by Kat Ellis
“Look,” I said to Dominic when he still wasn’t convinced, “if it comes down to it and I have to run, there are a million hiding places I know around the manor where Hamish will never find me in the dark. All the security cameras are working now, and you’ll be inside, watching everything on the screens in your mom’s office. You can call the cops if it starts to look dicey.”
“Dicey,” he repeated. “I don’t want to put your life at risk, Thorn.”
I laughed. “Neither do I, Adrien.”
Dominic sighed, but I could tell he wasn’t going to argue anymore. He wants to see Hamish pay for what he’s done as much as I do—maybe more.
“I think I preferred it when you called me Monica,” he said.
“Really?”
“No, not really. But you could try calling me Nic, if you wanted to.”
I waited until we were saying good night about an hour later before trying it out. It actually felt okay.
* * *
* * *
I make one last check that I’ve got everything, then head through the kitchen, planning on grabbing some necessary caffeine on my way out. I find Carolyn leaning into the fridge.
“Aren’t you young folk on some kind of nighttime curfew?” she says, nodding to the dark square of the window.
“Yep. But I’m not walking anywhere. I’ll take Bessie. And I won’t be long.”
“Where are you headed?”
I bite my lip, not sure whether to lie. Because I definitely can’t tell her why I’m going to the manor. She’d never let me go. So I choose a half-truth instead.
“I think I can find out for sure who killed Freya,” I say. “But I need to get something from the manor.”
Carolyn frowns. “Get what? Aren’t the Millers there?”
“They’re in Haverford until late tonight. And this is kinda time-sensitive.”
“Ava, what is this? You’re freaking me out here.”
Damn it. Carolyn really does look worried. I shouldn’t have said anything.
I paste on a smile and lie harder. “Hey, it’s nothing to freak out about. I’ll be back in a couple hours, okay? And I have my phone with me.” And pepper spray.
“Maybe we should check with Ty . . .”
“No.” It comes out louder than I intended. “Uncle Ty’s always saying he’s not my boss, and I’m eighteen now. An adult. So let’s just talk about this when I get back, okay?”
Carolyn sighs. “How about I come with you, then?”
I laugh and shake my head. “No. Honestly. This isn’t a big deal.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Thank you, though.”
Carolyn shrugs me off, but she’s smiling again. “Just be careful, okay? And here.” She leans back into the fridge and hands me a chilled coffee. “One for the road.”
* * *
* * *
I take out my phone and light up the screen before waving at the camera as I cross Burden Bridge. If it works the way Dominic explained, it should be recording me now. I recite the alphabet as I go, keeping my voice pitched at the same volume I would if I was talking to someone on the far side. If Dominic’s fancy background-noise-canceling camera mic isn’t good enough to capture Hamish’s confession clearly over the sound of the waterfall, then this is all going to be a waste of time.
The snow has stopped for now, but the clouds hang thick and heavy overhead, so I don’t think it’s done for tonight. My heart races in my chest, and I’m sweating despite the cold.
God, I hope this doesn’t go horribly wrong. I really, really don’t want to die.
I left Bessie out in the lane and came in over the wall. Maybe that’s the way Hamish will go if he’s avoiding the cameras around the property. And, if he actually is the murderer, then he knew enough to do that the last time he was here.
My footsteps crunch along the gravel path to the front door of the manor. The house stands completely dark except for one light above the door. Later, when I come back out to wait for Hamish, Dominic will turn out that light too, to make it seem as though the house is completely empty tonight.
Just as I start to wonder if Dominic’s spy camera is even turned on, I spot someone at the edge of the orchard. I guess he’s walking Pilot.
I bury my hands deeper in my pockets, trying to stomp some warmth into my limbs while I wait for Dominic to join me. But he doesn’t come any closer. In fact, he’s moving kind of oddly. It’s like the shadows around him are shifting, swirling into him, as if he’s drawing in fog.
Wait—is that Dominic?
The figure tilts its head, neck-snap quick, and I fall still.
That’s definitely not Dominic.
It’s Sadie.
As though she heard me thinking her name, her head jerks in my direction.
Heart thudding, I back away toward the manor.
“Ava? What are you looking at?”
Dominic stands in the open front doorway, the electric lantern above him shining down a circle of light. I glance back at the orchard, but there’s nothing there now.
My breath comes in shallow gusts that fog the air around us.
“Do you have a camera aimed at the orchard there?” I point, showing Dominic where I saw the figure.
“Yes. I was just watching you on the feed. I didn’t see anyone. Did you?”
“I . . . no. Probably not.”
He ushers me into the darkness of the house. “Let’s just check the video footage to make sure. We need to know if Hamish is already lurking out there.”
I take one last look over the orchard. Nothing moves there now, but we both flinch when a barn owl screeches somewhere off in the distance. Dominic turns out the porch light, locks the door, then slides the chain across.
* * *
* * *
“And if you stand here”—Dominic indicates a spot on his laptop screen, next to the orchard side of the bridge—“and you stop him when he reaches here, that should be perfect for the camera to pick up.”
