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My fingers grip the steering wheel at ten and two, like my destination may bring about my ultimate downfall. It’s been frigid outside for months, it seems, but today, it’s so frosty that I wear my coat in my car as the heat blasts on high. I’m normally cold-natured anyway, but when I’m scared or nervous, I can never stop shivering.
After Clayton passed away, I shook for days and couldn’t wrap myself in enough blankets to feel warm. My body was in shock. And when my dad left us when I was seven, I shivered for days and cried myself to sleep, wondering what I’d done wrong that caused him to leave. Right now, the million-dollar question on my mind is: Did I do something to upset Connor Hudson, and does he know I’m behind Violet’s ruse?
***
DESPITE MY NERVY, ANXIOUS outlook, Sequoyah Hills is as picturesque as always with immaculate lawns and perfectly maintained grand homes. I see the park, the greenway, and bundled-up neighbors exchanging tidbits outside, but other details escape me. I’m focused on getting to Connor and Allegra’s home. Until I know what’s on his mind, mine will not rest.
I walk up the stairs that lead to the enormous front porch where Allegra’s body fell. I don’t want to linger in the place where she was killed, though. It freaks me out. Before I can knock or ring the doorbell, Connor opens the door and peeks out as if he doesn’t want anyone to see me waiting there. “Come on in, and thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Of course, of course.” I enter the house.
“Can I take your coat?” His hands move toward my frozen shoulders.
I don’t want to show my insanity cards yet, so I comply. “Yes, that’d be great. Thank you.”
As he pulls my arms from my coat, his hand grazes mine. “Oh my God, you’re freezing! Do you want to keep this on?”
“No, no, no. I’ll warm up eventually. I’m kind of weird, I know. Maybe I have circulation issues.” I laugh, embarrassed, as I fold my arms across my peach sweater to keep warm.
He motions me toward a den in the back of the house, but my mouth gapes open as we pass the enormous library on the way there. “Let’s go sit in this den. It’s the coziest place in the house. I’ll turn the fireplace on, and we can talk on the floor right next to it. If you don’t mind roughing it a little, that is.”
The simple but classic French country décor, along with the cottage-like charm of the house, make it grand and homey at the same time. The original built-in nooks and shelving around the stone fireplace are over twenty feet tall and full of antique books and down-to-earth decor. There’s a TV so large it just about covers one wall entirely, and it’s adjacent to a wall full of family photos.
I’m grateful I already changed into leggings today instead of a dress, or I would be wildly uncomfortable sitting on the floor. “I don’t mind at all. I’d love more than anything to sit by a warm fire and take these blasted heels off.” I pull my shoes off one at a time then sit on the rug as Connor hands me an ivory faux-fur blanket.
“Here you go. This one was Allegra’s favorite. It should keep you nice and warm. Oh, and here’s an extra scarf too.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Like I said, I have some bad news. It’s about the police investigation.” Connor sighs as he takes a seat on the floor across from me and hunches over.
“Oh no.” I cover myself with the faux-fur blanket, which is fabulous, just like Allegra’s house, her career, and her husband. She had great taste all around.
“They’re not closing the case entirely, just until new evidence comes up, but tomorrow, Wentworth says, he’s declaring it a random act of violence to the press. He says he got a confession that her killer was a gang member named Claude Van Morrison, who they arrested a few weeks ago before he died in prison. I don’t remember hearing on the news about his arrest for another murder, but maybe you do? Anyway, this guy’s ex-girlfriend confessed to police that he killed Allegra when he was running around Sequoyah Hills drunk one night with other recruits as some initiation thing. Then he got caught for another murder. They think it was simply a case of Allegra being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He shrugs and speaks clearly even though tears well up in his eyes.
“And what do you think of that?” I lean toward him, trying to decipher whether his emotions are an act. Or whether I’m being blinded by my attraction to him.
Connor glances at the burning fire. “I think it’s bullshit. That’s what I think!”
