Page 42 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

The barn is positioned at the end of a narrow valley with a river cutting through the center of it.

As we wend our way toward it, Connor brightens at the sight of several horses grazing in large paddocks.

Kez’s father, Easy, was the one to recommend it.

It doesn’t have a formal equine therapy program, but the owner still embraces the theory of healing through animals and nature.

I called ahead on our way here, and the owner is waiting for us by a small gravel parking lot. She introduces herself and takes Connor to meet several of the horses.

Lanny and I hang back, our earlier conversation hanging awkwardly between us. “I didn’t see Rowan on the dock,” I tell her.

She glances my way quizzically.

“I was so busy chasing after you, I didn’t notice her. But you did. You clocked her right away, and your gut told you she was a potential threat. You were right.”

She shrugs.

“And then when you saw her, you knew immediately to go to the house and get Connor. You reacted instantly to protect your brother and yourself. ”

“It’s what you always taught us to do.”

“You did good, Lanny. Not just this time, but before too. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

She nods. “Thanks.”

Her response is distant, and I can still see the stings from earlier. The owner of the barn offers Connor the chance to ride one of the horses. He eagerly accepts, and Lanny and I sit on a bench in the indoor arena as Connor tacks up a Paint mare and leads her into the ring.

It’s impossible not to notice the shift in Connor once he mounts the horse.

His shoulders relax, his expression softens, and he handles the reins with quiet confidence.

At one point, the Paint veers toward the center of the ring, and he gently corrects her.

I can’t catch his exact words, but I can hear the way he murmurs to her, keeping up a constant stream of lilting conversation.

The horse snorts at something he says, and Connor laughs.

I realize, then, how little he’s laughed lately.

Our house used to be loud and rambunctious.

The kids used to argue and make up. Lanny used to blare music, and at times I swore Connor could nearly bring the house down with the bass rumbling from his video games.

I think about what it will be like next year if Lanny goes away to college. And then, years down the line, when Connor leaves as well, and it’s just me and Sam and the emptiness.

I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. But as both of my kids have recently pointed out, they’re going to grow up with or without my permission. My job is to make sure they’re ready for whatever comes next.

Today, Lanny proved that she is.

“I cried when I found those acceptance letters,” I tell her.

She shifts as though physically withdrawing from the conversation. I put a hand on her leg to stop her. “I was so damn proud of you, Lanny. I am proud of you. To see all those colleges—some of the best in the country. Of course, they should want you. You’re amazing.”

Her mouth twitches in a smile, but she still doesn’t look at me. She’s watching Connor as he nudges the horse into a trot and then a canter.

“And yes, I cried at the thought of you going away to school. No parent is ever ready to let go of their kid. But mostly, I cried that you felt like you couldn’t share that with me.

I think about what it was like when you got that first acceptance letter—the elation you must have felt—and I hate that I wasn’t there with you. I will always regret that.

“I wish I could tell you that I would have supported you one hundred percent, but I don’t know if that’s true. But I need you to know that I support you now. Absolutely and unequivocally.”

She reaches over and slips her fingers through mine, holding my hand tight. “Thank you, Mom.”

“Though you should know that New Haven has a terrible reputation when it comes to crime,” I add.

As I’d hoped, she laughs, some of the tension between us fracturing and splintering.

The moment is broken when my phone vibrates with an incoming call. I check the number. It’s Gutierrez. I wince. “I have to take this,” I tell Lanny. I’m already up and making my way toward the large double doors leading outside when I answer.

“This is Gwen,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and even despite my fluttering heart. I can’t imagine why he’d be calling and it has me worried.

“Ms. Proctor, hello,” says a familiar, deep voice. “This is Detective Gutierrez from the Knoxville PD. I heard about the incident at your house up near Norton with the SWAT team. I wanted to check in to see how you’re doing.”

As far as excuses go, it’s not a bad one. “We’re okay, thank you.”

“I didn’t realize you and Mr. Cade had left town. ”

I can’t tell if he means for the statement to be accusatory, but I feel defensive, nevertheless. “No one told us we couldn’t.”

“Oh, you’re right. No formal charges have been filed. Though we do like to keep tabs on persons of interest when we can.”

I’m still bristling. “Get a court order, and we’ll be happy to keep you updated.”

