On my next day off, I take Highway 280 to Alabama. I pull off in Auburn and sit in a parking lot to call Hannah from my prepaid phone. If the police try to trace the signal, they’ll see that it pings off an Auburn tower, and they’ll assume I’m staying there. But I hope our precautions keep them from knowing about my calls. I’d rather die than get her into trouble.
I text her first. Can you talk?
In just a few minutes, she texts back. Not right now. In store with Emma. Call in one hour. You ok?
I write back, Yes. I’ll call in an hour. Don’t answer with your real phone nearby & don’t be in your car.
Love you, she writes back.
I type, U2.
I use the hour to get fast food, then eat in my car, waiting for the time to pass. I’m not hungry. I force myself to chew and swallow, chew and swallow. I count the minutes. Is Hannah taking Emma to Mom? Will she have time to get to a safe place?
Finally, the hour is up. I call her back, and she answers quickly. “Is it okay now? Can you talk?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she says in a voice just above a whisper. “I left Emma with Mom. I told her I had to run some errands. I’m walking at the park again. I just feel so paranoid, like I’m being watched.”
“Trust me, you are. Where’s your other cell phone?”
“In the car. Do you think they’re bugging it?”
“They want to find me pretty bad. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
“Casey, there are some things I need to tell you,” she says, and I can hear her breath bumping as she walks. “The guy who’s looking for you—the one the Pace family hired—is named Dylan Roberts. He came by the house again last night.”
Dread burns like acid in my stomach. I wish I hadn’t eaten. “What did he want?”
“He told me that he was trying to talk to a woman who was a file clerk or something in the police department. She knew Dad, and Brent had interviewed her before he died.”
“Yes, I have the video,” I say. “It was on the thumb drive you sent.”
“He went to talk to her and found her shot dead.”
That acid churns into nausea. Another death. When will this stop? Beads of sweat form over my lip.
“So he thought it was related to his talking to her?” I ask weakly.
“He didn’t think anyone knew he was going.”
“Is this guy Dylan working with Keegan?”
“He’s working for the Paces,” Hannah says, “and he realizes that some things aren’t right. The woman’s death freaked him out. He says he grew up with Brent—they were close friends—and he just wants to know the truth. He hinted that he understands that nothing may be the way it seems. Oh, and get this. He says that he walked up on Keegan and saw him watching the interview that Brent did with the woman.”
I consider that for a moment. If Dylan told Hannah that, then he doesn’t sound manipulative, just truly perplexed. “Do you think we can trust him?”
“Well, no. He’s hired to find you.”
“But I mean, could we trust him with the truth? Is he a decent person? Is he clean?”
Hannah blows out a long sigh. “I don’t know. Honestly, he seems like the kind of person who wants to do the right thing, like he’s really trying to get to the truth. But I’m not always the best judge of character.”
“Maybe I should give the video to him,” I say. “If I could send it anonymously from an e-mail address I create at the library or something . . .”
“If you want to, I’ve got his information. He gave me all his numbers and e-mail.”
It won’t hurt to take the info down, so I have her read it out to me.
“Casey, be careful. If you contact him, it might give them clues about where you are. Even now, just calling me . . .”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I drove out of state to make this call. It’s pinging off towers that won’t lead them to me. This phone isn’t in my name. I’ve only used it for this. Next time I’ll use a different one.”
“You’ve thought all this out. How do you know to do all this?”
“I read a lot.”
“This guy . . . he always seems respectful. I get the feeling that he’s going to do the job he was hired for, but maybe you could trust him to get the truth out. You have to trust somebody if you ever hope to clear your name.”
I don’t tell her that I don’t have a plan to clear my name. I just want to survive. As if she reads my thoughts, she says again, “Casey, you have to tell someone. You can’t let them go on blaming you for this.”
“If they can’t find me, maybe that’s enough to ask.”
“No, that’s not enough! We miss you.” Her voice breaks, and I know she’s crying. Hannah’s usually a rock, and she never cries, so it really hurts to hear it. Her tone morphs into a higher pitch. “We want you to be able to come home. I can’t stand the thought that we’ll never see you again. Mom is so depressed. She’s buying things and cramming them into the house, constantly muttering and touching things. I’m trying to get her to the doctor, but there’s such a long wait for an appointment. The longer this goes on, the worse she’ll get, Casey.”
“I know, but my getting killed or put in prison would be worse for her.”
“It doesn’t have to be one of those. There has to be a way to get the truth out. Maybe a reporter or something.”
“Brent was a reporter.” The reminder strikes her silent for a long moment.
I ask about Emma, and she sniffs through stories of her baby’s latest milestones. I hang on as long as I can, not wanting to break the connection. It feels like my last grip on home, but I know I have to hang up. When I finally do, I cry most of the way back home.
Back in Shady Grove, I look at the video of Sara Meadows again. Yes, it definitely is something that Dylan Roberts should see. Then again, it could be a huge risk to send it to him. Keegan doesn’t know that I have it. If he found out, what would he do? It’s not like he can kill me. If he knew where I was, I’d be dead already.
Still, I have to trust somebody, and at least Dylan Roberts isn’t on the force. He doesn’t have ties to Keegan and his dirty cohorts. He didn’t know my father, but he did know Brent. Maybe he would believe him, even if he doesn’t believe me.
I go to the store and buy a thumb drive. I plug it in to my computer and copy all the information onto it, then I wipe it down to remove my fingerprints. I stop by work on the way home to grab a cardboard cell phone box. I’ll use that to mail it to make it look like a cell phone is coming in the mail. If anybody is watching him hopefully they won’t be suspicious.
I go home and create a business logo that looks professional, then I go by a Wi-Fi café and use their printer to print it out with a fake return address, then tape it onto the outside packaging. Then I drive up to Atlanta, since the postmark can’t be from Shady Grove. I figure Dylan’s already traced me to Atlanta anyway. I get there at midnight and drop it into an outgoing mailbox, hoping it will go out first thing in the morning. Then I head back to Shady Grove. It’s two a.m. when I get there, and I’m tired, but sleep won’t come. I lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Brent. He’s dead because of me, and now Sara Meadows is too. How could I have let that happen?
I should have kept the ghosts of my past to myself. I got too close to Brent, felt too comfortable. I drank wine with him one night over dinner, and my walls came down. I told him things I’d held close for years. I should have kept them buried.
His blood is on my hands. I’ll never be able to get justice for myself or my dad, but at least I’ve learned something. I won’t be that vulnerable again or put anyone else at risk. I won’t let anyone else inside the blast zone of my ticking bomb. And I’ll never let alcohol steal my judgment again.
I just hope I can stick to that plan. My love of people makes keeping a distance hard for me. It would be so much easier if I could stand being alone.