate’s face and disappeared back into my bedroom.

On the phone, the cop was still talking “…and so if you remember—”

“I’m sorry, I missed that,” I interrupted, keeping my voice down. “What did you say?”

He sighed a wet, heavy breath, followed by another beat of silence before speaking in his perfect voice, “No problem, ma’am. I was saying, why don’t you give me a call back if you remember anything? I’d like to go over all the details from that night.”

That night?

It was a strange way to put it. Unless someone told him about Casey and me at the bonfire. No. No, that was absurd. No one remembered details from a random high school party a decade ago.

“Of course,” I lied. Everything about this call set me on edge. “Whatever you need.”

The call ended and for a long moment, I stared at the phone, my senses shot.

I raked a hand over my face and blew out a sour breath. Like it or not, I knew what I needed to do. Ruth hadn’t talked to the police, but perhaps she knew why a cop would lie and say she had.

Aunt Ruth never cared for change. There wasn’t a doubt in my head that she still wore the same jeans, got the same haircut, smoked the same brand of cigarettes that she had for as long as I could remember. I had to believe that her cell number was the same one I’d memorized in high school, when she’d finally broken down and purchased a cheap flip phone that she insisted was only for emergencies, girls!

Even though I felt like a wrung-out washcloth, I couldn’t help the half smile that curled over my lips as my thumbs hovered over the keypad. Well, Aunt Ruth, I think this qualifies as an emergency…

I opened a new message.

It’s Milly. Puddle Creek detective called me. What’s going on?

Short and sweet. I decided. Blunt like Ruth.

Send.

My cell rang almost immediately.

“Aunt Ruth!” The name pushed out of me like a prayer.

“What’s this about a cop calling you?” Ruth got straight to the point, a decade of silence erased in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“Hey. Yeah. I’m fine.” There was no hiding the lie. Even without the call from the cop, I hadn’t been fine for quite a while.

A cabinet door banged closed in the apartment’s kitchen, reminding me I wasn’t alone.