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Chapter 25

S omehow, I managed to make my way out of the lake, back across the fields, and over the fence. The next thing I knew I was on the road. I looked around, feeling lost, unmoored, trying to ascertain where I was. I’d gone numb, my brain buzzing in my head, and I couldn’t think straight. Waves of shock and grief and fear slammed me from every direction, but another part of my brain shouted at me through the storm.

Someone has Peter’s phone. . . .

Probably the same person who did this....

The person who killed him and stuffed him in a beaver dam on Mr. Cleburne’s lake.

My heart rammed my chest. I tried to catch my breath but couldn’t. Maybe Peter hadn’t even meant to leave me in the first place. Maybe he’d just needed a break that morning, and someone had taken him. Maybe they had taken him and killed him that very first day. But why? Why would anyone do that to him? Peter was just a regular guy. An honest guy. He wasn’t mixed up in any trouble. It made no sense.

I felt like screaming, but I was too busy gulping the air necessary to keep my legs moving. To keep me upright until I could get back to my car and think. Make a plan, make a plan, make a plan. A plan would give me purpose. A plan would keep me from falling apart. The next thing I knew I was back in the Jeep with no memory of how I’d gotten there. I was reeling, but I had to get control. I had to keep my wits about me. I should go now. Get Mere and run like hell.

But...

Make a plan, make a plan . . .

I forced my brain to slow down. Was running really the smartest move? They’d be watching me, whoever had done this. Watching for any hint that I knew about Peter. Dammit. Why had I taken off the Jeep’s top back at home? All I wanted to do was shut myself inside it, away from the outside world, away from everything.

And then another wave of shock hit me.

The other remains. Found, right here at the mill, where I sat now, by Deputy Inman. Wren Street had been threatened, and supposedly she moved away to California. But she wasn’t in California—something in me knew it now. Wren Street was dead, just like Peter. And after she’d been killed, the killer used her phone to text her family members, just like Peter.

Peter.

Peter . . .

Hands shaking, I clawed through my purse, looking for the card Deputy Inman had given me. I finally found it and dialed the number. It rang and rang, finally going to voicemail.

“Hi, Deputy Inman,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s Billie Hope. We spoke a few weeks ago.” I swallowed with difficulty. “I just wanted to call and tell you that I just . . . I did see something unusual . . .” I shut my mouth, suppressing the sob that crawled up my throat. “. . . and I wanted to let you know. Please call me as soon as you can.”

I started the car, threw it into gear, and spun out of the lot, my tires kicking up a cloud of dust and spitting gravel. All I could think of was Mere. I needed her, needed to feel the solid, precious weight of my daughter filling my arms. But she was smart. She would pick up on my horror. I couldn’t come in, guns blazing. I had to pull myself together.

I stomped the gas, hitting ninety, and as I flew down the deserted highway, the wind lashing my hair around me, I let out a scream. I screamed and screamed into the rushing wind, tears streaming down my face, pushing out the horror, pushing out the disbelief, my heart feeling like it had been lit with a fuse and had exploded right inside my chest.

And then, when there was nothing left inside me, I went quiet. It was in that blankness that my brain told me something. I needed a friend. Someone to talk to, someone I could trust. Someone who understood the way this town worked, the intricacies and habits of the old guard. Who might understand how Peter had inadvertently made himself a target.

I thought of my mother, but just as quickly discarded the idea. She was a million miles away in Maine, praying at vespers or weeding the vegetable patch with Edge or throwing money in Uncle Jimbo’s collection plate. She had no way of getting down here. And I wasn’t about to put her in the line of fire of these people. These dangerous people. I’d rather die.

Lilah was definitely my best friend here in Juliana, but Mere was still with her, and I couldn’t risk Mere hearing about this. She might be in danger, too, as well as me. Not that I understood why. But I didn’t have time for why right now. I had to do something.

A thought pierced through the fog in my brain. Alice . Alice Tilton knew Peter—maybe the only person in Juliana who did—and now that I’d watched all the tapes, I felt like I knew her as well. I was unsure about dragging someone else into this situation, but Alice was worried about Wren, too. Enough to turn to Peter. She could have some information that could help.

