Page 66 of We Already Dug the Grave

“And?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do, yet. I have some time, though.” I glanced at her. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you asking me that?” I hated the suspicious edge to my tone. It wasn’t fair to Frances.

“I don’t know. Small talk, I guess?” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

I smiled. “I missed you too.”

“You know, maybe we could be roommates.”

I blinked. “You’d want to live with me?”

“Maybe,” she said. “If you’re open to it. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I don’t know.” My brakes squeaked as we approached the pristine fenced-in pastureland. My sister’s house wasn’t far. “I mean. Yeah. I think I’d like that. But…”

“But what? You don’t sound like you think it’s a good idea.”

We crossed the bridge over the creek.

“Where would we live?” I couldn’t picture my sister staying a single night in Persimmon Key, much less moving there. I certainly couldn’t afford to pay half the rent on anything like she was used to. “In case it’s not obvious, I’m kind of broke.”

“Oh,” she said. “I don’t care about that. We can live wherever. If I buy a place, then you could move in. Go to work. Back to school. Do whatever.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. This would change everything for me. “I’m not sure you mean it,” I said.

“Oh, I mean it. We have a decade to make up for, and I don’t want to waste any of it.” She pointed to her driveway. “Turn here.”

I wheeled in, not bothering with my blinker.

As we made our way down the long driveway, passing under the wrought iron lamps, Frances’s face morphed into the haunted woman I’d seen on TV, standing on the steps of the Alabama capitol.

We crept along silently until the road was no longer visible behind us, and we reached the house, with its rambling porch and planters overflowing with flowers and greenery. It was as majestic as it had been the day before. It hit me, as it had yesterday when I’d made this same trek, exactly how much our lives had diverged.

I slowed and shifted to park. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Frances was dead still and moonlight pale.

“Come on. We need to hurry.” I touched her hand. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

She nodded.

I pushed open my car door and stepped onto the circular drive and waited for Frances to do the same.

“Remember,” I said, a shiver lacing my spine. “We get in and get out. The sooner we finish the plan, the sooner we can dump your phone and crash in a hotel somewhere.”

Another silent nod.

I’d expected Frances to punch a number into a security keypad or some other high-tech, expensive home security system, but she pulled an old key from her purse and slid it into the lock.

“You’re sure there’s no cameras?” I knew there weren’t—we’d already discussed it, as I’d hashed out the plan. My nerves needed to hear it again.

“No,” Frances said. “Burt hates them. He wants nothing that could be hacked or record his comings and goings. When we built the place, I’d thought it was a quirk, maybe from growing up in such a well-known family with his image splashed all over the internet. Now, I worry he has other reasons.”

“Right.” The door clicked open, and I followed Frances inside, where the light flipped on and a peachy glow fell over the foyer. I rubbed the goose bumps from my forearms. There was something cold about this entire place. It was a beautiful home, yet it made my skin crawl.