Page 113 of Within These County Lines

The white, wooden door swings open instantly, as if she’s been waiting.

Maggie Pomers stands behind the screen. Her dark hair flares in all directions, surrounding her head like a black hood. Every feature mourns, from the deep wrinkles on her forehead to the crow’s feet carved into her cheeks. Everything except her amber eyes. They glimmer, just slightly, with hope that hasn’t fully burned out yet.

I clear my throat. “Hello,” I say.

She studies me, then offers a faint smile. “Hello. Do I know you?” she asks.

“I’m Stetson Delancey. We met a few times over at Rainbow Valley Swim Club. I’m the pool inspector.”

Her lips part. “Yes, of course. My apologies. I remember now. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes wander back to my truck.

Panic rips through me like static electricity. I should’ve planned this better. I didn’t even think about how I would bring up the note or get inside. I don’t even know where to start. If I say the wrong thing, I could blow up whatever fragile sense of peace she’s built over the years. But I trust Xander’s instincts. If he thinks this is the moment, then so do I.

“What can I help you with?” she finally asks.

I straighten my spine. “I was actually . . . I hope this isn’t too forward . . . but I was wondering if I could talk to you about your son, Xander.”

Her breath hitches. “Ohhh.” The sound leaves her mouth through a shudder. “What about?”

“Do you think I could come inside? It might be better if we’re sitting.”

She tilts her head, hesitating, then gently pushes open the storm door. “Please,” she says, gesturing me through the threshold. “Forgive me. It’s too hot outside for a conversation anyway.”

“Thank you,” I say, stepping past her. My fingers press into my pocket where Xander’s note waits. “I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.”

The living room smells like lemon cleaner. Vacuum lines stretch across the beige carpet, and angel figurines stare at me from inside a glass cabinet. A vase of fresh flowers sits on the coffee table, too big for the glass surface yet somehow too small for the room. Above the floral love seat, a painting of Jesus hangs with a prayer card for Xander tucked into the frame.

Maggie moves to the kitchen table and sits, crossing her legs. “Would you like any water?” she asks.

“I’m okay, thank you.”

She dusts her lap with her hands. “Is the county keeping the water clean?” She smiles. “Are there any of those toxic chemicals from the news that I should be worried about?” The distant rumble of traffic enters the home through the window over the sink.

I shake my head. “It’s all good as far as I know.” I pull a chair out from the table and sit.

She hums, nodding.

An image bursts in my mind. A closeted Xander, seventeen, hoodie zipped to his chin, hunched over this same table, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles cereal. A lost puppy with nowhere to go.

I’m here to tell her what that boy was feeling.

I shake the thought away.

Maggie folds her hands on the table. “So, is there something going on at Rainbow Valley? I’m afraid your visit is a bit confusing.”

I bounce my knees. I need to just read the letter.

“Um. I don’t know how to say this.”

She leans in. “Do you have a tip for Xander’s case?” Her voice wavers. “The sheriff has all but stopped communicating with me. If it’s a secret, I can keep it.”

My stomach tosses my dinner. If I don’t talk soon, I might throw up instead.

“It’s not that. It’s . . . I . . . I’ve been communicating with Xander.” My lips quiver.