Ruby eased onto the couch, perched forward. On the screen, Blair Bowman was sitting at a table with a man and another woman, discussing the facets of the case. How one of the neighbors was a cop and never should’ve been professionally involved; how he’d tainted the investigation from the start, advising others on what to say and what not to say. How the video evidence did nothing but prove Ruby was in the vicinity—and of course she was, she lived there, it wasn’t a crime to be outside. How witnesses had lied. “The relationships between all of these neighbors were contentious from the start,” the lawyer said, punctuating her point with her hand on the table.
A noise escaped Ruby’s throat, and the tension in my shoulders ratcheted up another notch. It hadn’t been me. I hadn’t lied. I’d been called by the defense—the only neighbor called by their side—to vouch for Ruby, and that was my plan. I thought I’d done the right thing, the good thing.
But in the witness box, in that moment, whatever you were thinking up to that point, it changes. What you say is between you and your god—or your faith in a system. A belief all the same. That the system we built would not wrongly convict or wrongly acquit. That justice can be served only if all play by the rules. And you play by those rules as a belief in something greater than you.
So I told them: Yes, she sometimes walked their dog; yes, I believed she had a key; yes, she was out that night, and I’d heard her come in at two a.m. through the back door, had heard the shower running soon after.
But I also told them she had no reason to do it. I told them we had all known Ruby for years. I told them she was a good roommate and reliable, and there was no animosity between her and the Truetts, no more than the rest of us. I told them the Truetts trusted her.
But I didn’t know what the others had said. I didn’t know about the footage that was shown. The very tight time line we had created. I did not hear Chase’s testimony.
How he’d told them that, on the morning we’d found the Truetts, all the neighbors came running. In the commotion, every one of us came out. Everyone except Ruby. As if she already knew the scene we had uncovered.
I didn’t know about the map that was shown of where each of us lived. The evidence attached to each house and the very clear path, established by each witness, of a closed loop—from the scene of the crime to Ruby’s return home: Charlotte Brock. Preston Seaver. Margo Wellman. Me.
When I went into the courtroom, I didn’t think they had enough. Neither did Ruby, it seemed—who, without bail, had pushed for a fast trial, believing she’d soon be out.
In that moment, on the stand, I did not know I was providing the final missing piece that would convict her.
Ruby leaned forward now, chin in her palm, rapt with attention.
Her lawyer was closing out the discussion. “We are looking into options, but rest assured this is not the last you’ll be hearing from us.”
Ruby shifted to face me then, practically drunk with some unnamed emotion—excitement or power. “We’re going to sue,” she said.
She smiled then, and I recognized it—her first real smile. The authentic Ruby Fletcher. The one I remembered. And suddenly, I knew why she was here. Knew exactly what she was doing, what she wanted. Even before she said it, I knew: “Someone’s going to pay.”
MONDAY, JULY 1
HOLLOW’S EDGE COMMUNITY PAGE
Subject: Sign-up for the party on the Fourth!
Posted: 9:22 a.m.
Tate Cora: BYOB. Preston, will you be working the grill again this year? Everyone, let us know what you’re bringing so there’s no doubles! I’ll bring the lemonade.
Preston Seaver: Of course! I’ll also bring the hot dogs.
Mac Seaver: Chips and salsa Margo Wellman: I’ll make my lemonade!
Tate Cora: I already said that.
Charlotte Brock: It’s fine. We drink a lot of lemonade. I’ll bring the burgers and buns.
* * *
Subject: Sign-up for Neighborhood Watch Posted: 10:47 a.m.
Charlotte Brock: Hey all, a few of us have been talking, and we’re going to get this going again, starting ASAP. There will be an orientation meeting at the pool clubhouse today at 7:00. In the meantime, does someone want to volunteer to start tonight?
Mac Seaver: I’ll do it.
CHAPTER 6
THERE WAS NO SIGN of Ruby when I woke. When I stepped out of my bedroom, groggy and light-headed, the house was eerily quiet. No scent of coffee or sound of her milling about. How familiar she had become once more, her absence now more jarring than her presence. The door to the Jack-and-Jill bathroom was open from where I stood in the loft, so I could see straight through to her darkened bedroom.