23
BEFORE HEADING BACK TO Boston, Kate took a detour across town and visited the old neighborhood one last time. It was a cold and starry night. She parked in front of Henry Blackwood’s Greek revival—it said Dennison on the mailbox now. A tall fence encircled the property and the long driveway led to an enclosed garage. The nearest neighbor was a couple of acres away, and the thick encroaching forest grew up around the house. Several blocks down the street, around the corner and up a hill, was her father’s house. It gave her the chills.
She got out of her car and crossed the snowy front yard, trudged up the porch steps and knocked on the door. She rang the bell. No response. She cupped her hands over the glass and peered inside. She could make out a staircase and a hallway leading toward the back of the house. The rest was shadows and stillness.
On an impulse, she walked around the side of the house and felt a creeping sense of violation as she made her way across the wintery backyard. She’d only been here once before, many years ago, shortly after they arrested Henry Blackwood for murder. Sixteen-year-old Kate had crept through the woods and crossed a landmine of evidence flags in order to absorb Savannah’s last few moments on earth and bury them deep within her heart for safekeeping.
Now here she was again. Looking for her sister’s grave. So much time had passed, she couldn’t find it in the snow. She remembered seeing a slight depression in the dirt where the backhoe had focused its energies. She remembered the old tire swing and the abandoned dog house, its rusty chain trailing across the grass. She recalled strands of yellow crime tape and a few wooden stakes—closer to the dog house than the garden. There. Beneath the sycamore tree.
Chilled to the bone, Kate went to stand on the periphery of her sister’s unofficial gravesite. It felt more real to her than any cemetery plot. Savannah had pleaded for her life here. She’d taken her last breath here. This small section of earth was her true burial ground.
Kate could barely imagine the terror her sister must’ve felt that night. The shock of a young body being preyed upon by a muscular adult. Eyes open as the dirt surrounded her. And then… nothing.
Kate wondered if the people who now lived in the house had any idea what had happened. But of course it was all over the Internet. According to Kate’s friend Heather, a succession of owners had fled the premises, spooked. Did Savannah’s restless spirit haunt these grounds? Had the Dennisons realized too late they were living in a haunted house? Had they brought in a team of local ghost hunters to rid the place of Kate’s little sister? Next time, the house would sell dirt cheap, Heather had assured her. And selling it again would be a chore. Too much history. Too many tenants. Too many rumors to deny.
Here was the bigger question: If by some incredible twist of fate everything she believed was wrong… would Savannah ever be able to rest in peace? Did she linger in this backyard, waiting for justice? What if Kate helped Palmer find the real killer? Would Savannah be able to move into the light?
Kate’s mind grew hushed. All her prayers had been used up. Her emotions were threadbare. No thoughts or deeds would ever bring Savannah back to life.
Kate took one last look around. She would never come here again.
24
JAMES HAD A SURPRISE waiting for her at home. The dining room table was set, candles were lit, and a Duraflame flickered in the fireplace. Steam rose from Chinese take-out containers. “Ta-da,” he said.
She beamed at him from the doorway. “Mary Chung’s?”
“I heated it up myself.” He pulled out a chair for her.
She slipped her arms around him. It was wonderful to be close to him again. To feel his breath on her face. It made everything better.
“How was the funeral?” he asked her.
“Heartbreaking.”
“Sorry, babe,” he said, kissing her forehead. He looked at her with concern. “You’re feverish.”
“Been a long day.”
“Let’s eat. Maybe you’ll feel better.”
“I’d rather fuck your brains out.”
“Really?” He grinned. “That can be arranged.”
She took him by the hand and led him into their bedroom, tugging off his sweater, unzipping her skirt, peeling off her pantyhose. Her heart beat at a furious pitch as she landed on the bed, and he climbed on top of her. He straddled her hips and kissed her.
Urgency and despair took over. She reached down and guided him in. Please fuck the sorrow out of me, fuck me until I’m empty. Her breathing grew labored as the animal part of her came alive and everything built and built inside of her, until she exploded in a cluster of confetti shivers. Afterwards she clung to him, exhausted and blank.
“Wow,” he said, settling down beside her.
She cracked a smile. “You ain’t so bad yourself.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Okay,” she said, wondering how much to tell him.
“You sure? Everything okay?”
“Fine,” she lied, because a new emotion was stirring. Anger. She was furious at Detective Dyson for ambushing her, for suggesting that her worst fears—that her sister’s killer was still out there—could be true. For supporting Nelly’s story.
James smiled sadly at her. She realized she hadn’t been thinking enough about him, how he was feeling. She’d just assumed he was as strong as ever, that he didn’t need her concern.
“How about you?” she asked. “How was your day?”
“A crap sandwich, thanks for asking.”
“Agatha?”
“She walked out on group again.”
“What triggered it this time?”
“I completely lost my shit, Kate. We aren’t supposed to do that, right? Isn’t that in the Shrink Handbook or something? ‘Never lose your shit?’”
“Verbatim. So what happened?”
“I might’ve sworn at her under my breath. I couldn’t help myself. She pushes all my Mom buttons. I hate the fact that I’m only human. It annoys the hell out of me.”
“You? Human? Hardly.”
He laughed. “I feel better already. Back to you. What’s going on beneath that Teflon exterior?”
She sagged a little. “I’m coping,” she admitted.
He took her hand. “Where’s the ring?”
She stared at her naked finger. “I didn’t want my father thinking it was an engagement ring, so I took it off. Why open that can of worms?”
“You saw him today?”
“After the funeral. On a whim.”
“How’d it go?”
“Fair to middling.”
“Hm. I should meet this middling guy. We can dialogue.”
She laughed. “No way am I ready for that.”
“You never know. We could end up best buds.”
“Yeah, right. Just like Vanessa and me.”
“Mom loves you. She’s an equal-opportunity narcissist.”
Kate gazed out their bedroom windows. The full moon dusted the city in a soft glow. A chill wind whistled across the rooftop. James dragged the quilt up over their bodies, covering their nakedness, and held her close.
“Mm. Nice,” she murmured. “Let’s stay like this forever…”
“Okay.”
“…underneath our guilt…”
“What?”
She stared at him. “What did I say?”
“Guilt.” He grinned. “You said guilt. That was some Freudian slip.”
“Quilt. I meant quilt.”
“Your guilt will probably outlast this quilt, despite the high thread count.”
“You’re hysterical.”
He smirked. “I know. It’s exhausting being such a boundless source of mirth.” He smoothed the hair off her face and kissed her gently. “Swear to me you’re going to be okay, Kate.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Here you are, dealing with all this crap, and I’m cracking jokes.” He squeezed her hand. “So that’s it for the ring then?”
“No, silly. I love it. I’ll be wearing it again tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t itch?”
“Not a bit,” she lied. “Can I have my hand back now?”
“I think not.”
“I think yes.”
He released her and leaned up on one elbow. “So tell me everything.”
She told him about the funeral. Then she said, “And I met this guy…”
The phone rang in the living room.
“Guy? What guy?”