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“She told me she was scared of him, a month before she died. Look, I’ll show you…”
Emma scrolls her phone again, this time in her messages. She pulls up a conversation four years past—almost exactly four years, dated October 10th.
Something terrible is about to happen, I can feel it. It’s building and building. I’m afraid, and the one person who’s supposed to protect me is the person who can’t know I’ve even talked to you because he made me promise I wouldn’t tell.
“That was the last message she sent,” Emma says.
I read the words over several times.
He made me promise I wouldn’t tell…
“The year before, she disappeared for an entire month,” Emma says. “I kept texting and calling, no answer…I even went to the house. He wouldn’t let me in, wouldn’t let me see her. Told me she was ‘resting.’ I thought he killed her back then. When she finally called, I was crying and freaking out—she wouldn’t tell me what happened. Only that she’d been ‘sick.’”
Emma seems so certain. And she’s known Dane way longer than I have. She knew his wife, too, intimately…so why am I putting my judgement over hers?
Becauseyou answered the question right, while everyone in town answers it wrong…
It’s a hook in my brain and I can’t get it out—the idea of Dane’s innocence. It glimmers, thin, sharp, and immovable.
“Are you dating him?” Emma asks, giving me a close look.
“No,” I reply with a guilty squirm. I don’t know if I feel guilty for denying Dane or for kissing him.
I don’t think he killed his wife.
But I also don’t think she drowned.
There’s more here, I can feel it….I just don’t know what the fuck is going on.
“I’m fixing his fence,” I say, “in exchange for the use of his road.”
“Hisroad,” Emma scoffs. “Yes, how dare you drive down the royal road…” Her lip curls. “I hate the founding families.”
“I take it the Turners weren’t one?”
“Not even close. We’re only second generation.”
“That doesn’t count around here?”
“Joey Vega’s been ‘the new barber’ for about twenty-two years. You’re not a local unless you were born in Grimstone—and even then, it’s better if your great-grandpa was, too.”
“That’s too bad.” I smile. “I’m starting to like it here.”
“Maybe you should keep your house after all that work,” Emma says, smiling back at me.
“I wish—I can barely afford to fix it, let alone keep it.”
“How are the renos going?”
“Better than I deserve, probably. Your cousin’s a big help.” I check the time on my phone. “Actually, I should head back—he’s coming over around noon.”
“So, two thirty?”
“Exactly.” I laugh.
“Mind if I tag along?” Emma asks. “I’ve never been inside Blackleaf—I’d love to see it.”
“Be my guest. But be warned, it still looks like shit inside. I don’t have a single room completely fixed.”
