As I suspected it might, the flowerpot shatters, leaving the lock unopened. I wish I had a hairpin, like the one I used to pop the lock on my childhood diary. That would do the trick. I may not have one now, but I know where to look.
It takes me less than a minute to run down the stairs and find a hairpin tucked into the curly hair of the teacher mannequin.
Five minutes later, I’m sitting on the bed with the box on my lap. The lid is open, and I’m trying to find the courage to look inside.
The contents are covered with the kind of beautiful cream tissue paper used as gift wrap in luxury stores. I grit my teeth together and sweep it aside to reveal what lies beneath.
When I see a photo of a girl staring up at me, a wave of shock and pain sweeps through me.
My eyes well up as I meet those of the dead girl. The photo is so similar to the one I’d looked at on the plane earlier. They were probably taken within moments of each other.
The same cheerleading uniform. The same ribbons in her hair.
I turn the photo over in my hand and my breath gets caught inside my throat.
A blue ribbon with white polka dots is pasted to the back of the photo. It’s an exact match to the one Brittney is wearing, and the one I saw in Alex’s cosmetic bag.
In the picture, she’s wearing pigtails with two ribbons. Alex must be keeping this one as a souvenir while carrying the other around with him.
I’ve seen more than I can handle. I have enough proof to stand up and leave now, but I can’t bring myself to. I need to know more.
Feeling as though a truck has run me over, I put the photo next to me on the bed. Then I remove the next layer of tissue paper to reveal another secret my husband has kept from me.
Another photo, this time of a girl who looks familiar, but I can’t remember where I know her from. She has skin the color of coffee with milk and big brown eyes to match.
One thing that ties her to Brittney McLaren is her cheerleading uniform. This one is red and white.
Like I did with Brittney McLaren’s picture, I turn this one over. Instead of a ribbon, a lock of curly hair is stuck to the back.
By the time I make it to the third photo, I’m almost hyperventilating. But I do my best to hold it together. I need to know more.
Nothing could ever have prepared me for the next one.
Lacey Simmons, the girl my father supposedly killed and went to prison for. She’s staring up at me, smiling into the camera with her perfect white teeth. I would recognize her anywhere.
I know she went to the same school as Alex, but why does he have her photo?
I can’t go on. I don’t have the strength to look at what else is in the box.
Desperate for release, I bend forward and allow myself to cry. Then someone calls my name.
I raise my damp eyes to see my husband watching me from the top of the stairs.
Chapter 33
Ishould be searching my mind for answers to the questions in his eyes. I should be embarrassed that I’m caught going through his personal things. But I’m not. After what I’ve seen, I deserve to be here, to see exactly what I saw.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask.
“I thought you might come to the ranch.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. He doesn’t even look ashamed. “When I was about to leave Nashville, you were asking strange questions, like whether I was coming straight here.”
He’s composed as he makes his way deeper into the room, glancing around at the mess I made.
“You followed me?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t want to. I really didn’t, but I was confused. The day before I had to leave Nashville, you were excited about our life together. But something changed. I wanted to understand what was going on.”
I guess I’m a terrible actress, but if he expects me to be embarrassed, he has another think coming. I sit up straight and push back my shoulders, even while my heart is hammering.
