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“That’s all Landon,” Geneva explained. “I’ve always had a black thumb. My brother takes after our mom.”

“It’s lovely,” I said.

She showed me to a set of vintage rattan loveseats. I took one while Geneva sat across from me. She cut right to it.

“Please tell me you’re here because you agreed to take my case.”

I smiled. “I think so. Yes. But I want to make sure we’re on the same page. There are some parameters we need to set.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Have you gotten any other strange calls?” I asked.

Her eyes darted toward the floor. She hesitated, then took out her phone. She played me another voicemail, eerily similar to the first.

“I think of you every night,” the male voice said, barely above a whisper. “I hope you think of me too. Atrō te benedicto. Forever.”

The message was left early this morning.

“How do you feel about bringing this to the police?” I asked.

She shook her head almost violently. “No. No police. I don’t trust them. I only trust you.”

I didn’t feel I’d done anything to earn it yet. For now, I’d take Geneva’s lead.

“I spoke to Sheriff Henderson,” I said. “He was part of a local task force set up after the murders. I didn’t tell him the specifics of our relationship or who you are. I just wanted to know what he remembered about the case. Whether there was any evidence of Sidney having an accomplice.”

“What did he say?”

“He thinks I should talk to Dan Holland. Do you remember the detective who handled the case?”

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Of course. I’ll be honest though. I don’t remember much. I told you before, those first few weeks are really fuzzy. It felt like I’d gone to sleep for so long. It took time for me to be able to form coherent thoughts about what happened.”

“That’s understandable,” I said. “Because of that, I’d like to talk to him. His memories of the evidence in the case will be more objective. If you believe there’s someone out there who knows intimate details about what happened, that’s where I need to start. And I want you to let me see if we can track the calls on your phone.”

She pulled up her recent calls and handed it to me. “They always come from different numbers,” she said.

I took screenshots of the numbers and the transcripts of the voicemails. “Chances are these were prepaid phones. They might be difficult if not impossible to trace. I’m going to try though. In the meantime, I need to know that you’re safe. You have to be smart. No going out alone at night. Be aware of your surroundings.”

“Mercy,” she said. “Situational awareness isn’t my problem. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for twelve years. The first five, I was clinically agoraphobic. I don’t really have much occasion to leave this house. Not with my father in the shape he’s in. He’s the only reason I came back at all.”

It was something we had in common. “I know how difficult it can be caring for an aging parent,” I said.

“Aging? My dad is only fifty-eight years old. He had a stroke six months ago. It’s why I finally agreed to come back here. Landon can’t handle this alone. He works forty hours a week at the lumber mill. He’s paying the mortgage on this place. All Dad’s bills. I’m lucky. I can work anywhere. I’m a medical transcriptionist. At least while I still have a job. AI is going to put me out of work soon enough.”

I tried to keep the shock off my face. Kevin Bell looked at least twenty years older than Geneva’s claim. Never mind his current situation; what happened to his daughter must have aged him. I knew Geneva’s mother had passed away some years ago as well.

“I don’t want to be here,” she said. “I left Helene six months after the murders and never looked back. I told you that. But Dad needs me. And Landon shouldered way too much alone.”

“That has to be really hard.”

“So you’ll help me? I can pay you, Mercy. That’s not an issue. I have some money set aside.”

I pulled a folded piece of paper out of my purse. I’d written my hourly rate and policy on costs advanced. Geneva took it and barely blinked. She refolded the paper and set it beside her.

“I can handle all that,” she said. “Do you have a gut feeling as to what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I’ll have a better read once I talk to Dan Holland. It bothers me that these murders were never prosecuted. I’ll need to submit a FOIA request for access to the police files. I’m hoping Holland will cooperate and let me see anything he might have kept personally. I want to understand exactly how they came to the conclusion that Derrek Sidney committed these murders and what they knew about anyone who might have helped him.”