The roots of that tree were thick and exposed from the soil, and I’d used my bare hands to dig out a spot at the base of the gnarled trunk. Then I’d wiped the keys carefully of any prints before depositing them in the earth, and pushed the dirt back over the top, dispersing the leaves and the twigs.
Ruby had buried them, and so had I. But out in the woods, they couldn’t be traced back to me.
And then I’d kept going, to the other side of the inlet. Through the trees, with the dense underbrush, to the plot of land cleared but never built upon. A dusty circle of dirt with the remnants of an old campfire in the center, though all that remained was ash in a pit.
The dirt access road dipped and curved, marred by large rocks and mangled roots, and my footing was unsure in the dark. But in that dark, from the distance, I could see the lights from our neighborhood through the trees. I cut through the woods, hands in front of me, until I emerged across the street from the house on the corner where Tina Monahan and her parents lived.
I returned home from the other end of our street, feeling lighter, like I had rid my life of the last of Ruby Fletcher.
But in that moment, for the first time, I could see how she did it: The keys, to the Truett house, to the lake. The woods, to the clearing, to the access road, following the lights home. Sneaking around back to hide what she had done.
In that moment, a year after her arrest, months after her conviction, I finally believed she had done it.
* * *
I HAD NO IDEA if the keys remained, especially if Preston had seen me down there. And now I feared that someone might’ve had access to our homes all along—finding that key ring for themselves.
I had to wait for dusk, though we still had a neighborhood watch going. It was supposed to be Charlotte’s turn tonight.
It was easy enough to wait for her on my webcam. To watch as she passed my house on her way back home.
Thirty minutes later, I went out, locking the door behind me.
I did not try to remain hidden; that never worked out for us here. I strode right in front of the homes, right past the cameras—just taking a walk, like Ruby once claimed.
At the Seaver brothers’ home, I saw flashes of the television screen through the blinds. I turned at the path across from Margo and Paul Wellman’s house, remembering the camera that had caught Ruby running. I walked slowly down the dirt path, careful not to make much noise. But I turned my face to the pool as I passed by, imagining someone standing there once before, watching me. Now the pool appeared vacant.
To my left, the noise in the underbrush, down at the water’s edge, grew louder. A cacophony of insects and animals that drowned out my footsteps. Trying to keep myself hidden, I used the light from my phone only once to judge the way.
I had just reached that sign, my fingers brushing over the warped metal edges, the nail protruding from the trunk, reminding us to keep away, when I heard footsteps echoing over the plywood on the path in the distance.
I ducked down, stared back, and saw the outline of long hair and long legs in fragmented glimpses through the trees. I thought it was either Whitney or Molly, and I remained perfectly still, hoping she hadn’t seen me—and wouldn’t ask what I was doing down here, in the woods, in the dark.
She moved closer, her steps resounding on the plywood, not trying to remain hidden at all. She seemed to stare directly at me. “Whitney,” she said. “Whitney!” A little louder this time. She took out her phone and used the flashlight to illuminate the area to my right, down by the water.
I held my breath, and she took another step—off the plywood path, into the rougher terrain. This was Charlotte, then, thinking her daughter was out here in the woods.
A sharp peal of laughter echoed off the water—high-pitched and fast—before being smothered by the other noises. The crickets and frogs, a low buzzing that seemed too loud for an insect.
“Shit,” Charlotte mumbled. I could see her clearly now, illuminated by the screen of her phone. She held the phone to her ear, but no one must’ve picked up on the other end. “I see you out there,” she said before hanging up.
She stood there, hands on hips, staring into the darkness over the water, before turning back for home.
My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could see the shadow of a boat out there in the moonlight. Whitney and her friends, then. What Javier must’ve heard, his night on watch. If only Charlotte would’ve told him as much—that it was probably Whitney out there—we wouldn’t have thought it was someone keeping an eye on Ruby.
The pool gate at midnight, footsteps trailing away, the car driving off: They could all be traced to a group of teenagers, bored in the summer.