“Good. I do too! I mean, I’m sure they’re doing their best, but there’s clearly something fishy going on here. She was hit in the back of the head and pushed down her front doorsteps in the wee hours of the morning, right before a six a.m. flight to New York. If someone was doing a gang initiation or trying to rob the house and she ended up dead, wouldn’t they have tried to enter the house afterward? Or at least taken her cash and belongings?”
Connor nods. “Before this ‘confession,’ they thought it was possible she just surprised someone before they had a chance to fully break in, and they freaked and hit her. Or it could’ve been someone out-of-their-mind drunk or on drugs or something. But this confession they’re trying to sell us wraps the case up with a pretty red bow, especially since the murderer happens to be dead already.”
“Right, and Wentworth knows the public will feel safer if they think the killer is already dead. That looks good for the police and the police chief, who happens to be Wentworth’s cousin.”
“And who happens to be up for reelection next year.” Connor frowns.
“Do they know what she was hit with? Did they figure that part out, at least?” I hope to be spared the gory details.
“A bat.” Connor stares blankly at the fire. “Something most robbers or gang members would be carrying around for breaking and entering.”
I touch his hand. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
He touches my hand in return, cutting me off. “No, you need to know. And listen, I’d really like to compensate you somehow. I know you’re out on your own now, and you’re really sticking your neck out for us on this story. So I hope you’ll consider accepting this.” He hands me an envelope with my name on it, and it contains a wad of Benjamin Franklins.
I shake my head and hand it back to him. “I really didn’t mean for you to—”
“I know you didn’t. That’s why I did it.” He places the envelope in my palm with one hand then covers it with the other. “Take it, please. This investigation is taking up a lot of your time right now. I know that. But I feel like I can trust you to get the truth out there. That’s worth more to me than getting the best PI in Knoxville, who’s likely going to be in Wentworth’s pocket anyway.”
I give him a reluctant half smile. “Thank you.” I place the envelope on the black coffee table and don’t dare count the money in front of him, even though I’m dying to know how much is inside. While I feel awful taking his money, this is truly a godsend. I’d rather receive money from Connor than have “a source” give me a handout they can hold over my head.
“I hope the wrapping up of their investigation doesn’t encourage you to quit,” Connor adds.
“If anything, it makes me want to try harder. Like I’m the only one who can figure this whole thing out.”
Connor nods. “You know, what if they’re right and it was random? What if there’s no premeditated murder to uncover?”
My eyes fall to the shaggy rug we sit on. I remember going through my own version of this agony and having similar questions. “Then you move forward, without thinking it through or making a plan. It just happens. Minute by minute at first. Then hour by hour. Then day by day and year by year. You’ll never forget, and she’ll always be with you, but you have to go on for those kids of yours. It’s what she would’ve wanted.”
Connor looks at my ringless finger then again at me with a knowing glance. “You’ve been through this, too, haven’t you?”
I rub my face and sigh; the jig is up. “Yes, I have. So I can tell you from experience, as much as you’re doubting yourself right now, you’re stronger than you realize.” I touch his arm. “I can promise you that.”
Connor scoots in closer. “I’m so sorry. Can I ask who?”
I shift my legs around on the rug and end up sitting cross-legged to get comfortable. “Um, yeah.”
Connor waves his hands. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about this, I completely understand. I shouldn’t have pried.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine. I just—I didn’t want to make this all about me when I’m supposed to be helping you. That’s all.”
“Hearing you talk about your experience would actually help me tremendously. If you don’t mind,” he adds with raised eyebrows as he turns up the gas on the fire.
I blow out some more air through my mouth. Normally, I wouldn’t open up and share this with someone I just met, but there’s a familiarity between Connor and me. “It was my husband. His name was Clayton. He was my high school sweetheart and best friend. We married when we were just twenty years old, and after the best year of my life as his wife, I lost him.” My lip quivers, and I fan my eyes, embarrassed to be crying in front of Connor when I’m supposed to be consoling him. But having him trust me as a friend could be beneficial to the case.
