He’s right, of course. I could have never predicted that I’d be holding Sullivan’s hand, drawing more comfort from his touch than I ever thought possible.
I push aside my misgivings and hold on tight, drawing strength from Sullivan’s warm grip to ask the question: “What are they going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
I study his face, but his gaze is unflinching. Honest. I believe he’s telling the truth. “What do you know?”
Sullivan doesn’t waver. “Whatever it is, they’re planning on doing it on the Fourth of July.”
Less than two weeks away. My mind is off, wheeling through plans and possibilities, wondering if I should confront Jonathan or warn Cal and Beth or involve my parents. Should I call the cops? It all feels a little surreal to me, as if I’ve somehow stumbled into the plot of one of the true crime shows Law likes to watch on TV. But I believe that Sullivan is serious. And the Murphys have already experienced some pretty awful harassment. Roundup on their lawn, trespassers at midnight, a keyed car. A dead dog. What’s next?
Sullivan reads me like a book. “I don’t like it either,” he says, leaning toward me.
His shoulder is so inviting I let my forehead dip toward his collarbone and close my eyes. When his arms go around me, I bury myself against him. It’s impulsive, but a perfect fit somehow. Sullivan smells of fresh-cut wood and the sharp zest of a cold lime. “What are we going to do?”
I’m not sure where it came from, this we. But Sullivan doesn’t contest it. Instead, he brushes his lips against my forehead and murmurs, “I don’t know, but we’ll think of something.”
And just like that, we’re together. In this moment, there’s no place I’d rather be.
CHAPTER 17
WINTER TODAY
“You look flushed,” Cora said when Juniper burst into the library a few minutes before it was scheduled to open. “Are you feeling okay?”
Juniper was not, in fact, feeling okay. Her trip to the Tates’ estate took less time than she thought it would, but it had been deeply unsettling. She felt pale and clammy. Sick. But she said, “I’m fine. And far more worried about you. How are you?”
“Never better. They adjusted my meds and I’m good as new.” That obviously wasn’t true. Cora’s skin had a gray cast and she looked as if she had lost a few more pounds. Juniper wanted to fuss over her, but Cora was having none of it. “Enough about me,” she ordered. “What’s going on?”
“Did Barry tell you what happened this morning?”
Cora nodded, then waved Juniper into her office on the far side of the circulation desk. “Barry can take care of opening. He’s salting the sidewalk.”
Juniper had already seen him outside with the bucket and ice-salt scoop, and had passed off his car keys with sincere gratitude.
“Come here,” Cora said, just over the threshold of her small office. She held out her arms and Juniper returned the hug, but she was too keyed up to take any solace from Cora’s warmth. Apparently, Cora could sense it, because she squeezed Juniper’s hands and backed away to lean against her desk.
“I’m sorry I was late.”
“Never mind.” Cora flicked off the apology with a wag of her fingers. “Barry was here. I’ve been here for half an hour at least. Tell me: Who did it?”
“Slashed my tires?”
Cora’s lips pulled tight. She didn’t suffer fools.
“Yeah, sorry. There’s a lot going on.”
“Have you called the police?”
“Not yet.”
Cora took this news with a slight nod. Juniper couldn’t tell if she thought it was wise or foolish that the local police hadn’t been contacted yet. She glanced toward the door to make sure that Barry hadn’t crept into the library soundlessly. The floor was empty. Turning back to Cora she said, “I think it was Ashley.”
“I don’t know.” Cora tapped the thin line of her mouth once. “She’s all bark and no bite.”
Juniper didn’t agree, but she didn’t argue. “One of the Tate brothers?” They hated her, and they had good reason to. Though she had been leveled by the murders and later by the knowledge that she was pregnant, in the months that June remained in Jericho, she hadn’t missed an opportunity to accuse the Tates. Anything to take the focus off her brother. Anything to draw attention to what she knew to be true: the Tate brothers had been plotting to do something to warn off Cal and Beth Murphy. June spilled it all—or almost all—over and over again, to anyone who would listen. If there had been any chance that she and Sullivan could make it work, she had annihilated that possibility with the drumbeat of her allegations against his family.