Our little test run when I came over the bridge earlier proved that Dominic’s camera set-up works brilliantly. When I pointed this out to him, he gave me an arch look and said, “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Yes, I did laugh. Probably more than I should have, but I’m nervous as hell right now. I’m pretty sure Dominic can tell.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says. “Or I can go out there and talk to him—it doesn’t have to be you.”
“Yes, it does,” I tell him. “He’d never believe you’d keep evidence about your sister’s murder from the cops. And he doesn’t have anything you’d want to blackmail him for, like I have with the summer art program. And you don’t know the layout of the grounds as well as I do, especially not in the dark. I need you in here, making sure we get this bastard on record, and calling the cops as soon as we have his confession.”
Dominic studies me, lips pursed. “You’ll pepper-spray and run at the first hint that he’s dangerous? Doesn’t matter if he’s confessed to anything or not—you being safe is the top priority here.”
I can’t help smiling. “Your concern for my well-being is awfully sweet, you know. Are you some kind of nice guy, Nic Miller?”
The light from the laptop screen reflects in his eyes, making them look endless. “Not always,” he says.
Well, shit.
I need to kiss this boy again.
Later, I promise myself. It’s one more really great reason to make sure I survive this.
Something flickers on the laptop screen, and he turns to look at it, frowning. There’s a grid showing the feeds from the different cameras around the property, including the gates and the one on Burden Bridge. But now they’re all showing static.
Dominic makes an irritated sound. “Must be a glitch in the system, or maybe a blown fuse. Let me check.” Barking comes from
the kitchen, and he adds, “And let Pilot go do his business.”
He leaves the study. Outside, the hallway lies in total darkness. It’s probably just nerves, but something feels different. I see Dominic’s silhouette crossing over to the kitchen.
I slide into the seat in front of the laptop, but in the process manage to knock over the cold coffee he gave me. “Shit!”
There wasn’t a whole lot left, but still enough to leak a milky puddle on his mom’s glass desktop. I look around me for a napkin, but of course there are none in the chrome office. I pick up the now empty coffee cup and use the edge of my hand to scrape the liquid off the edge of the desk and back into it. But that still leaves me with a hand covered in coffee. I make a face at it. But then seeing it shining wet in the light of the laptop slams two pieces together in my head.
Handprints at the murder scene.
I noticed it at the time—that one of the handprints on the stone bench where Freya was propped up was small, about the size of my own hand. The others all seemed bigger. And I didn’t think much of it then, what with the shock and all, but I guess I kind of figured it might be Freya’s handprint. Except her hands weren’t bloody. She was already dead when whoever killed her smashed in her eyes, so she never got blood on them trying to defend herself.
There were two murderers.
Hamish and his fiancée? It crossed my mind before, but I dismissed it. But what if Hamish’s fiancée found out he was screwing around with a student, and made him kill Freya as some kind of test? Making him choose her over Freya?
Did she stand over him while he did it? Or did she join in?
Maybe the cops know this—maybe that’s why they haven’t arrested me.
But then doubt creeps in. When they questioned me about moving Freya’s body, they must’ve decided the smaller handprint was mine. After all, I had her blood on me from when I touched her face. And my hand was the right size for the print. Would they have been able to lift fingerprints from a rough stone bench? I have no idea.
But maybe they didn’t even see it. Maybe the smaller print got messed up when Dominic moved Freya to try CPR.
“Nic!” I shout, but there’s no answer, and I can’t hear him in the kitchen. I creep over to the door, but there’s no sign of him. Faintly, the sound of Pilot barking carries from outside. I guess Dominic is still out there.
I cross the dark hallway and head for the kitchen, trying to tread lightly so I’m not stomping over the newly tiled floor. When I reach the kitchen doorway, an icy breeze hits me. Poking my head inside, I see the French doors leading to the backyard are swinging open, a cold February wind drifting into the house. Moonlight turns the yard outside into a silvery scene.
“Nic?” I whisper. But there’s no reply. I edge over to the open doors and peer out.
He’s out there, lying facedown on the lawn. My hand flies to my mouth. Then I see the figure standing over him. I think it’s Sadie at first.
I step closer. And closer.
No, it’s not Sadie. It’s a man holding what looks like a crowbar.
Hamish?
No.
“Uncle Ty?”
THIRTY-FIVE
“What are you doing here?” I ask him. “Did Carolyn tell you to come after me?”
Uncle Ty says nothing, just watches me with this odd frown on his face like he’s trying to come up with the best way to break bad news.
“Uncle Ty? What happened to Dominic?” I start to go over and check that Dominic’s okay, but something in Uncle Ty’s posture stops me. “Why are you . . .”
And then the pieces start to slot together. An older guy. Someone from school. Someone who saw Freya almost every day.
He’s holding a fucking crowbar.
A crowbar with an end that’s awfully similar to an ice pick.
“It was you.”
The guy on the phone. The guy Freya was sending naked pictures to.
“I think I’m gonna be sick. How could you? She was sixteen, for God’s sake! And Ford? What did he ever do to you?”