Connor’s eyes widen, and he scratches his head. “Wow, I’m so sorry. How long ago was this?”
“Almost four years ago. We have a son together, Graham, but they never met. Clayton died very suddenly. It wasn’t until after his funeral that I discovered I was pregnant.”
Connor’s hand covers his mouth, and his face pales. “Oh my God!” He stands and walks to a window, where he leans over and catches his breath.
His extreme reaction strikes me as awkward. Maybe it’s too much sadness for him to take in along with his own. Or maybe he’s having a panic attack. I wipe my eyes and ask, “Are you okay?”
He rubs his temple and stares at me as if I’m now someone else entirely. He looks out the window again then comes and sits beside me. He leans in close, studies me, and touches my hair. “I know that story. I remember that story. It was—” He starts to say something but stops himself. “You mean, you don’t know who...?”
He’s not making much sense, and I wonder if his grief has caused him to take one antidepressant too many, like Allegra. “I don’t know what?” I ask.
Connor begins again. “I remember hearing about that story from... a friend of mine who was friends with Clayton Wright. I didn’t put it all together until now. Oh, Madeleine. That’s just awful. I mean, awful that he passed and never knew his son and you had to go through that difficult time all alone.”
“The whole thing was so tragic and so terrible. I never thought I’d get through it. And maybe I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Graham. He gave me a reason to go on. This is how I know you’ll be okay, because you have to be, for your boys.”
Connor sniffs and studies the fire again. “Yeah, I know. It’s been hard keeping it together for them. Sometimes I just want to break down, but I can’t. Not in front of them.”
I feel for him. At least my child was still in the womb, where he wouldn’t be traumatized by my constant meltdowns. “If you ever need someone you can fall apart with, I’ll listen. Gosh, I don’t know how many times I went to my best friend’s house, V—” I almost slip and say Violet’s name. “Uh, Vivian.” I start again. “She was ‘my person.’ The one who’d listen to me at my absolute worst moments after the accident. Everyone needs someone like that, or else you’ll go mad.”
Connor gives me a hopeful smile. “I’d hate to unleash all of that on you, especially with all you’re already doing for me, but I could use a friend who gets it. And by the way, I hope you’ll keep that scarf. It’s the least I can do.”
I finger the red cashmere scarf and run it through my hands. “Thanks, and the offer to talk is always on the table.”
Connor grins and opens his arms for a hug. It seems like I’m crossing a boundary that I shouldn’t with a client, but having mutual trust is also important, so I lean in for the embrace.
“Thanks. I feel so much better already.” He sniffs as we hug, almost like it’s the first real hug he’s received since Allegra passed. After another second or two, a shadow crosses the window behind him. I jump back and gasp.
“Is everything okay? Should I not have done that?” Connor scoots away from me.
“No, no. It’s not that. I thought I saw someone in your window.” My voice trembles.
Connor makes his way out the French doors into the yard and looks for himself. “Probably a reporter or blogger. Some of those guys have no boundaries. Not you, of course.”
“Yeah, something like that,” I agree, although I know good and well it was likely “a source” out there keeping tabs on me. Or even worse, it’s Allegra’s killer, biding their time before murdering me next so I won’t figure out who they are. I pray that’s not the case, or I’m a goner for sure.
Connor leaves my sight as he searches the back and side yards, so I inch toward the French doors he left ajar. I peek outside, facing the freezing wind toward the right, and squint when I can’t see Connor anymore. I start to worry because it’s eerily silent, and I hope nothing terrible has happened to him. My neck strains while looking for him, and a creak on the hardwood floor behind me makes me scream.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Connor winces, and I grab my chest and breathe a sigh of relief that it’s him and not someone else sneaking up behind me. After this, he’ll probably assume I overreact to everything.
