Whatever she’d uncovered must be able to be found.
* * *
SHE’D HIDDEN THINGS, YES, distrusting all of us who had wronged her. But there were only so many places she could keep things close by.
All of them in Hollow’s Edge.
There were barely any signs of life outside by the time I returned home. No one running, or watering the grass, or talking out front. The pool was abandoned, with a black and red sign out front that I couldn’t read but which must’ve declared the premises closed. I wondered if there were guidelines in the bylaws for this.
As I passed Charlotte’s house, her front door opened. Chase slipped out, jogging down the steps, then paused on the sidewalk as he noticed me pulling into my driveway.
My mind was already three steps ahead, thinking through where Ruby might’ve left a box of Brandon’s things that I hadn’t yet uncovered—the bathroom cabinet, under my old tarp in the garage—so it took me a moment to realize Chase was waiting for me, standing in the Truett yard.
“What’s going on?” I called, meeting him halfway, the overgrown grass itching my ankles.
“I tried your house a few minutes ago. Just missed you,” he said, like we were friends. How death could alter everything, swing you from enemies to allies or the other way around. “Has someone from the BCI been by to talk to you?”
I was still trying to figure out how Agent Locke fit in. But Mac had implied we were together in this. All of us on the same side.
“Yes,” I said.
Chase nodded. “The local PD won’t be allowed to handle it. Not with the lawsuit pending.”
“Handle what?” I asked.
He glanced to the Truett house, the dark, empty windows, narrowing his eyes. “They suspect foul play,” he said, leaning closer.
I blinked twice, trying to process. Foul play, such a generic euphemism. Downplaying the truth: They suspect someone hurt Ruby. They suspect someone killed her.
“Did they say how?” I asked, and I could hear the waver in my own voice. I pictured Ruby on the lounge chair, how she’d looked the night before, under the corner light. No blood. No signs of a struggle.
“This isn’t official,” he said with another glance to the Truett house. “Just friends on the job. Small town, you know?” I nodded, urging him on. “They suspect she was poisoned.”
I stepped back, hand to my mouth, something churning in my stomach. Could taste the vodka from yesterday, the acid rising, the scent of chlorine in the back of my throat.
“Shit,” Chase mumbled, stepping closer even as I backed away. “Look, it’s not official, right? Just something I heard. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but I didn’t want anyone to be caught off guard by it if they hear from somewhere else.”
I shook my head. “No, right, thank you for telling me.” I stepped back again, itching to be inside, behind the closed door, all the dangers held at bay.
He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “What did he ask you?”
“What?” I asked. “Who?”
“The guy from the BCI.”
“Nothing,” I said. Then I shook my head. “Just where I last saw her. How I found out. He wanted to see her things, but there was nothing there.” I swallowed. “He asked if my video feed records.”
Chase’s gaze went to the front of my door, where the camera was positioned.
“I told him no.” Another step back, so I could get away from Chase and this conversation. “He asked what she was drinking. I told him she made sangria.” I sucked in a gulp of air, heard myself wheezing. “I thought it was because she drank too much. I thought she had died because none of us had checked on her…”
“Hey,” he said, one hand at my shoulder, the closest I had ever been to Chase Colby. His breath, up close, smelled of mint and cigarettes. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. But you should know that’s what they’re looking for. You don’t have to talk to them, Harper. Remember that.”
I blinked slowly, waited for him to remove his hand, back away. Wondering if he thought I had something to hide.
“Let’s keep this between us,” he said, but he gestured up and down the street. And I realized he’d been going door-to-door, telling each of us. Warning us.
I was shaken as I walked up the front steps. Couldn’t steady my hand to unlock the front door until I’d leaned my forehead against the wood, taken deep breaths, counted to ten.
Inside, my plan had been to search the hidden corners of my house—see what she might’ve found in my office. But I only got as far as the kitchen.