Page 164 of The Lost and Found Girl

Secret princess or an heiress of some kind.

Yes, of course she had thought of that.

And there were enough books on the subject that it seemed like it had happened sometimes. She had thought—really—that it might be true when she was maybe thirteen. She had thought that perhaps her love of soft pillows and England related to her potential status as monarchy. But in the end she had been forced to admit that a missing princess would have likely been headline news enough that she would at least be able to find out which one she was and coordinate dates.

No such luck.

Come to that, if she were anyone who had been reported missing, it was likely that the news stories from when she was found would have alerted people.

It wasn’t like she needed those kinds of childish, easy fantasies. She didn’t. But the alternative brought back that hollow feeling.

And so she pushed it off to the side, and imagined it flying away on the wind, because she did not need to wallow in sadness of any kind.

She wandered into the living room and looked out the windows there, wrapping her arms around herself, and then she caught sight of some movement in the trees. She took a step back and kept on staring. Wondering if it was a deer or maybe a bear. She sort of hoped so. She was in the market for a little bit of adventure.

But the movement continued, and when the figure moved into a clearing, it was not a bear.

There was a man standing here.

But it wasn’t an old man. He was young, tall with dark hair and a dark beard. She couldn’t make out his facial features from that distance, but she saw the moment that he saw her. Watching him through the window. He didn’t move, and neither did she. And then, with a trickling sort of dread, she realized exactly who she was looking at.

She turned sharply, slamming her back against the wall, making it so she couldn’t be seen from where he stood. She huffed out a breath that turned into a laugh, her heart hammering against her chest. Because of course he would have seen her. That she had scrambled and hid. And the front door was unlocked, so if he wanted to come and investigate, if he wanted to get to her... There was no barrier.

But she stayed like that, frozen for two whole minutes. And when she turned back to look out the window, she didn’t see him at all.

She texted Dahlia, who was at the local coffee shop working on an article, and Ruby met her there and relayed the story over caffeine.

“Do you think you hallucinated it?” she asked.

“No, I’m sure that he was there. Ninety percent. I’m not usually given to hallucinating the existence of men.”

“Do you think it washim?” Dahlia asked.

“I don’t know,” Ruby said. “I mean, it would make most sense. Unless his dad hired someone to...”

“John Brewer died,” Dahlia said. “A month ago.”

“Oh,” Ruby said.

“So I mean, it could be a new owner, it could be... I don’t know what they ended up doing with the property. I didn’t see it go up for sale, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t sold.” Dahlia pulled a face. “I’m not really up for living next to a murderer.”

“I mean, we don’t know if he’s a murderer.”

Dahlia scoffed. “Rubes, he was her boyfriend. He was the last person to see her alive. He’s...well, it’s almost always the intimate partner, that’s just a fact.”

Ruby looked down into her coffee. “Or he isn’t.”

She didn’t know why she felt the need to defend him. She never had before.

“This isn’tJane Eyre. If a man locks his mad wife in the attic, he’s a monster, not a hero.”

“Speaking in metaphor, obviously,” Ruby said.

“Obviously.”

Ruby looked around the café. “I’m headed over to the museum today.”

“I didn’t think you started until Monday.”