She was my best bet. My only bet. I would have to take a chance on trusting her. I called Lilah to make sure Mere hadn’t worn out her welcome there. Lilah told me not to worry, she could keep Mere as long as I needed. I thanked her and headed to Alice’s.

* * *

Alice lived in a small bungalow a few blocks away from the main ring of Victorian mansions that clustered around the square. The house was a sturdy little red brick with a deep, shaded porch. A welcome mat at the front door said ALL Y’ALL. I rang the bell realizing suddenly how terrible I must look—sopping wet from the waist down, hair wild, and eyes red from crying. But I couldn’t worry about that. Peter’s wedding band burned in my pocket.

“Billie.” Alice stood in her doorway, face flushed, a questioning look in her eyes. She was dressed in a lavender yoga ensemble, her hair up. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

“Can I come in?”

She nodded, looking confused, then stepped aside, opening the door to me. I slipped in quickly, hoping no one had seen me. Wishful thinking, especially here in Juliana where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Alice shut the door behind me.

“Are you alone?” I asked her.

Her eyes filled with alarm. “Yes. What’s—”

“My husband is dead,” I announced unceremoniously. “Peter is dead. I just found his body in the Cleburnes’ lake.”

Her mouth dropped open, and her face went white. “ What? ”

“I saw him. His body. I left him there.” A sob escaped my throat. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I couldn’t believe I was upright.

“Oh, Billie. Oh no.” She shook her head in confusion. “But what were you doing at the Cleburnes’ lake?”

“I was—” I thought quickly, deciding not to include Major’s part in the story. Not until I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could trust Alice fully. “It’s a long story. Peter and I have been having problems. He left me two weeks ago, but it just seemed like he was hitting the pause button, so we could both think and untangle some stuff.”

She looked blindsided.

“Anyway, I was just looking around the area, at the lake, and I found him near the shore. He was wedged into a beaver dam. I don’t know how long he’s been dead. Could be the whole two weeks. His body was unrecognizable.” I’d started crying again.

Alice was trembling. Her hand had gone to her mouth.

“I found this.” I held up the black wedding band. “It’s Peter’s. The one I gave to him on our wedding day. There’s an inscription inside.”

She took the band, inspected it, then handed it back to me. She hugged me then, hard. I felt myself quaking in her arms, clinging to her.

She drew back. “I don’t even know what to say—I can’t believe it. I wondered what was going on when he cancelled our appointments. He just said he was traveling. Have you called the police?”

“Yes. I left a message with a deputy I know.” I was shaking violently by now, and she made me sit. “But I wanted to tell you.” I took a deep breath. “I know it was wrong, but I watched your sessions with Peter. I know about Wren and the trustafarians and the gold mine.”

“Oh.” Alice’s face was frozen.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Let me fix you some tea.”

She went to the kitchen and in a few minutes brought back a mug, but I found I couldn’t touch it. I didn’t think I could even swallow down the liquid. She sat beside me, her eyes blazing, and I told her about the remains they’d found at the mill. About Deputy Inman questioning me and Sheriff Childers taking the case from him.

“Honestly,” I said, “I’m starting to believe they might be Wren Street’s. The remains at the mill.”

The truth dawned in Alice’s eyes. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Yes. The death threat she got. You’re right, Billie. You have to be. She’s not in California. She’s here. She’s still here.”

“And I think the same person who killed Peter probably killed Wren.”

“Yes.” She was thinking.

“But who? Who would do something like that? And why? Does it have something to do with the gold mine? With what she believed about General Sherman killing people in Juliana?”

“I don’t know.”

“The old guard would know,” I said.

She gave me an odd look. “The old guard? Why would you say that?”

I felt a spike of frustration at her naivete. “Come on, Alice. Sheriff Childers shut down any sort of investigation. He was obviously trying to hide something from Deputy Inman and the rest of the town, probably because that’s what the old guard told him to do. Those families run this town. Don’t act like you don’t know it.”

“Just because they run things doesn’t mean they’d kill someone. Are you kidding me? I mean, Mayor Dixie? Major or Toby? There’s no way. It’s laughable. And the Dalzell girls would never. Ox is too old, and James Cleburne is in a freaking wheelchair—”

“What about Jamie?” I interrupted.

She gaped at me. “Jamie kill Wren and Peter? No. No way. Why would he do such a thing?”

