The story made front-page news, not only in Tuttle but in newspapers across the country. Holman and I shared the byline. It had taken some time to sort everything out, but once Megan had been declared dead at the scene, Shannon Claremore—the woman born as Bethany Miller—started talking. And once she did, she didn’t stop.
As we’d suspected, she had started living under her dead cousin’s name after she’d gotten out of juvenile detention. “By the time I met Wyatt, I’d almost forgotten that I’d ever been anyone else. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t think it would hurt anyone…I had no idea…” she said in the police interview, just before breaking down into tears.
She explained that when Albert first reached out years ago to ask her about the plane crash, he just wanted to know why it had taken so long for the bodies of the Miller family to be claimed. Shannon told him the truth, which was that Charlie had technically claimed the bodies of his family over the phone, but at that time he was an alcoholic who had a hard time holding down a job. They didn’t have the money to pay for the cost of a funeral and burial for six people, so Charlie simply let the three-month time limit run out, and when the state cremated the bodies, he went to pick up their things. Daniel Miller’s small estate was left to Charlie, as his closest living relative, and Shannon said the money helped pull her family up out of hardship—at least until Rebecca died.
It wasn’t until Granddad discovered the unusual coincidence of there being two Shannon Millers the same age in the same family that he came back with more questions. He called back several times asking more and more questions, and Shannon Claremore became convinced that Albert was going to discover the truth. She said she was sick with nerves over the situation and had decided to come clean to Wyatt. That’s when Megan intervened and offered to take care of things.
“I had no idea what she was planning,” Shannon said, her red-rimmed eyes raw with guilt and shame. “She just said she’d deal with it, and I never heard another word about it. I didn’t even know that man had died until a few months ago. By that time, it was too late.”
She went on to say that she thought the whole thing had just gone away until Flick reached out to her last fall asking the same questions. He was the one who told her Albert had died under suspicious circumstances. She admitted to having a fleeting thought that perhaps Megan had “done something bad” but had never asked her directly.
“After Mr. Flick called and started asking questions, Megan came up with the idea to say that I had a twin sister. She took care of getting all the documentation we needed to make it look convincing, and then we arranged to meet Flick on Chincoteague Island. I thought if we could just explain it all away, then everything would be fine…”
When pressed by the detective, Shannon admitted that she had a feeling Megan was capable of violence. “Looking back, I remember that she got that tattoo on her wrist the same year Albert called with questions,” Shannon said. “I remember asking her about it at the time. She said it was a signal to everyone that she was a soldier for the ministry. I swear I never made the connection until it was too late.”
I wasn’t sure, legally speaking, what Shannon Claremore would be charged with, but I hoped that whatever it was, it carried a significant punishment. She’d willfully ignored the warning signs of a homicidal zealot because it served her interests. I’ll admit that the thought of her sitting in a cell, thinking about how her cowardice caused two good men to die, gave me a small measure of comfort.
While it could never be officially confirmed, police suspected that Megan had an accomplice in the actual killings, a guy named Tay Drogden. He was a recovering addict and longtime Oakwood Christian Church parishioner who credited Wyatt Claremore with saving his life. The day after the news of Megan’s death came out, he was found dead in his home of a heroin overdose. Wyatt told police that Megan and Tay had been extraordinarily close, and he suspected that Tay would have done anything Megan asked him to. When the police found him, they said he had a fresh tattoo on his wrist of the same bible verse that Megan had: “26:7.”
Wyatt Claremore stepped down as the head of Claremore Ministries on the day the story broke. He made a public statement expressing his shock and grief about what had happened. He said he planned to stand by his wife as she atoned for her sins, both spiritually and according to the letter of the law. He said they would seek God’s grace to help them move forward after this terrible tragedy. The cynic in me would bet good money that he signed a tell-all book contract within minutes of the press conference.
The past few weeks had been some of the most difficult of my life, but I was getting through it, determined to put my life back together in the aftermath of Megan’s reign of terror. I’d practically thrown myself at Kay’s feet and apologized for lying to her about the Claremore/Miller story. I spent nearly an hour crafting an entire speech about how and why I’d done what I’d done, promising to start from scratch to build back her trust, swearing to stay well within all ethical boundaries on all stories from this day forward, etcetera, etcetera. I’d gotten eight words into my speech when Kay said, “Totally get it, Ellison. We’re all good.” Classic Kay.
My conversation with Holman had required slightly more explanation. He was hurt that I hadn’t come to him with what I knew. “You could have trusted me, Riley,” he’d said. “Don’t you know by now that I will always be on your side?”
I tried to explain to him how powerless and frightened I felt after New Year’s Eve, how Megan seemed to know everything I said and did, how I was terrified that confiding in him would lead him to the same fate as Flick and Granddad. He listened to me and was quiet for a long time after I’d finished my explanation. Finally, he’d said, “You think of me in the same category as Flick and Albert?”
“I do.”
“Okay then,” he’d said. “I forgive you.”
I can’t say for sure, but I had a feeling that Lindsey helped Holman work through some of his conflicted feelings about it all. They’d been spending a lot of time together lately and I’d never seen Holman happier. In fact, their relationship was the one thing that had made lying to him easier. I knew that even if he hated me and never wanted to speak to me again once the truth came out, at least he’d have Lindsey. Holman deserved at least one person in the world who adored him. Now he had two.
After having explained things to Kay and Holman, it was time to sort things out with Ash. I knew he must have seen the headlines about what happened, but he hadn’t reached out. About three days after the story ran in the paper, I’d stopped into Campbell & Sons to see him. He’d listened to my emotional explanation of everything that happened and why I’d made the choices I did. I told him how I truly believed it was the only way to keep everyone, him included, safe. He responded by saying he was glad I was okay and that’d I’d finally gotten answers. That was it. I didn’t know what I’d wanted or expected him to say, but I’d been a little surprised at his cold response. I tried to crack through his tough shell.
“I just wanted to tell you in person how sorry I am for—”
“It’s fine.” He cut me off.
My cheeks burned, but I persisted. “I never wanted to hurt you,” I said. “It felt so horrible to push you away like that.”
“Tell me about it,” he said with a biting sarcasm.
The conversation felt all wrong. Everyone else in my life understood—or at least tried to understand—what a horrible position I’d been in and why I felt like I had to do what I did. But Ash was acting like this was personal. He was so wrapped up in his own hurt feelings that he didn’t care what I’d been through. When someone shows you who they are, believe them.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “For what it’s worth, I am really sorry. I’ll see you around,” I said and walked out the door.
I was halfway down the front steps of the building when I heard the door open behind me. “I would have understood, you know,” Ash called after me. “If you would have just told me what was going on, I would have helped you figure out what to do.”
I stopped and turned around slowly, taking a few extra seconds to formulate my response. I fought the urge to apologize again and the stronger, angrier urge to point out that I’d made a decision about what the best course of action was and I didn’t need him second-guessing my choices. Or implying that his help would have somehow changed things. Yes, I’d hurt him, but I did it because I was trying to do the right thing. Plus, I’d apologized sincerely, and if that wasn’t enough for him, then he wasn’t enough for me. I wouldn’t beg for his forgiveness. “This was something I needed to deal with on my own,” I said simply.
He just looked at me, his face a mixture of anger, pain, and pride. He didn’t say anything else, so I walked away. And he let me go.