Rowan tilted her head. Compassionate, understanding. That listening posture, the one that made you want to confess everything to her. "What do you mean?"
"I couldn't sleep. I kept seeing it—the bluff, the fall. So I went out there, early this morning, with a flashlight."
Her expression didn't change. Something flickered in her eyes. "You went to my bluff? On my property?"
"I had to. I needed things to make sense." I bit my lip. "I found something."
"What did you find?"
I rubbed my palm on my jeans to steady my jangling nerves. My pulse thudded too loud in my ears. "Evidence. But I don't know what it means."
"Dahlia." She shifted, set her tea next to the plate with the untouched bread, and reached for my free hand. Her hand covered mine, warm and comforting. "You can trust me."
"I don't know what it means."
"Have you told the police?"
I shook my head.
"Why not?"
I looked at our hands, hers steady, mine trembling. "Because I don't know if it'll help Mia or make everything worse."
"What kind of evidence are we talking about? Clothing? A weapon?"
"I don't want to say until you look at it. Until you tell me what it means."
Her brows knitted together. "If you found evidence at a crime scene and moved it, that's tampering."
"I was going to call Detective King after I talked to you. I didn't want to do the wrong thing."
She studied my face. "Why didn't you call the detectives immediately? Why come to me?"
"Because you're the only person who's stood by me through all of this." I met her eyes. "I trust you."
Something crossed her face. Satisfaction, maybe. Or relief. Her shoulders dropped half an inch. She withdrew her hand, sat back, and glanced at the windows, the fog. "Is it still out there? On the bluff?"
I shook my head.
Her gaze swept over me as if trying to determine where I might be hiding something. "You have it? Here?"
I nodded. My hand moved reflexively to my hoodie pocket.
Her eyes tracked the movement as she picked up her mug and sipped her tea. "Well, I suppose we could take a look."
"Not in here." I glanced toward the windows as if afraid a nosy neighbor might materialize out of the fog. "Outside. I want to show you where I found it."
Rowan set her mug down. Her knees brushed the coffee table. The magazines shifted, the neat pile now misaligned. "Actually, yes. Let's go now."
I blinked up at her. "Now?"
She rose gracefully to her feet. "Before you call the police. Let me help you understand what it means before you do something you can't take back. I can't help you if you don't tell me everything." She paused. "No offense, but I need to make sure you're not wearing a wire or recording anything."
I stared at her. "Rowan, why would I do that?"
Her smile widened. "I want to help you, Dahlia, you know I do, but I have to make sure. Surely, you understand. This is a sensitive topic. It could easily be… misconstrued… if someone were to overhear and take it the wrong way."
I nodded dully. Obediently, I tugged my phone from my jacket pocket, showed her I wasn't recording anything, and stood stiffly, my heart jackhammering while she patted me down.
