His snoozing alarm be damned. Jackson slid out of bed, one hundred percent awake and two hundred percent sick to his stomach. He dressed with the stealth of a ninja, slid his phone into the pocket of his pants, and placed Leah’s cell carefully back on the nightstand. Before leaving the room, he paused for a moment by the side of the bed.
Leah lay half in and half out of the covers, her hand flung out behind her across the empty side of the mattress he’d vacated, as if she were reaching for him in her sleep. A river of black waves, tangled and messy, spread over the upper half of her pale back. She looked as scattered and animated at rest as she did awake.
The question plucked at his shirtsleeves again.
Why would she message Matt?
Jackson could only think of one reason. Because she wanted to.
Mouth tight, hands clenched, he turned for the bedroom door and left on silent feet. There was probably a simple explanation for the text. He would ask her and it would be fine. So why did the perfection of their weekend now taste like a coating of ash on his tongue?
Chapter 37
Leah
Leah stretched and smiled. She hated that she’d slept through Jackson leaving but his scent remained on the pillowcase; her body still tingled from his touch. She could tell from the shallow light coming in around the curtains that it was early, but she bet he’d left some time ago. It would take him a while to reach the office even at this hour.
She sighed at the thought of another week with no Jackson. Spoiled by the best two days of her life, time without him held no flavor. Yes, she had work to keep her busy. Yes, she had friends to call on—and she could do with a catch-up with Florence, whose dating life had more variety than Ben & Jerry’s. But he was becoming the jelly in her donut. Everything without him tasted a little bland.
Leah showered, dressed, and headed for the kitchen. In a nod to being twenty-seven, alone, and able to make her own dubious decisions, she took a slice of cold pizza from the fridge (last night’s dinner), made a coffee, and carried them both to the bench seat on the front porch, hiding from the heat in the long shadows of Amity Court. Fishing out her phone to check the weather for the week and scroll through her socials, she found it still on silent. She hadn’t so much as glanced at it for twenty-four hours.
The text from Matt was as jarring as it was unwelcome. Leah pushed the pizza aside, her finger hovering over her phone screen before she swiped across to read his message.
Matt:
Hey, babe. Good to hear from your friend. Can’t wait to see you soon!
She frowned.Weird.
Leah scanned the words a couple of times, none the wiser from any subsequent read-through. Her shoulders loosened. Matt must have sent it by accident. Maybe whoever was above or below her in his contacts should have been the recipient. Deleting it felt good.
She pushed him from her thoughts and finished the rest of her breakfast. There was nothing from Jackson (she refused to be disappointed). On a whim, she sent him a single heart but noticed he hadn’t been online all morning. He was undoubtedly busy. As she should be. Leah polished off her pizza crust and drained her coffee. However much she wished it wasn’t, it was Monday and there was work to be done. If she cracked on now, she could reward herself with time on her new iPad Pro!
Esther’s final book was coming together; there were only the last couple of chapters to transcribe. Leah loved seeing how each thread pulled tighter as the climax of the story loomed, this last book tying up the clever narrative arc that had run across the whole series. Clayborne Knight’s reluctant steps toward retirement were made all the more poignant by Esther’s knowledge that this would be her last book. Her fears and regrets echoed in every passage and mauled Leah’s heart with their poetry. It was hard for her to stay objective, but transcribing Clayborne’s last adventure made her feelcloser to her old friend, like she was honoring her in the best way she could.
On impulse, Leah reached for Esther’s old diary. Flipping through the pages, she read another couple of entries. She’d been eking out the diary, two or three entries at a time, and with half of it ripped out, she was getting nearer and nearer to the end but no closer to solving the mystery.
June 10th, 1972
If I have to hear one more thing about Mother’s anniversary party, I’ll scream. I don’t care how many guests are coming or what food is being served! It’ll be a bore from start to finish!!
June 12th, 1972
I had another run in with The Creep this evening. He asked me out again. I said no, again. He’d had a lot to drink by the end of the night and he’s just so grabby! He’s big and intimidating. He even towers over Hazel, who’s far taller than I am. It puts me on edge and he spoiled the whole evening. No Atherton tonight because he’s out of town but I’m glad he wasn’t there to get involved.
Leah’s heart kicked up a gear—this was it. This was the moment.
She couldn’t stop now and so she raced on to the end. Reaching the pages where the diary finished too soon with Esther’s scribbled capitals, Leah smothered a curse. The answer wasn’t here!
Who the hell was he? And what had happened?
The knowledge remained just beyond her reach and she shoved the diary to one side in frustration.
Over lunchtime, she forced herself to scour the local rental listings online, searching for anything even vaguely in her budget. Hoping the house wouldn’t sell was no longer an option. Jackson needed the money, so she needed to find a new home. One unfurnished room looked like a possibility; she’d worry about furniture later. Leah rang and left a voicemail.
With a sudden craving for iced coffee, she opted for a change of scenery and decided to drive into Pine Springs, intent on using the library for a few hours. She needed some fresh designs to post online, her new social channels already swelling with supporters.
As she pulled out of the driveway, a dark gray saloon tucked in behind her car, cruising far closer than necessary to her rear bumper. The sun bounced off its windshield. Leah slowed to let the driver pass; they slowed, too. She frowned and signaled to take a turn. The sedan followed. A stop sign approached. When Leah came to a halt to let a semi pass through, the gray car pulled up so tightly behind her that she couldn’t read the plate. It was annoying and slightly unsettling. She squinted again, but the driver was a silhouette through the tinted glass. It looked like the same vehicle she’d seen parked on the driveway after lunch with Florence. A Chevy Impala? A Lexus? She cursed herself for not knowing the difference.
