Page 51 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

On my way back to the airport, I check in with Sam. He and the kids are over at Kez and Javi’s, helping to put the finishing touches on the nursery. He lets me know that all is well and says he hasn’t noticed anything suspicious.

“Were you able to learn anything from the cemetery?” he asks.

“I’m fairly sure I know when his body was taken.

Someone salted the ground over his grave right around the Fourth of July a year and a half ago.

They had to pull up the dead grass and nearly a foot of dirt to make sure they got it all.

The caretaker then went on vacation, but when he got back, he said the ground was churned up.

He chalked it up to someone loosening the dirt to prep the area for the new sod and didn’t think twice about it. ”

“But you don’t think that’s what happened?”

“It would have been the perfect time for someone to dig up Melvin’s body. The grass had already been pulled up, and the area was already disturbed. They could have snuck in, dug up the coffin, and replaced it without having to worry about putting the grass back down perfectly.”

“Okay, so Fourth of July. We have a date. How does that help? ”

“He also said a woman used to visit the grave regularly before then. But after the Fourth of July, she never came again.”

“Were they able to describe her?”

I snort. “No. The caretaker only ever saw her from afar, and the guy in the office couldn’t remember her well enough to describe her.

But it was Rowan, I’m sure of it. I already reached out to Taylor.

Now that we have a general timeframe, I asked her to look into where Rowan was and what she was doing during that time.

Once I have that, I’ll call Mike and let him know.

He’ll make sure the other agents listen and don’t ignore what I have to say.

If they can’t figure out how Rowan robbed that grave, we will.

And when we do, we’ll finally clear you once and for all. ”

“You think it will be that easy?” he asks.

Nothing is ever easy, not when it comes to our lives. But maybe this time we’ll catch a break. “A girl can dream,” I tell him.

At the airport, I return the rental car and just clear security when I get a text from Taylor.

Taylor

Looked into Rowan’s whereabouts during the timeframe you asked about:

There’s a link, and I click on it. It takes me to a news article about a cybersecurity convention in Wichita over the Fourth of July weekend. Rowan was one of the scheduled speakers.

I gasp out loud and reread the article twice, unable to believe my eyes. Rowan was in Wichita—less than two hours away from the cemetery—when Melvin’s grave was robbed. I shake my head in disbelief. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry with relief.

I immediately call Mike. “I have your killer,” I tell him.

“Gwen, hi, good to hear from you.”

“Mike, I know who the serial killer is. I know who’s trying to set Sam up.” I must be talking a little too animatedly because I get some strange looks from people as I make my way through the terminal to my gate.

“Okay, I’ll bite.”

“Rowan Applegate.”

He’s silent a moment. “I don’t think so, Gwen.”

“Look, I know female serial killers are rare, but it has to be her. Hear me out: she’s a hacker, so she could have easily gotten ahold of Sam’s flight schedule.

She was near Knoxville when Leo Varrus was killed.

She was in Stillhouse Lake when the Belldenes’ compound exploded, and when that woman’s body was found in the lake.

And get this, I just visited the cemetery where Melvin was buried and I got a timeframe for when the grave was likely robbed.

It lines up with when Rowan was nearby on a work trip.

It can’t be a coincidence, Mike. It’s her, I know it is. ”

“Rowan isn’t behind those murders.”

“But how can you say that? If you just look at?—”

“Rowan is dead.”

I blink. There’s no way I heard that correctly. “What?”

“She was murdered, Gwen.”

My steps slow to a stop. I’m in the middle of the terminal, harried travelers flowing around me like water. “How?”

“We’re still waiting on the details, but they found her body floating in?—”

“Stillhouse Lake,” I finish, somehow knowing that’s what he was about to say. She was the one they were asking about this morning. A shiver passes through me as an ache spreads through my gut.

“Yes,” he says.

A man in a business suit nearly clips my shoulder and curses under his breath.

I continue walking slowly toward my gate.

“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t the one responsible for everything else,” I argue.

“She still could have killed all those stalkers. She could have been the one to murder Leonard Varrus.” I’m grasping at straws .

“They found a bone, Gwen. Presumably, one of Melvin’s. It was in her throat.”