“No, it’s okay. I just didn’t expect you to come back inside another way. I guess I’m a little jumpy today.”
“It’s all clear. Whoever it was is long gone now,” he assures me. “Glass of water?”
Connor asks me to stay awhile to make sure I’m okay. To lift our spirits, we snack on popcorn and watch a few episodes of Friends together. We do a lot more talking than watching, and I tell myself it’s not unprofessional—it’s research. Although I can’t remember a time when I enjoyed research half this much.
After I announce I must go, Connor smiles as he walks me to the front door. “Thanks for keeping me company. I’m really enjoying getting to know you.”
I grin as my cheeks grow warm. “No problem. I had a great time. I’m here if you need to talk,” I remind him before I open the door to leave, feeling guilty about our budding friendship since I have a crush on him I can’t seem to squash. I walk to my car with a dopey grin plastered on my face. Somehow, the wintry breeze feels snug and inviting.
When Ivy Richards pulls up in Connor’s driveway, a flabbergasted expression on her face, I feel sick to my stomach.
“Hey there!” Ivy calls as she exits her car and walks over with what seems to be a pie. “Didn’t expect to see you here today. What’s with the big smile? Another interview with Connor? Or something new about the case?” She cocks her head as if suspicious and eyes the red cashmere scarf wrapped around my neck.
I tuck my hair behind my ears and look away. Maybe she won’t see the glow on my face if I don’t look right at her. “Yeah, something like that.” I don’t know whether Connor wants anyone else to know about the new status of the case, so I stay mum. And I didn’t come here for another interview, but we did both ask each other some very personal questions, so it’s not technically a lie.
“Well, how’d it go? Obviously, it went pretty well if you’re leaving with my best friend’s scarf.” Ivy inserts her face right in my direct line of sight and touches the scarf, her expression skeptical. As Allegra’s friend, she’s the shark, and I’m the fish. The only way to fend off a shark is to bop it right on the nose. Standing my ground, I look her in the eyes.
“Very well, actually. It’s cold and I... I just borrowed it. I didn’t steal it or anything. Then Connor gave it to me. So what are you doing here?” I add to stop myself from overexplaining.
She scrunches her eyebrows. “I’m here to check on Connor, of course, to see if he needs anything.” She answers like it’s none of my business. Somehow, this conversation is taking a defensive turn for both of us.
“Okay, I’m just going to ask, because there’s a big elephant in the room. Is something wrong? Did something new happen?” Ivy steps closer, making me uncomfortable.
“Just... go talk to Connor. I don’t know if he wants me to say or not.” I narrow my eyes and wince. As a reporter, I need to maintain confidentiality, and that means not sharing every single detail with Ivy, even if she did give my name to Connor. She is a potential suspect, after all, although I doubt she sees it that way.
“Wait. So now he’s telling you things before anyone else and giving you Allegra’s things?” Ivy places a hand on her hip, and her forehead suddenly has several wrinkles.
“I don’t know why you’re getting upset. You’re the one who asked me to be involved with this case. So here I am, doing my job. Why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”
Ivy snaps back. “That’s right. I got you involved. So you’re supposed to be in this with me, not Connor. I thought we were going to run things by each other.” She stops and studies me. “Oh my God! Do you have some kind of crush on him or think you’re going to replace Allegra?”
She’s jumping to irrational conclusions based on little to no information, and she’s drawing an aggressive line in the sand I don’t intend to cross, but I will stand directly on it to prove a point.
My face grows warm, and my temper gets the best of me. “Are you seriously hurt that he told me something first and didn’t want me to leave cold? If so, that may be something you should discuss with him, not me. And no, I don’t have a crush on Connor. I’m just trying to do my job, and I can’t tell you everything I learn because it’s an ongoing investigation.”
“But I’m the one who—”
Ivy starts to argue, but I jump back in with a calm tone. “I get it. You feel like I’ve somehow betrayed you by befriending Connor in the same way I’ve befriended you. And you lost your best friend, too, so there’s no one here to call you out when your wild thoughts get the best of you.”
