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I feel a tug at the back of my mind to immerse myself further in what it must have felt like back then, so I step outside. As I wander the property, I take in the remnants of the old groves—stumps, rotting and hollow, quietly consumed by time. I follow row after row of unkempt grass, imagining how it must once have been flattened by the steady tread of work boots. I close my eyes and let the birdsong and the soft, warm breeze wash over me. In my mind, I hear the growl of diesel trucks, the steady hum of machinery cleaning oranges as they dropped from the trees, and the distant echoes of music and laughter threading through the air. But when I open my eyes, all of that disappears, and I’m left staring at Hawthorn Manor once again. My heart aches for the promise of what might have been, for the life Nate and I thought we could rebuild here. But it’s hard to cling to hope when so much has happened in such a short period of time.

I reach the remnants of a massive tree, its warped branches stretching toward the sky like stiff, arthritic fingers. I try to recapture the optimism we had when we bought this place, that idea that we could mend what was broken, but the memory feels so far away; time is cruel like that. George Hawthorn, so famed for his generosity and sense of whimsy, now seems tangled in something much darker—those skulls, that hidden chest, the panic and fear seen in Paula and Penny. None of it aligns with the image I had of him.

My thoughts remain on Penny Lark. That entire experience only confused me more. Even talking to Shannon for some guidance hasn’t exactly eased the knot in my chest. It appears there are so many secrets hidden within the walls of my own home; it almost makes me feel like a vagabond, like someone without a true home at all.

My mind then falls to the map and key. How do I connect them to George, to this place, to everything I’ve seen? I pause at the edge of the neglected garden, my gaze roaming the horizon as I try to anchor myself. There’s no straightforward next step. Penny was my best lead, and now I’m left with nothing but bigger questions.

When I return to the kitchen, my coffee has gone cold. My mind drifts toward the police again—whether it’s foolish or not, it’s the only option left. Maybe I’m naive, but I want to believe there’s still a semblance of justice out there, that not every officer is corrupt or dismissive. I rinse my mug in the sink, then snatch up my keys, deciding once and for all: I’ll go to the police station. If anyone can find out what ‘s really going on at the Lark residence, it’s them.

I drive through the quiet streets of Mount Dora, the morning sun spilling across the pavement. When I reach the station, there’s chaos—a swirl of uniforms, sirens reflecting off the white building. Chief Miller is leading a group of officers into the parking lot. He’s just climbing into his cruiser when he notices me pulling up.

“Margot?” he calls. “What are you doing here?”

His voice sounds worn-out, like he’s been awake for far too long. “I need a favor,” I begin, my nerves jangling. “But… what’s going on?”

He sighs, looking deflated. “We found a body.”

My chest tightens. “A body? Oh my god. My thing can wait. Please go do what you need to do.”

His gaze sharpens, and I feel him measuring my reaction. “Awkwardly enough, Margot, I was heading to Hawthorn Manor right now.”

I can feel my face betraying my surprise. “Hawthorn– but I was just there? There are no bodies. None that I know of.”

“The body wasn’t found at Hawthorn Manor, but the last person to see the victim alive lives there.”

For a moment, I have no idea what he’s talking about, but the instant he takes in another breath, I know what words are going to come out of his mouth. “Penny Lark,” he says. “Widow, lived off Hilton Avenue. We found her face down in Lake Dora.”

Shock widens my eyes. Just yesterday I saw Penny smashing her head against the floor in her missing son’s bedroom—unhinged, but alive.

“I—” I can’t find the words.

Miller continues, “She had water in her lungs, so she definitely drowned. But she also had defensive wounds, clumps of hair missing… her face was beaten nearly beyond recognition. And here’s the strangest part: Penny used to teach swimming lessons at the local summer camp. Just about every kid in town learned to swim from her. So how does a swim instructor drown in a lake the day after you visit her home?”

My stomach twists as his words sink in.

“You were seen at her house,” he says carefully. “And we have witnesses placing you by the lake, multiple times; some even reporting suspicious behavior on your part. Those are some odd coincidences, Margot. I was on my way to speak with you so that we could make some sense of this.”

My knees feel weak. “You think I… had something to do with her death?” I manage, my voice almost breaking.

He runs a hand over his hair, looking uncertain. “I think you should tread lightly. We don’t know each other well, but your name keeps showing up on my desk—first with this missing skulls event, now with a drowning victim. Either you have terrible luck or something is going on with you that appears to put this town’s citizens at risk.”

I know I need to say something, but my lips are frozen in place. I have no idea where to even begin.

“Why don’t you come inside? I also need to speak with your husband. Can you have him to come down as well, please?”

I stare at the pavement. “Nate’s in DC. He has been for days.”

Chief Miller gives me that same pitying look I got from the police after Lila died, the one that sets my nerves on edge. I feel the old panic creeping over me—facing accusations, seeing suspicion in the eyes of those I hoped would help. My mind reels, replaying the fiasco from years ago when everyone turned on me over Lila’s case, whispering that I’d failed to protect her; which… was true.

It’s happening again, I realize, that feeling of the world closing in. Fear locks my legs in place. If they suspect me, it could ruin my life. After everything I’ve worked for, fought for—could I lose it all again?

“Am I under arrest, Chief?”

He looks uncomfortable, pausing for a moment too long. “No, you’re not under arrest. I’d simply like to get to the bottom of what happened to Ms. Lark. I believe, based on information we’ve gathered, that you may have pertinent information to piece together the truth. We’re just talking.”

The phrase is like a gun that jolts me out of my state of inaction. I know those words, I’ve heard them before– two years ago, from the Anne Arundel County Police Department, when Lila was found dead. The words fall out of my mouth before I can fully comprehend what wheels they’ll likely set in motion.

“I’ll need to speak to my lawyer first.”