The lone nightstand still held the lamp with the crooked shade. And the closet doors were slightly open, allowing her to see the wire hangers inside.
God, how she’d hated this room.
She stepped out and took the five steps to her aunt’s bedroom across the hall.
Her lip curled. Good God, it was like the woman hated comfort. There was no fluffy rug to cover the floorboards, no cushions or throws on the bed. Just a flat quilt and two flat pillows. Everything looked hard and uncomfortable.
How on earth was this woman related to her mother, a woman who’d loved comfort and color and anything fluffy?
She stepped into the attached bathroom and went straight to the shower. She opened the door, and her gaze zeroed in on the bodywash.
Dove bodywash…just like hers.
15
Maggie’s muscles locked in place, and it took her a second to read the words on the front. Then the air rushed from her chest.
It was a different scent. This one was vanilla. Maggie used peach.
It was okay. It wasn’t hers.
Of course it wasn’t hers. Because why on earth would her aunt take her toiletries? She wouldn’t.
But someone did. The voice whispered in her head, giving her that uncomfortable itch again.
Argh. She hated this. She hated that this person wouldn’t leave her alone. That the deputy on the phone last night had laughed at her. Actually laughed out loud, repeatingthree timesthat she was calling because she’dlosther soap and toothpaste.
Outside the shower, she checked the toothpaste, and yep, it wasn’t hers. This entire thing had been a waste of time, and she should never have broken in. Stupid. And she would be storming straight down to Polly and telling her troublemaker best friend exactly that.
She stepped out of the bathroom and was halfway to the door when an old shoebox under the bed caught her attention. She stopped, a memory of her aunt going through that box coming back to her.
Maggie had been fourteen and wanting a lift to Polly’s house because it was raining. She’d walked in on her aunt rifling through the box. She hadn’t even gotten her question out before Lilith had lost it. Yelled at her. Told her to stay out of her room and mind her own business.
Needless to say, she hadnotreceived that lift.
She crossed the space and lowered to the floor to pull out the box. Once it was on the bed, she opened the lid…and stiffened.
“Mom.”
On top was an old newspaper clipping. An article about her mother’s death. And there, below the heading, was a photo of her and her mother. She would have been about six. They looked happy.
The article headline read:Young Mother Drowns in Deep River.
Unexpected tears filled her eyes, and she looked back at the photo, running a finger over her mother’s face. They’d shared the same eye color. This hazelly brown with specks of honey.
Her gaze lowered to the article. Lilith had highlighted sentences and words. Maggie skimmed the highlighted sections.
The incident occurred late in the evening, shortly after Sinclair was seen leaving Trap.
Sinclair was alone.
The river was calm with no recent storms.
Authorities ruled the death accidental, with no signs of foul play.
The body was found downstream, several hours after going missing.
Lilith had circled “several hours” and put a question mark beside it.
