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“Is there something I should know?”
“Maybe, maybe. Honest to God, I’m not sure.” Janelle screws her lips up before she glances over her shoulder, patting my arm. “Finish your shopping first, dearie, and then I’ll treat you to coffee. What do you say?”
* * *
Janelle fliesthrough catching me up on ten years of town history as we finish our shopping together—little things like who moved away, who came back, the new out-of-towners who bought the Yardsdales’ lovely old vacation home, the tourist who drowned in Still Lake about six years back, who adopted a dog, who had a kid, and who had three boyfriends in one year.
All those little tidbits of small-town gossip you end up steeped in day in, day out, condensed into a single hour until I’m dizzy.
I’m still pretty grateful for the distraction when her ominous little comment stoked my worries again.
But I’m patient and I wait until she’s good and ready.
I’m also not sure how to ask.
Though once we make our way to the local café and settle at the outdoor tables with our drinks, the air feels lighter.
It’s a lovely fall morning, bright and sunny and colorful. Crisp enough to make the chill a pleasant nip instead of a stinging discomfort. The light carries that gold-red tint that only comes with an autumn morning, turning the shadows into champagne bubbles.
Honestly, it feels strange to see Janelle so grey, like the light just doesn’t quite touch her anymore.
I curl my hands around the warm ceramic of my cappuccino mug, watching her as she stirs precisely half a packet of sugar into her black coffee.
“Janelle?” I murmur. “Is something wrong? You’ve seemed a little off all morning. Is something on your mind?”
“Oh—what isn’t these days?” She ducks her head, her lips curling in a dry humorless smile. “Everything’s been so strange in Redhaven the past year, you know. I suppose I’m just carrying a lot of it with me, dear.”
“I don’t follow.” I shake my head.
“Well, I’m sure you heard about what happened earlier this year, didn’t you? With Delilah Clarendon—pardon,Delilah Gravesnow.”
“Yep, I heard the news. Mom filled me in on some of it. So did Grant.”
“Yes, well...” She sighs. “That whole nasty business, I feel like I could’ve prevented so much of it if I just hadn’t been so naïve and trusting. Poor Delilah trusted me with a safe place to stay and I practically handed her off into danger. I sent her to that house. I told herhewas safe to trust and I said the Jacobins were harmless. They weren’t, none of them. Not when she was being lured in from day one, and they would have disposed of her body in the filthiest way when they were done with her. And my useless potatoof a husband, he just—”
She stops, compressing her lips and stirring her coffee fiercely. The spoon clinks harshly against the sides of her mug.
It takes me a second to absorb that from Janelle Bowden, of all people.
She’s East Coast prim and proper to a fault, never has a mean word, wouldn’t speak ill of anyone. And she and Chief Bowden have been happily married for so long.
I’m totally confused.
“Hey, I don’t think you should blame yourself for any of that. Nobody knew Redhaven had a home-grown serial killer,” I say softly. “You want to see the best in people. That’s natural, and it’s hard to believe any normal person would do something like that, killing those poor girls. You had no reason to believe it was happening. But I guess I don’t understand—what about Chief Bowden?”
Janelle stares down into her mug, her eyes glassy before she looks away sharply, staring across the street with something distant and strange in her expression.
“It just didn’t feel right, that’s all,” she mutters, more to herself than me. “He acted like he didn’t evenwantto investigate the entire affair, always looking the other way, dismissing disturbances, brushing them off as unimportant. It didn’t sit right with me. Itdoesn’tsit right with me now. Any time I mention the folks up at the big house or the hillfolk, he just glazes over and stomps off to trim his nails.”
She stops again.
Her jaw goes tight with a swallow.
“Sorry. I didn’t know I’d married such a weak man,” she whispers. “All he cares about is not rocking the boat. I realize now it’s all he ever cared about. I’m sorry, Ophelia. I’m sorry he never tried harder to find your brother. Especially with what we know now.”
Those words hit so hard they practically blow me out of my chair.
I don’t know if I fully get what she’s implying about her own husband, but...