“You tell me.” I leveled a look at her. “You were best friends with Wren, Peter was your therapist, and you used to date Jamie. You’re the connection between all three.”

Her eyes filled with disbelief. “Billie—”

“I’m not saying you’re to blame, but I am saying you could be the key. You may know something and not even realize it.”

“What about you?” She jumped up. “According to talk around this place, you and Jamie have gotten a little too friendly. Maybe he killed Peter because he wants you for himself!”

“Fuck you,” I snapped, and jumped up, too.

“Fuck you, too,” she retorted.

We glared at each other from across her living room. One tension-thick minute passed, then another. I finally glanced over at her.

“Do you really think that’s what happened?” I asked.

Alice heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. No. I was just . . . I’m sorry, Billie. This is awful and I shouldn’t have said that.”

“There’s more. Right after I found him, Peter texted me.”

Fear flashed in her eyes. “What?”

“I received a text from his phone, telling me he wanted a divorce. While I was looking at his body.” I held out my phone to her.

Her eyes dropped down to the phone, then back up to me. “No.”

“Not only did someone kill him, they’re pretending to be him in texts with me. They’re buying time.”

“For what?”

“So I don’t get Mere and get the fuck out of this town.” I jumped up again, started pacing. “I don’t know how long I want to wait for this deputy to call me back. I think I can trust him, but the sheriff is another story. I’m taking a chance just being here with you.”

“You can trust me, Billie. I swear.”

I nodded. “I do know this . . . Whoever killed Peter is watching me. I need to leave, now.”

“I think we just need to calm down and think,” Alice said. “If Wren really was murdered and then Peter, and they’re watching you now, that’s all they’re doing. If they wanted you dead, you’d already be dead, right?”

She had a point. I’d been alone plenty of times in the past two weeks. If Jamie was the killer, if the old guard wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be standing here in Alice’s living room. I’d be with Peter in the shallows of the lake. Or buried in a shallow grave like Wren.

“On the other hand,” she said, “if you run, they’ll know for sure you know about Peter, and who knows what they’ll do. Right now, staying here in Juliana, you’ve got the advantage. They don’t know you know.”

She had a point. My brain raced. “Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to get me and Mere ready to go and wait for Inman to call me back. Whatever he says, I’ll do.”

In the meantime, I could at least try to figure out what had happened to Peter, and why, without raising suspicion. I thought of Emmaline Dalzell, whom I’d seen in the kitchen at Eats.

“Did you talk to any of the Dalzell girls about your concerns for Wren? If all this has to do with her, maybe they could tell us something. They were friends with her.”

Alice looked doubtful. “I went to school with Justine, the oldest, but we were never that close.”

“And they’re Dalzells.”

She pursed her lips. “They are, but it’s complicated. Ox protects his money like Rumpelstiltskin on his pile of gold. The girls barely speak to him. That’s why they gravitated to Wren and her rich friends from New York, I think. The freedom they had—the way they could just throw away the expectations of their families and live the life they chose. I’m not sure they’re in the old guard loop, is what I’m saying.”

I moved to the door.

“Wait.” Alice stepped toward me. “You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”

“Alice, I don’t want you involved in this.”

“I already am involved. They know you’re here right now. You know it’s true. They probably even know about me talking to Peter. So whatever happens to you is probably going to happen to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. But we should go.”

I watched her as she started to gather her keys, phone, and purse; then she paused.

“One more thing . . .” She looked slightly uncomfortable.

“What?”

“You should probably text Peter back. Like you believe it’s him. So they don’t get suspicious.”

I looked at her, stricken.

“I’m so sorry, Billie, but you really should, I think.”

My eyes filled with tears. How could I do that? How could I text my husband like I believed he was still alive? It seemed impossible. “What do I say?”

She thought for a moment. “Just tell him whatever it is you never got to say.”

I pulled out my phone, blinded by the tears. I can’t accept it’s over between us, Peter, I typed, fingers shaking. I looked up, breathless, feeling faint. Alice nodded encouragingly.

I focused on the screen. I won’t. We’ve been through too much. We have loved too fully and completely. You are my life. I took a deep breath. You are my everything. I’m begging you to call me.

I handed the phone to Alice. She read the message, nodded, and hit send. We stood there for a minute, waiting for something to happen. For someone to reply. But no one did.