“Oh, God,” I say under my breath. Rowan may have been my enemy, but she was also a mom. She had two kids, practically the same ages as mine.

“It looks like she was a victim, just like the others.”

All my optimism crumbles around me. I was so convinced I’d found the culprit. How could I have been so wrong?

“She’s dead because of me.” I feel hollow inside. “Just like the others.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mike is quick to say.

“I should have warned her. I knew the killer was targeting my enemies. It’s obvious she’d be at the top of that list. I just…”

I trail off, remembering Sam coming home late the night before, covered in mud. Another enemy vanquished. Another time when Sam doesn’t have an alibi. This can’t be happening. I refuse to believe it.

“You just what, Gwen?” Mike asks, prodding me to finish the thought.

It takes me a moment to remember what I was saying. “I thought Rowan was the killer. I was so sure.”

She was the best suspect. Everything lined up. Now, I realize she must have been set up, the same as Sam. The killer has been playing us all, sending us down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, making us chase our tails and get nowhere.

“What now?” I ask. Something like despair takes root inside me, sitting heavily on my heart. I thought we were close to the end. I thought there was a light at the end of this nightmare.

“We keep looking.”

“They’re going to pin this on Sam, Mike. There are no other suspects.” It’s starting to feel inevitable.

“I won’t let them.”

“We may not have a choice. ”

I reach the gate, and the agent is already calling final boarding for my flight home. “I have to go, Mike,” I tell him. He hangs up without a goodbye, his usual way of ending calls.

I spend the first half of the flight staring out the window into the gloaming. Below, bright lights surround swaths of darkness, and it reminds me of standing on my deck, looking out at Stillhouse Lake.

I keep picturing Sam coming home last night. I’m trying to remember exactly what he looked like. Was there any blood? Were his pants wet or just muddy? Was there any indication that his disarray could have been caused by trying to subdue Rowan and not changing a flat?

I think about this morning when he told the cops he was home.

And about the security app on my phone that will absolutely show he got in later than he let on.

It’s not proof of his involvement, but it certainly doesn’t exonerate him.

My first instinct was to delete the footage as soon as I got back on WiFi, but now, I’m not so sure.

I lean my head against the window, letting the cool breeze from the air conditioning nozzle overhead wash over me. If I keep digging and I keep finding more proof against Sam, what am I going to do?

Even if he was somehow involved, I know one thing for certain: Sam isn’t a monster.

But that doesn’t mean he may not be guilty of murder.

I pull out my phone, desperate for a distraction from all the questions without answers. The Royal Murders is still queued up on my podcast app—the teaser for the bonus episode Rowan promised.

I wonder if her death means it won’t be released.

I remember, then, the USB drive Madison gave me at our first meeting. The one with all the original episodes from before Rowan took over and re-edited them. I tossed it into my purse when I got the 911 call from Lanny and forgot about it .

Listening to Madison’s original episodes wasn’t a priority. Now, though, I’m curious.

Luckily enough, it’s the kind of USB I can plug into my phone, which makes it quite easy to queue up the episodes. I fit in my earbuds, close my eyes, and press play.

Madison was right. Her original episodes were much more generous toward me—even complimentary at times—which is surprising.

I can only imagine just how much Rowan must have lost her mind when she first heard these.

She must have been apoplectic. No wonder she fired Madison and re-edited everything before releasing it.

Maybe if she’d left well enough alone, she wouldn’t have ended up on my enemies list and become a target for the Sicko Patrol serial killer.

I wonder what will happen to the rest of the unaired podcast episodes now that she’s dead.

I assume there’s some other acolyte in the Lost Angels, ready and willing to take up the mantle of hatred.

Though perhaps they’ll change their mind about coming after me when they realize it might get them killed.

I land in Knoxville and collect my car. It’s cold, colder than it’s been in a while. My breath clouds around me as I text Sam to let him know I’m safe and on my way.

During the drive, I continue listening to Madison’s podcast and am only half-paying attention when I realize she just mentioned Melvin Royal’s grave.

I bolt upright in my seat. Surely, I didn’t hear that correctly. I press the back button before playing it again.