I stepped out of the car and walked up the drive. Before I reached the porch, the door opened, and Rosemary waved me inside, saying, “Come in, Georgiana. We’ve just made breakfast, and you’re welcome to join us. There’s plenty.”
“It smells incredible,” I said, stepping inside.
The scent of pancakes and bacon lingered in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of maple syrup. As we entered the kitchen, I saw a man I assumed to be Rosemary’s husband at the stove, turning bacon with slow, deliberate movements. His tall, thin frame made me wonder whether he’d lost weight since the death of his daughter or if he’d always looked that way.
He turned, offering me a slight smile. “You must be Georgiana.”
“I am.”
“I’m Dustin, Rosemary’s husband.”
“Good to meet you. Thank you for letting me come by.”
He nodded, then began putting strips of bacon onto a plate, and I sat down at the table, which had already been set with pancakes stacked on a platter, eggs in a ceramic bowl, and a pitcher of orange juice.
Rosemary poured a glass for each of us and took a seat beside me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “We could use a more detailed update.”
Dustin sat beside her, his hands clasped together, eyes fixed on the table. He glanced at me for a brief moment, the pain in his eyes laying bare the weight he was carrying.
“What have you found out?” he asked.
I took a breath. “I don’t have a lot of answers for you yet, but I am getting somewhere.”
In unison, they leaned forward, anxious to hear what more I had to say.
“I’ve spoken to several people since I took this case, including the police, Logan’s parents, some of Audrey’s classmates, and a few others. There’s something I’d like to tell you, but if I do, I need you to agree to keep it to yourselves for now.”
“Of course,” Rosemary said.
“In one of Logan’s sketchbooks, he drew a picture of a locket with the name Anne on it,” I said. “It turns out Anne was a young woman who went missing twenty-five years ago.”
Dustin raised a brow but said nothing.
“Why do you think he drew a sketch of a locket belonging to a woman who’s been missing for so long?” Rosemary asked.
“Yesterday, I spoke with Anne’s parents. They showed me a photo of Anne wearing the locket, and I confirmed it’s the same one from Logan’s sketchbook. And there’s something else. Anne went missing while she was visiting her aunt in Cambria, who just so happened to live in the same subdivision you live in now.”
Rosemary glanced at Dustin, then back at me. “I’m sorry to hear about the woman who went missing, but what does any of this have to do with our daughter?”
“It seems to me that Audrey found Anne’s locket, and when she did, I bet she tried to figure out who owned it. My guess is that she discovered Anne went missing all those years ago. She told Logan, and the two of them may have done some investigating of their own. I believe digging up the past is what led to Audrey being murdered.”
Dustin went pale, staring down at his hands. “Does this mean she was targeted?”
“I’m exploring the possibility. If I’m right, Audrey’s death is connected to Anne.”
They both went quiet, as if taking in what I’d just said. The silence was uncomfortable and heavy, but I understood the need for them to process everything. We finished our food with minimal small talk, and Rosemary rose to clear the plates.
I stood.
“Would it be all right if I spent a few minutes in Audrey’s room?” I asked.
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “The police have already searched it, but sure, if you think it will help.”
Dustin pushed his chair back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been in there since she died. Can’t bring myself to go inside.”
Rosemary reached for his hand. “Stay down here if you need to, dear. I’ll show Georgiana to Audrey’s room.”