“This has nothing to do with—” Ivy points at me, but I interrupt again.
“Just know that I’m in your corner as well as Connor and Allegra’s. Call me later when you calm down.”
Ivy’s mouth gapes open so wide her uvula probably catches the winter breeze. I hop in my car and drive away, for once feeling like I’m not a pushover. The shark’s nose has officially been bopped.
***
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE night, I wake with another headache and mild beeping in my ears. Ever since I got home and counted the money Connor gave me, I haven’t been able to think about anything else. It’s on my mind again now that I’m up. It was great when I realized the sum was going to be over two thousand dollars, but as I flipped through the remaining hundreds and it seemed like they were going to add up to a grand total of three thousand dollars—just like the deposit I received from “a source”—my gut felt queasy. What are the chances of this being a coincidence? And if it isn’t, what exactly does it mean? Can I trust Connor?
Maybe I should start taking those migraine pills. I tiptoe to the kitchen for a glass of water and an aspirin when Graham’s mumbles from his room stop me dead in my tracks. I hurry down the hall, scared he might actually be talking to someone in there. Perhaps “a source.”
When I reach his door, I swing it open, and he’s tossing, sweating, and talking in his sleep. “Baby, wake up. Wake up, Graham cracker. You’re having a bad dream,” I softly say as I rub his back to soothe him. He wakes with a stir and instantly hugs me like I’ve been gone for days.
“Mommy, I missed you! You were gone, then I found you, but you couldn’t see me. I couldn’t get to you, and I was so sad.” He squeezes me tightly with his sweaty head tucked under my chin.
“I’m right here, baby, and I’m not going anywhere.” I pet and kiss his head as he gives me a tighter squeeze. I hate seeing him so distressed, but it’s nice to know that I’d be missed by someone if I were gone.
“Can you please sleep in here with me, Mommy?” he begs with misty eyes, and I can’t resist.
“Of course, baby. Let me go grab my phone and bring it in here so I’ll wake up on time. Okay?”
“Okay.” He tucks himself under the covers. “Can you get my treasure map off my table too?”
With a furrowed brow, I turn to see a detailed map of his school on his bedside table, and the X for the treasure is marked at the playground fence, along with a smiley face.
“Where’d you get this, bub?” I study the map and smile.
“A pretty lady gave it to me at the fence outside the playground today. She said to share the treasure with you, Mommy. But... I couldn’t find any.” He sulks.
I turn the paper over. My body trembles, because there it is, just as I feared. Mixing business with pleasure, are we? I thought I told you to back off with Connor—a source.
I put the shaking paper down with a fake smile and race to the kitchen to grab some aspirin. “A source” has access not only to me but to Graham as well. I notice my front door is standing wide open. After I sprint to the door to lock it, I turn and scan the room with quick breaths. Am I losing my mind? Did I leave that door open? I stand against the door and rub my forehead as I think. No, I did not open this door. I’m absolutely sure of it. Then I see a doll sitting on my sofa, a doll I’ve never seen before in my life.
I tiptoe over to it as I look from side to side, making sure no one’s inside the room with us. The doll’s hair is a dirty blond, like mine, and she’s dressed all in black. Against my better judgment, I pick her up to study her further. As soon as I lift her, her head tumbles to the floor, revealing a note stuffed down her neck. I scream and throw the doll’s headless body onto the couch.
After a few deep breaths, I pluck the note from the gaping hole in the doll’s neck and open it. No zigzags like before. This one is printed in twelve-point Times New Roman font with no signature and simply reads Stop Looking. My heart rate soars, and the deep breaths I took moments ago seem light-years away.
Someone wants me off the Allegra Hudson case, and they mean business. This can’t be from “a source” unless “a source” is just playing elaborate mind games with me for kicks. But I wonder what the alternative is. And whether I possibly have two enemies with very different goals.