“Do you have Willa?” Cora asked, skipping the niceties.
“No. I—”
“Good.” Cora cut her off. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but someone poisoned Jonathan’s dog.”
“Diesel?” Juniper’s mind stumbled, trying to keep up. That sweet dog had lain by her feet throughout the entire sickening supper at her parents’ house only days before. Jonathan loved that dog.
Cora’s heavy sigh was confirmation enough. “Apparently the cops found him floating where Jonathan was pulled out. Either Jonathan was trying to rescue him, or…”
“Or what?”
“Look, I’m just telling you what I heard, Juniper. I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“So they think—what? It was a suicide pact? That if Jonathan was going to off himself, might as well take the dog, too?” Juniper pressed the side of her head to the cold window, trying to leech a little sanity from the cold pane. “Where did you hear this?”
“It’s Jericho,” Cora said. There was no need for more explanation.
“I have to go,” Juniper said. “I’m driving.”
But when she hung up, she sat in the icy car for so long that her fingers went numb.
CHAPTER 6
SUMMER 14 AND A HALF YEARS AGO
When Sullivan pulls down our driveway in his fancy new four-wheel-drive truck, Jonathan looks up from the mountain of pulled pork he’s devouring and raises one dark brow. “What’s he doing here?”
I know exactly how to needle him, so I lean with my elbow on my knee, chin in hand, and say all coy: “He’s here for me.”
We’re sitting on the porch steps, me flush against the banister and Jonathan hunched over a plate heaped with food he has balanced on his knees. It’s after eight o’clock, but he just got off work.
Normally when I sit with him at night, he teases me, tossing his filthy work gloves at me to get a rise, or regaling me with stories of his day. But he’s quiet tonight, and when his eyes snap over to mine, Jonathan’s not smiling. “You’re hanging out with Sullivan now?”
I shrug. “He’s my friend too.” Which isn’t strictly true. Sullivan is two years older than me—a senior when I was a sophomore—and our groups never overlapped. He ran with a wild crowd, a group of farmers’ kids and cowboys who never cared much about their grades or fitting in, and who spent their weekends splitting cases of cheap beer and shooting at stop signs on gravel roads. Their futures were determined the moment they were born: they’d work with their daddy, then take over his farm, marry a local girl, have babies, and start the cycle all over again. Me, I’ve never considered myself a local girl and I certainly don’t want to stay. Even after what feels like a lifetime here, I still don’t feel comfortable with townies who think Jericho is the whole wide world. Sullivan tops that list.
“Yeah,” Jonathan barks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You and Sullivan are besties, for sure.” He’s not happy.
“Lighten up,” I tell him. But my heart is beating faster than normal, and my mouth is dry as dust.
Jonathan fixes me with one last unreadable stare, then sighs and puts his plate down on the step beside him. “Yo, Sully,” he calls, pushing himself up as Sullivan hops out of his truck to meet us.
“Bro.” They meet on the sidewalk and bump fists. It’s strange and macho and not at all like my laid-back brother. But Sullivan has a way of making people meet him on his terms.
“Taking my sister out tonight?” Jonathan doesn’t pull any punches.
That’s my cue: I launch off the steps and slap on a smile. “Hey, Sullivan.”
“Looking good, Baker,” he tells me with a whistle. I’m wearing a pair of shorts and a vintage Tom Petty concert tee, my hair in a messy ponytail. My appearance is hardly worth a whistle. But I catch the wicked glint in Sullivan’s eye and realize he’s laying it on for Jonathan.
“This isn’t a date,” I tell them both.
“It’s not?” Sullivan presses the heel of his hand to his chest as if mortally wounded.
“Definitely not,” Jonathan agrees, then asks: “What is it, then?”
But Sullivan just laughs and turns toward his truck.
“I promise I’ll bring her back in one piece,” he calls over his shoulder.
“All good, my man.” Jonathan says the words casually, but his mouth is a thin, serious line when he looks at me. I can tell that he doesn’t dare to warn me with Sullivan close enough to overhear, but I can read his expression. Be careful, he’s telling me. And, I don’t like this.