Uncle Ty takes a step toward me. Behind him, I see Dominic’s leg move. I stifle a sob of relief. He’s not dead—but he must be hurt, and I can’t tell how badly.
Please be okay . . .
“Ava, it’s not what you think,” Uncle Ty says, stepping closer again. It takes everything in me not to turn and run back into the house. “None of this was supposed to happen the way it did.”
“You had an affair with a child!” I yell. Again, I think I see Dominic moving. I fight the urge to run over to him. I don’t want Uncle Ty to notice he’s conscious, or he might hurt him again. I need to keep his focus on me.
Uncle Ty holds up his hands. “Whoa, no.” He has the nerve to look offended. “I would never cheat on Carolyn. Not ever. The only reason I got Freya to send me those pictures was so I could use them to get some more money out of that tight asshole Madoc. If he’d just given me a fair price to begin with—”
“Wait, wait—what are you saying? You wanted to use her photos as blackmail?”
He actually shrugs. “Well, that was the original plan. But then, when Hamish came and told me about Freya being ineligible for that damn summer program because she just turned sixteen, well . . . I realized I might’ve miscalculated.”
Miscalculated??
“I never wanted to kill Freya. But she started sending me those photos right after Thanksgiving—she was fifteen then, but I didn’t know that. I thought she was eighteen, like her brother. I mean, why the hell does everyone call them twins if they’re not? But what I did know was that, no matter how I tried to end the relationship she thought we were having, it would all come out. Do you know what happens to guys who get arrested for child pornography? Do you, Ava?”
Much less than you deserve.
Uncle Ty moves closer, and I take a step back. Panic thrums through me, even as my mind screams that this is Uncle Ty—there’s no reason to be afraid. But I know there is. I know.
“It was only ever about the money. The money I should’ve inherited when Dad died, but he left it all to Blake. How was I supposed to feel about that, Ava? I wasn’t even the second favorite—I was more like the goddamn family dog!”
“But I’ve got money now, Uncle Ty,” I say quickly. “From the sale of the manor. You could’ve had it—you still can. All of it, if you want.”
He gives me a considering look. “I really didn’t want to hurt you, Ava. But I’m in this too deep now, and this is my only way out.”
Hurt me?
Jesus. Okay. Okay, think.
I need to get him away from Dominic before he realizes he’s conscious.
I need to call the cops.
I need to run.
How can this be happening?
“Why Ford, though? Did he find out what you were doing?” I ask. I think it’s pretty obvious I’m trying to stall now, and I’m not surprised Uncle Ty doesn’t answer. But my brain seems to have turned to a block of ice. Just keep talking! “That day, when Freya died, you were sick . . . or was that all fake?” My heart pounds in my chest, a warning drumbeat. “What’s Carolyn going to say when she finds out what you did?”
And then I hear another voice to my right.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, sweetie.”
My head whips around, and Carolyn is standing right there in the snow. She’s wearing a long, hooded coat. It casts a deep shadow over her eyes. For a moment, I’d swear she was Dead-Eyed Sadie.
The second handprint.
How did I not see it sooner?
“It was you I saw at the river, thinking it was Sadie,” I say, voice almost a whisper. “Why?”
She sighs, sounding almost disappointed. “I needed to make it look right when they find you. All your friends will back me up, your teachers. ‘She was seeing things,’ they’ll say. ‘Af
ter that first girl washed up dead, she became totally obsessed with the ghost story about Dead-Eyed Sadie, and the idea that Sadie wanted her eyes back. She even started to believe Sadie was making her kill . . .’ ”
Carolyn gives me a twisted smile, and I remember the words scrawled across that sketch on Freya’s locker: SADIE MADE ME DO IT. The sketch Uncle Ty could easily have taken from my bag and added to the shrine before anyone else was at school.
“That girl drowning was what gave me the idea. Ford was never meant to be a part of the plan, but when he came to the cottage that night, asking to see you after your little fight, he told me he’d figured out a clue from a video Freya posted . . . Well, we couldn’t take any chances. Not when the rest of it was working out so beautifully.”
I let out a sob. “Ford didn’t even know anything! Not really. All he saw was that Freya had two phones—and I had the other phone the whole time. You murdered him for nothing!”
Carolyn shrugs. “Not nothing. It did help to paint a picture of a completely unhinged teenage girl.”
She steps toward me, but I shrink back, closer to the kitchen door. “I followed him on his way home. Took that crowbar Ty just used on your boyfriend over there. And I hit him.” Her face twists in a snarl. “As hard as I could. He went down hard too, right there on the riverbank. But it had to look the same as the other one, didn’t it? So I took the crowbar and jabbed it”—she makes a punching motion toward my face, and I back up another step—“right in his eyes. But do you know what? He still wasn’t dead!”
I feel a scream rising in me, threatening to erupt at any second.
“Are you picturing it, Ava? Can you see it playing out in front of you, almost like you were there? He crawled, pleading for help, right out onto the ice. Kept crawling until it gave way under him. We all have to crawl in the end, though, don’t we, Ava? Isn’t that what you always used to wake up screaming?” Carolyn’s almost laughing now, she’s enjoying herself so much.
