Page 187 of Our Little Secret

Seattle, Washington

The Next Christmas

With Shep following, Brooke finished her run through the park, crossed the street, and walked into her quiet house. She was breathless from the run, her clothes damp from the predawn fog. “Fun, huh?” she said to the dog before drying his rough coat with a towel.

As Shep drank from his water bowl, she stretched, rotated her neck, and didn’t like hearing the pops as she tilted her head. She filled the coffee maker with ground beans and water, hit the Start button, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Hers alone.

Neal had moved out months ago. Even his office was hers now.

She ran through the shower, shampooed her hair, and rinsed her body, then pulled on a sweatshirt and yoga pants and let her hair dry naturally.

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee called to her as she headed downstairs and poured herself a cup. Cradling the warm mug, she stared at the gray dawn, the lights of Seattle visible through the rising fog, the broken fountain still a lonely sentinel in the backyard.

She hit a switch on the wall and the Christmas tree, not as tall as in previous years, sparkled with its tiny, twinkling lights glowing, the bright star on the top a shining beacon.

For better days.

For better weeks.

For better years.

The past twelve months had been a roller coaster. Neal had moved out in January, after the horrid debacle over Gideon/Eli had been put to rest. But at least the truth had come out.

Neal had confessed that he and Leah had never stopped loving each other, and the “star-crossed” aspect of the relationship had played to her sister’s theatrical side. For months, even years, they would stop seeing each other, but eventually they couldn’t fight their attraction or some such nonsense and would spend a hot weekend together.

Disgusting.

But she couldn’t complain too much; she too had stepped out of her marriage and she’d taken up with a murderer who had died on the beach of Piper Island. At her hand. A lot had come out about the man she’d met in Pike Place Market, none of it good. The police, using the information she’d gathered while squaring off with him last Christmas along with their own investigation, assured her that most likely he’d killed his family and Emme Cosgrove, whose body had yet to be found. The authorities, both in Polynesia and the United States, were working on it, information and logs found on theMedusa, which had been stored in a barn in North Bend, on the Oregon coast, adding to their case.

Marilee had opted to come home.

The trauma at the cabin last Christmas had convinced her that she wanted to be close to family, so she’d returned to Allsworth, a bit of a heroine, a girl with a fascinating if horrifying story to tell. She wasn’t happy that her parents were split, on the road to divorce, but she was handling it. And she wasn’t exactly innocent. Marilee, always into all things technical, had admitted that she’d made the anonymous calls and texts, sending them from a burner phone Nick Paszek had helped her procure. She’d known “Gideon” wasn’t on the up and up. She’d cut school on the very day Brooke met him. She’d happened on her mother at Pike Place Market and had hidden behind a fish stand because she didn’t want to be caught. Then she’d seen the exchange between Gideon and Brooke and followed them. While Brooke had ignored the warning signs and done little research on him, Marilee had dug as deep as she could. Though she hadn’t known him to be a murderer, she’d found out he had another identity that was soon scrubbed from the Internet, at least as far as she could check.

Marilee had discovered Brooke’s burner phone in the Explorer. Rebelling, she thought she would pay her too-strict mother back with her pranking texts rather than confront Brooke face-to-face. Marilee had come to regret it.

Now, Brooke walked into the living room where she saw a picture of Nana and her mother on the back deck of the cabin. Taken years before, they were both wearing sunglasses, seated in deck chairs.

The island property was not up for sale.

Leah, Neal, and Brooke had come to an uneasy agreement. Brooke had made the decision that the place would be put into Marilee’s name when she turned twenty-five. Legally, Neal had no say in what would happen to the cabin, and Leah had eagerly taken Brooke’s cash offer to sell what little interest she had left in it. If the island cabin held too many traumatic memories or if she just wanted the cash, Marilee would be free to sell it.

Brooke had decided to let go.

She heard footsteps on the floor above and Marilee, in pajamas, her hair falling out of a loose ponytail, yawned on the upper landing. “Merry Christmas,” she called down as Shep hurried up the steps to greet her.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Dad coming over?” Marilee asked hopefully.

“Of course. In a couple of hours.”

“Good.”

Was it? Brooke didn’t know, but she and Neal were trying to be civil to each other, even kind. They had a daughter to think of, and though it was difficult they had to tamp down their egos, frustrations, and fears and try to work things out. If it was possible. She wasn’t sure.

As for his affair with Leah? It seemed to be on the rocks. Because of the lack of drama, Brooke figured. As long as Leah could play the tragic, wounded figure and hers was a star-crossed love, she was into it. When it was real life andshewas the other woman? Not so much.

Marilee stretched. “I’ll be down in a sec.”