Prologue

Ten-year-old Bailey Adams huddled with the Carver twins on Cassie’s bed. They’d given up pretending Cassie and Jem’s parents weren’t arguing or that their dad wasn’t drunk. Bailey avoided their eyes, knowing how embarrassed they were. “Maybe I should just go home.”

Jem shook her head. “No, stay. He’ll go to sleep soon, and tomorrow it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

Cassie threw back the blanket. “I’m going to tell them to stop!”

Jem grabbed at her arm and missed. “You’ll just make it worse.”

“I don’t care. I can’t stand it anymore.”

She wasn’t gone five minutes when it sounded like firecrackers exploding in the living room. And screams.

“No! Don’t shoot!”

Another boom.

Silence.

Jem jumped from the bed. “Cassie! I have to go help her!”

“No! He might shoot you.”

“My daddy wouldn’t hurt me. You climb out the window and go next door to Mr. Arnold’s house and call the police.” Jem ran out of the room.

Bailey’s thumping heart jerked in her chest as she turned and stared at the open window.

Another gunshot bolted her into action as footsteps stomped down the hallway. She climbed through the window and ran for all she was worth to the neighbor’s.

A week later at the funeral home, Bailey slipped away from the room where three caskets lined the wall. Every time she heard someone say how lucky she was, her insides cringed at how she’d run away. Why did she live and Cassie and Jem and their mother have to die? What if she’d stayed and tried to talk to Mr. Carver? Maybe he would have listened and the twins would still be alive. She should have stayed . . . but sweat ran down her back just thinking about it.

She found the washroom and hunkered down in one of the stalls. She didn’t think she could face one more person. The restroom door opened, and Agnes Baker’s nasally voice filled the room.

“Such a pity.”

Just her luck to be caught in the same room with the worst busybody in Logan Point.

“I know. I heard he started drinking and lost his company and that gorgeous house.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard that.”

“They say he was gambling too. Christine Carver was a saint. And those two beautiful girls. Only ten years old and so sweet and innocent.”

Correction. Maude Arnold was the worst busybody. Bailey just hoped they didn’t want the stall she was in.

“Well, I’ve heard that God only takes the best,” Agnes said.

“Explains why the Adams girl survived without a scratch.”

“Maude, you shouldn’t say things like that. And you certainly don’t joke about it.”

Bailey’s cheeks burned as she stared down at her Mary Jane shoes.

“Well, it’s true,” Maude snapped. “Don’t you remember when she hid my keys in Vacation Bible School? And wouldn’t tell where they were until I threatened to paddle her? That girl gets into more trouble—”

Bailey flung the stall door open. “Excuse me.”

“Bailey! I didn’t mean—”

She glared up at Maude. “Yes, you did. You don’t think I’m good enough to go to heaven.”

She walked out of the washroom, her head held high.

But what if Maude was right?

What if she wasn’t good enough?