“Well,” she said, stepping away, “I’m gross right now, sorry. I really need a cold shower.” And that was that.
Maybe the calls from the lawyer were about her inheritance. Maybe her staying with me was a waypoint on her journey, then she would ultimately collect her father’s estate and start fresh.
Ruby retreated to her room, but I settled on the love seat in the loft, listening for the call I knew she’d be returning. About her case, or her dad’s estate, or whatever she planned to do with the rest of us—the people who were going to pay.
But she remained silent. There was nothing, nothing, from the other side of the wall, until the sound of the water in the pipes. And then, moments later, the faint hum of her off-key tune in the shower.
CHAPTER 13
RUBY DID HER LAUNDRY.
Ruby made French toast for lunch, the scent of syrup permeating the downstairs.
Ruby went for a walk down by the lake—for some fresh air, to clear her head—and had to clean the mud from the bottom of her new white sneakers after.
In the late afternoon, Ruby ran her fingers over the books on the built-in shelves on either side of the television, pulling out titles she’d never read. Flipping to the back cover, opening to a seemingly random page, skimming the words.
My gaze trailed her through the house from my spot at the kitchen table. I had set myself up with my laptop open, files stacked on the table beside me, pretending to work, distracted by her every move.
She did not mention her phone or any calls. She did not talk at all unless responding to a direct question. The silence had grown into something solid, something that took on too much meaning, too much possibility. All the things I was keeping hidden. All the things I thought she might know. A tension building throughout the house until it had to break.
“I’m on watch tonight,” I said, clearing my throat.
She turned from the bookshelf, crossed the room, long strides and silent steps. “Whose idea was that?”
“I told Charlotte to put me down whenever they needed me. I guess they needed me tonight.”
She laughed once. “Of course it was Charlotte’s idea.” She sat in the chair across from me, fingers splayed on the stack of blue file folders between us. “What are you watching for, Harper?”
I shook my head. “Suspicious activity, obviously,” I said. I tried to get my smile to mirror hers, like we were in on the same joke.
“Let’s make a bet,” she said, slouching back in the wooden chair. “Let’s keep it fun. I’ll write down what I think you’ll see out there tonight, and you can tell me how close I was after.”
At least this was better than her offering to come with me, which had been my first fear.
“What do you get if you win?” I asked. Because there had to be a trade. Every game had a winner.
“The knowledge that I was correct,” she said, eyes boring into mine. “That I can still guess every little thing happening around here.” She punctuated each word carefully, deliberately. “Write it down, Harper. You’ll see.”
A chill ran through me, but I forced a grin. “There won’t be anything to report,” I said, trying to match her nonchalant posture. “Everyone’s going to be staying in tonight.” That was the whole point of a watch in the first place. We knew people were out there, and we all stayed put, a self-imposed deterrent.
She tilted her head, almost smiled. “Oh, I am willing to bet anything that you won’t be the only one out there tonight.”
I flinched, remembering the noise from the patio when Mac was here; the still-frame image left behind while I was at the clubhouse meeting; the knife I’d found under Ruby’s mattress.
She was probably right. Hadn’t we learned that before? In Hollow’s Edge, someone else was always watching.
* * *
I PREPARED TO LEAVE for my first pass at dusk.
Ruby was lying on the couch, head resting on a folded arm, watching the evening news. I kept thinking she was waiting for something. Blair Bowman with a new announcement, maybe; or an update on the case, a shift in a new direction. But the main topic of discussion was the drought, the current level of the lake, the fact that we might have to implement water restrictions, our squares of lawn turning brown and brittle.
I pulled the front door quietly shut behind me without saying goodbye. In the settling darkness, I saw an unfamiliar car at the curb, a figure walking up the porch steps at the Brock house. “Hey, Charlotte,” I called as I headed her way, but the figure didn’t pause. The car drove off in the other direction, and it took me a second to realize it wasn’t Charlotte on the porch but Whitney, arriving home. Long hair covered the side of her face as she threw open the front door, just as Charlotte’s disappointed tone carried out into the yard. “You missed dinner.”