He chuckles. “I hear that’s a beautiful area. How long you guys been up there?”

If he’s fishing, I’m not interested. “What can I do for you, Detective Gutierrez?”

I can hear the smile in his voice. It’s as if he appreciates my directness. “I’m hoping you might have a minute to answer a couple of questions for me.”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“I can’t answer that for you, Ms. Proctor. Are you requesting one?” If I tell him yes, that will be the end of the conversation, and I still won’t know why he’s calling. My gut is telling me this is information I should know.

“Not yet,” I tell him. “What’s your question?”

“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to ask you where you were last night.”

I frown. This isn’t at all where I expected the conversation to go. I’m instantly suspicious. “Why? What happened last night?”

“Your house burned down.” He says it so bluntly it takes a minute for me to process and understand.

I blink, still not sure I heard him right. “Excuse me?”

“The house you were renting—where Leonard Varrus was murdered. A fire broke out a little before eleven last night. Burned it clean to the ground.”

I’m still so stunned by the news that I’m not sure what to say. “What? How?”

“Looks like arson. ”

I lean against the outside wall of the barn. This doesn’t make any sense. “But why?”

Gutierrez clears his throat. “We were hoping maybe you could help with that.”

Now, I understand his earlier questions, including his interest in our having moved to Stillhouse Lake. “You think Sam or I had something to do with it.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Not necessarily. Though it would be a convenient way to dispose of evidence.”

“Except that you already cleared the scene,” I point out.

“Maybe we missed something. Now, we’ll never know.”

From his tone, it’s clear we’re serious suspects. “Sam and I were both home last night.”

“You got anyone who can back that up?” he asks.

“My kids.” Though the last thing I want to do is drag them into this.

“Anyone of legal age?” he clarifies.

“We had a detective on the Norton Police Department and her partner, a Marine reservist, over for dinner. They left around eleven. I was up by five. One of our neighbors can verify that.”

“Mr. Cade was with you?”

“The entire time.” That should be enough to clear us from the suspect list. “Now, if that’s all?—”

“I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that,” he says.

Irritation flashes through me. “Of course, it is. It always is,” I say dryly.

“The arson investigator says a timer was used on the incendiary device. I’m afraid I’ll need your whereabouts for more than just last night.”

I press my fingers to my forehead. I think about the hours Sam has spent away from home. The late night last week. Not that I think he had anything to do with this, but filling in the gaps of his whereabouts won’t be easy. “We’ll have to discuss that with our lawyer and get back to you on that.”

“We also found partial human remains.”

He says it so bluntly that it catches me completely off guard. “What?”

“Human remains,” he says again.

The words leave me speechless. I instantly think about my kids, but obviously, it can’t be either of them. They’re both in the barn. I saw Sam this morning, so clearly, they’re not his remains.

With a clawing panic, I think: Vee . She treated our house like her own. She had her own key, her own alarm code. She also had her own apartment, but that never stopped her from staying over half the time. She preferred the water pressure at our house.

I press my fingers to my eyes. What if the landlord still hadn’t changed the locks? Vee wouldn’t care that we’d been kicked off the lease. If the house was empty, she’d consider it an invitation to do whatever she wanted.

“Hold on,” I tell Gutierrez.

I lower the phone from my ear and immediately pull up Vee on my location app. She’s at the tattoo shop. Still, she could have just left her phone there after work. I text her.

Gwen

I need to know you’re okay.

Three dots appear, indicating she’s typing. I nearly collapse with relief.

Vee

Whatsup Ms P?

Gwen

Nothing. It’s okay.

Vee

Nice to know your paranoia hasn’t worn off;)

I return to the call with Gutierrez. “My family’s safe. Have you checked in with the landlord? Maybe he was there or already rented the place out?”

“I’m sorry, I can understand the confusion. You misunderstand. The remains aren’t recent,” he clarifies. “Whoever they belonged to has been dead for a while. The only thing left were bones.”

And then, suddenly, I know who the body must belong to: Melvin Royal.

“Melvin,” I say, my voice barely audible.

A shudder rolls through me. Was it possible his body was in the house while we were still living there? Surely not. Surely, it was left by whoever set the fire. I swallow the bile clawing at the back of my throat.