Page 80 of The Souls of Lost Lake

Ava colored. Drat. She lifted her hands to her cheeks. She’d not told a soul, had no intentions of tellin’, even if Jipsy was dead and gone.

The two women eyed each other. The room became thick with their unspoken accusations and defenses. Both breathed a mite heavier than when Ava had first come in. Finally, she dropped her gaze from Sarah’s penetrating one. Water droplets were soaking into her dress from the ice melting through the dish towel she still clutched in her hand.

“Since we bothknowso much about the other’s sins”—Sarah’s words were laced with sarcasm—“perhaps we should just leave the other alone and be done with it.”

Leave each other alone?It was like a small gift in the turmoil for Sarah Sanderson to imply she’d stop stirring the pot alongside of Chuck Weber. But to offer that sure seemed like maybe she’d hit a sore spot and Sarahwashiding something she didn’t want found out. Maybe Ned was right. It was possible, Ava supposed, and if Sarah didn’t want Tempter’s Creek to know her secrets, then...

Pushing up from her chair, Ava determined it was a good time to take her leave before Sarah Sanderson used that kitchen knife on the counter—or maybe that meat cleaver over by the stove—to resolve this conversation in an entirely different fashion.

“You’re leaving?” Sarah’s hand was on the kitchen counter. A few inches away lay a paring knife.

Ava mustered her blandest face. “I think you’re right.” She offered an olive branch. “We’ll just call it even ’tween us.”

Sarah’s fingers twitched.

Ava eyed the paring knife.

“Hardly even, Ava Coons. You’ve accused me of adultery.”

“You’ve accused me of murder,” Ava retorted.

Sarah tilted her head to the side, staring down her nose at Ava. “Humankinddoeshave an affinity for breaking the Ten Commandments, don’t they? However,Iam not one of them.”

Silence.

A bird warbled outside the window.

The paring knife remained where it was.

“Off with you then,” Sarah commanded. “And stay away from me, you hear?”

Ava darted out the back door. No need to test Sarah Sanderson and her paring knife any further than she already had.

33

Wren

“Now’s not the time,” Wren muttered to herself, swiping to ignore Pippin’s call. Her brother could leave a message. He was never great at empathy, and trying to talk through tears was hard enough as it was.

Today drained every ounce of energy from Wren—from the Markham home. She curled at the end of the sofa, a fuzzy blanket over her lap, a wad of tissues in her hand.

“He may need something,” Tristan Blythe said from across the room. Having her own father here helped—a little—but she wondered if he was more capable of being a moral support for Gary than for her. The two widowers would relate in their own way. Patty’s passing had reopened the wounds of Wren’s mother’s passing. Both left voids behind that were unfathomable.

“Pippin can wait,” Wren responded belatedly to her father. And she was right. He could. Still, she swiped to her voicemail screen and read the voice-to-text composition.

Searched for your birth records. Didn’t find anything. You’ll probably want to ... Dad knows ... or at the safe deposit box. Talk later. Bye.

It was a half-translated message but enough to give her pause. So Pippinhadpulled through for her, but his powers with technology had come up short. The knowledge gnawed at her already raw stomach. Wren set her phone on the arm of the sofa, eyed her dad who was chatting quietly with Gary, and pushed the knowledge to the back of her mind.

Her gaze connected with Eddie’s form as he worked in the kitchen. It was his comfort place. He knew what to do in the kitchen. His aide, Esther, was manning the camp’s kitchen for the rest of the week due to Patty’s passing, yet Eddie needed to stay busy.

Wren eased off the couch, tugged her socks on straight, and headed for the kitchen. Dishes clanked together as Eddie pulled them from the dishwasher, clean and ready to put away.

“Need help?” Wren’s question sliced through the emotionally ladened air.

Eddie shook his head. “Nah. I’m just goin’ to make some cookies.”

“Chocolate chip?”