She shook her head, the hurt surfacing through the anger. “Every time something happens, you decide how much truth I get. You keep saying you trust me, but you don’t.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is being shut out of my own life.”
For a second, neither of us moved. The only sound was the coffeemaker spitting its last drop.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said finally. “We’ll figure it out then.”
“Don’t bother rushing,” she whispered, turning toward the door. “Seems like you’ve already decided how this story goes.”
The screen door banged behind her.
I stood there, holding the evidence bag I’d pulled from the drawer weeks ago and never hoped to use. The note felt heavier than paper—like proof that the calm we’d built was already cracking.
Inspector leapt onto the counter, tail flicking, gaze fixed on the door Milly had disappeared through. “Yeah,” I muttered, sliding the bag into my jacket pocket. “I messed that up.”
By the time I reached the sheriff’s office, the morning had dissolved into that gray stretch of afternoon where even the sun looked tired. Palmer was behind his desk, a mug of something that might once have been coffee cooling beside a half-eaten donut. He looked up, saw the expression I wasn’t hiding, and sighed.
“This about the power call?”
“And this.” I set the bag on his desk. Inside lay the note and the key, sealed, labeled. “Red Hollow postmark.”
He squinted, adjusting his glasses. “That name again. You sure this isn’t someone’s idea of a prank?”
“Not unless they’ve got access to Penny’s old property records.”
Palmer studied the letter, lips pressing thin. “We’ve had the occasional crank from Hollow try to stir things—mostly inheritance gossip. I’ll run prints, check the handwriting. But you know how this goes, Austin. No return, no witnesses, no crime. Just noise.”
“Noise gets people hurt,” I said.
He met my eyes. “You’re wound tight.”
“She saw it before I could hide it.”
“That why you’re here and she’s not?”
I didn’t answer.
Palmer leaned back, the chair creaking. “I’ll handle the paperwork. You handle the apology.”
“Working on it.”
He gave me a look that said he’d heard that before. “Don’t wait too long. This town forgives slow.”
I left before I said something I’d regret. The sky had begun to bruise again, clouds thickening along the ridge. By the time I pulled into the drive, Milly’s truck was gone. The porch light was on, but the rest of the house sat dark and silent.
The evening dragged itself out. I fixed the gate latch that didn’t need fixing, then rewired a porch light that worked just fine. Anything to keep from hearing the echo of her voice when she’d said,You don’t trust me.
By full dark, I couldn’t take the quiet anymore. I poured a cup of black coffee and stepped outside. The air smelled like rain again, like unfinished business.
I scrolled through my phone until I found the number I shouldn’t still have.
Reaper picked up on the second ring. “Adams.”
The same gravel voice, the same unshakable calm. It steadied me even as it scraped raw.
I told him everything—the outage call, the tracks, the Red Hollow package, the argument. Left out nothing but the way my chest hurt when she’d walked out.
