Page 75 of The Premonition at Withers Farm

She laid the journal on the table. Anyone keeping a journal would havehadto have written about the sisters’ murders. Of course, if every page contained only farm records, then maybe it wasn’t a private record of the Withers farm life, but still...

Molly opened the book as her phone rang. She tugged it from her pocket. “Hello?”

“Molly, is that you?” It was Gemma Rabine.

“Yes.”

“I need to find Trent. How do I get ahold of him?” There was an urgency in her voice that put Molly on edge.

“Why?”

“Because I need to. He’s not answering the number Grandpa gave me for him. How do I find him?”

“What do you need him for?” She wasn’t trying to protect Trent from Gemma, but she wasn’t going to just dole out information as to how he could be tracked down via Clapton Bros. Farms, not until Gemma fessed up to what she was after.

“The police pulled some DNA off my sister.” The wobble in Gemma’s voice made Molly still, a foreboding settling in her gut with the weight of a heavy lead anchor. Molly sagged against the booth.

“They haven’t been able to identify who it belongs to, but it’s male.”

“They told you all this?” Molly was trying to wrap her head around the information.

Gemma’s laugh was tainted with a bitter edge. “I’m persistent when it comes to my sister. Anyway, I need to talk to Trent. I need to see who else January was in contact with. She had to have told Trent more than he’s shared.”

Molly felt a small measure of relief. Gemma wasn’t indicating it was Trent’s DNA on January’s remains. She was pursuing an unknown person.

“Gemma—”

“Trent knows more than he’s saying.”

Molly hedged giving Gemma his cell number. It felt like a betrayal of Trent, and after the other night, she didn’t want to undermine the fragile truce that had formed between them. “If Trent’s not answering his phone, then I don’t know how to get ahold of him right now.”

“Sure.” Gemma’s tone told Molly she clearly didn’t believe Molly. “Listen to me, Molly. If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what my husband was up to. Like I said before, the Wasziak family history isn’t as clean and innocent as they would have us believe.”

“There’s nothing to indicate that Trent—” Molly started, but Gemma interrupted.

“You know what else I found?” Gemma asked. She didn’t wait for Molly to reply. “I found out that George Wasziak, the hallowed great-great-grandfather of mine, wasn’t that nice of a guy after all. He actuallyrefusedto cooperate with the police when he was accused of attacking a woman shortly after the second Withers sister’s murder. Remember that name, Van Hilton? Apparently, he did a number on her.”

“Gemma...” Molly stared at the old book on the table. It held little intrigue now, not in the wake of such stunning news.

“Do your own search, Molly. Look up the Wasziak name in the county record and see what they’re hiding. Do it. I dare you.”

Weather is promising.

It will be a full moon.

I would see her face.

Who will dig her grave?

Will she watch me while I dig?

Reminder: need to buy nails to fix chicken coop.

24

Perliett

She shouldn’t be surprised. Not really. Her mother poured tea into a cup, her face set in that solemn, contemplative way it always took on whenever she’d had an “encounter.”