Murderer.Gone. Your fault.
The words hit her in the stomach like bullets.
Air started to thicken, no longer making it to her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. This town, this moment, the losses, were suffocating her.
Out. She needed out. Out of Amber Ridge. She needed to find somewhere she wasn’t drowning.
CHAPTER 1
Present Day
Bonnie Hayes wrappedher jacket tightly around herself, the cool morning breeze chilling her as she walked. How had she forgotten how cold it got in Montana? Or maybe she’d just gotten used to the San Francisco sun.
Thirteen years. She’d been away from Amber Ridge for thirteen whole years. Away from her brother. Her sister. Her cousins and aunt and friends she’d gone to high school with.
Friends? No. People she’dthoughtwere friends. But then Dean had died and everything had changed.
She checked the road before crossing.
It was strange how a town could simultaneously feel different and also exactly the same. The buildings were the same. The parks and the houses. But the locals were older. The businesses more modern. Some painted. Others with new owners.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and sped up.
The town wasn’t the only thing that had changed…she was different, too. Wiser. Stronger. And she was going to make this work.
Two women on the other side of the road stopped and looked at her. She didn’t return their gazes. She didn’t need a repeat of what had happened last week, when Dean’s high school buddies had harassed her outside of The Tea House. They weren’t the first and they wouldn’t be the last. A lot of people didn’t want her here. Apparently, thirteen years did nothing to change the narrative that Dean’s death was her fault.
When the two-story women’s shelter came into view, relief relaxed the muscles in her shoulders. The shelter was a converted older house that had been painted a pale green. There was a big privacy fence that surrounded the building and required a code to gain access. The front and back doors were always locked.
There wasn’t a parking lot, but that was fine for her because she’d sold her car in San Francisco and hadn’t replaced it yet. She’d had a rental last week when she was running around town buying things for the apartment, but now she was back to walking, at least until she bought a new one.
The shelter didn’t have any signage, which wasn’t unusual. These women were often fleeing terrible circumstances, usually from abusive ex-partners or friends or family members. They didn’t need a big sign to tell everyone where they were.
She tapped the code into the gate and used her key for the front door. A couple of women were eating breakfast at the table while Chett, a five-year-old boy, sat in front of the TV. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. He jumped to his feet and raced over, then threw his little arms around her legs.
“Bonnie! Mommy’s letting me have morning TV as a treat.”
Bonnie widened her eyes, feigning excitement. “Wow. What a special day. What are you watching?”
“Bluey.”
“Oh my gosh. You be careful though. Too long watching that and you’ll start speaking with an Australian accent.”
The five-year-old’s nose wrinkled. “What’s an accent?”
She chuckled. “Sorry, bud. Sometimes I forget you’re only ten.”
He gasped. “I’m not ten.”
“Twelve? Fifteen?”
“I’m five!”
She laughed again, messing up his hair. “Have fun watchingBluey.”
He raced back to the TV, and she waved to the women at the table.
One of them smiled, but the other didn’t look up. Not a surprise. This was only Bonnie’s second week, and trust didn’t come easily or quickly to women who’d been hurt.
