“Why are you bothering me?” he muttered. “I was hoping my next scene could play out in my head, not be spent talking to my annoying little sister.”
Rene leaned back on her elbow, her gaze on the ceiling. Only then did he realize they weren’t in his apartment at all. They were in his childhood bedroom. This was a new one.
“You’re looking in all the wrong places, Rory. And focusing on the wrong things.”
He normally didn’t stall like this when writing. Five bestsellers behind him and a fresh contract for a new series already signed for small-town crimes.
Figures. No wonder he was struggling.
Too many memories of the actual crime he’d lived through, not the ones he was supposed to invent.
Did he think that writing about crime, mystery, and justice would somehow help him uncover the truth about his sister?
Yes. Arrogant on his part, he knew.
But so far, he’d been nothing more than a failure to his sister. Just as he had been the day she died when he should have been watching her.
“Tell me what I’m missing then?” he asked.
He wanted to beg. Plead. Get down on one knee and yell.
All the things he’d done for years but still got no answers out of her.
The only people who knew what happened to his sister that night were Rene and whoever killed her.
No DNA on her body, nothing but bruises on her neck from where she’d been strangled.
A crime of passion, but this was more about rage. Her petite frame lifted in the air by her neck as the air was squeezed out of her. Her head almost disconnected from her body as if she had been tossed over someone’s shoulders.
The individual responsible was strong and capable enough.
Not the person who was falsely on trial and finally found not guilty.
He never believed Cooper Stevens did it, but his father wouldn’t listen.
“There are a lot of things you’re missing. The same as everyone else.” She put one foot on his bed, her toes wiggling close to his face.
He was ready to shove it off his pillow when he noticed the blue threads on her ankle.
That silly bracelet she’d made with strings she’d found in the cabin his parents rented.
It looked different this time, but since it was the first he was seeing it in a dream, he was going to remember what he could.
His hand went out to touch it. It wasn’t real, he couldn’t feel it, but his fingers felt as if they could.
There were four strings and a knot holding them on her ankle. Tighter than he remembered. As if it was pulled more than it should be and leaving an indentation in her skin.
It was looser when he’d noticed it that night. And wider maybe? Was there more on it before?
Why couldn’t he remember anything? But he knew something wasn’t right.
The knot!
There were more frayed threads hanging off of it. Rene was particular about things like that. She would have trimmed it so that it was neat and even burned the edges so it was smooth.
“Is this the clue?” he asked her. “What do you want me to know?”
She smiled at him and drifted away, her voice just an echo in his head. “You can do it, Rory. I know you can.”
