The Full Scoop

by Jill Orr

  While it could never be officially confirmed, police suspected that Megan had an accomplice in the actual killings, a guy named Tay Drogden. He was a recovering addict and longtime Oakwood Christian Church parishioner who credited Wyatt Claremore with saving his life. The day after the news of Megan’s death came out, he was found dead in his home of a heroin overdose. Wyatt told police that Megan and Tay had been extraordinarily close, and he suspected that Tay would have done anything Megan asked him to. When the police found him, they said he had a fresh tattoo on his wrist of the same bible verse that Megan had: “26:7.”

  Wyatt Claremore stepped down as the head of Claremore Ministries on the day the story broke. He made a public statement expressing his shock and grief about what had happened. He said he planned to stand by his wife as she atoned for her sins, both spiritually and according to the letter of the law. He said they would seek God’s grace to help them move forward after this terrible tragedy. The cynic in me would bet good money that he signed a tell-all book contract within minutes of the press conference.

  The past few weeks had been some of the most difficult of my life, but I was getting through it, determined to put my life back together in the aftermath of Megan’s reign of terror. I’d practically thrown myself at Kay’s feet and apologized for lying to her about the Claremore/Miller story. I spent nearly an hour crafting an entire speech about how and why I’d done what I’d done, promising to start from scratch to build back her trust, swearing to stay well within all ethical boundaries on all stories from this day forward, etcetera, etcetera. I’d gotten eight words into my speech when Kay said, “Totally get it, Ellison. We’re all good.” Classic Kay.

  My conversation with Holman had required slightly more explanation. He was hurt that I hadn’t come to him with what I knew. “You could have trusted me, Riley,” he’d said. “Don’t you know by now that I will always be on your side?”

  I tried to explain to him how powerless and frightened I felt after New Year’s Eve, how Megan seemed to know everything I said and did, how I was terrified that confiding in him would lead him to the same fate as Flick and Granddad. He listened to me and was quiet for a long time after I’d finished my explanation. Finally, he’d said, “You think of me in the same category as Flick and Albert?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay then,” he’d said. “I forgive you.”

  I can’t say for sure, but I had a feeling that Lindsey helped Holman work through some of his conflicted feelings about it all. They’d been spending a lot of time together lately and I’d never seen Holman happier. In fact, their relationship was the one thing that had made lying to him easier. I knew that even if he hated me and never wanted to speak to me again once the truth came out, at least he’d have Lindsey. Holman deserved at least one person in the world who adored him. Now he had two.

  After having explained things to Kay and Holman, it was time to sort things out with Ash. I knew he must have seen the headlines about what happened, but he hadn’t reached out. About three days after the story ran in the paper, I’d stopped into Campbell & Sons to see him. He’d listened to my emotional explanation of everything that happened and why I’d made the choices I did. I told him how I truly believed it was the only way to keep everyone, him included, safe. He responded by saying he was glad I was okay and that’d I’d finally gotten answers. That was it. I didn’t know what I’d wanted or expected him to say, but I’d been a little surprised at his cold response. I tried to crack through his tough shell.

  “I just wanted to tell you in person how sorry I am for—”

  “It’s fine.” He cut me off.

  My cheeks burned, but I persisted. “I never wanted to hurt you,” I said. “It felt so horrible to push you away like that.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said with a biting sarcasm.

  The conversation felt all wrong. Everyone else in my life understood—or at least tried to understand—what a horrible position I’d been in and why I felt like I had to do what I did. But Ash was acting like this was personal. He was so wrapped up in his own hurt feelings that he didn’t care what I’d been through. When someone shows you who they are, believe them.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “For what it’s worth, I am really sorry. I’ll see you around,” I said and walked out the door.

  I was halfway down the front steps of the building when I heard the door open behind me. “I would have understood, you know,” Ash called after me. “If you would have just told me what was going on, I would have helped you figure out what to do.”

  I stopped and turned around slowly, taking a few extra seconds to formulate my response. I fought the urge to apologize again and the stronger, angrier urge to point out that I’d made a decision about what the best course of action was and I didn’t need him second-guessing my choices. Or implying that his help would have somehow changed things. Yes, I’d hurt him, but I did it because I was trying to do the right thing. Plus, I’d apologized sincerely, and if that wasn’t enough for him, then he wasn’t enough for me. I wouldn’t beg for his forgiveness. “This was something I needed to deal with on my own,” I said simply.

  He just looked at me, his face a mixture of anger, pain, and pride. He didn’t say anything else, so I walked away. And he let me go.

  Daily Astrological Forecast

  Scorpio

  You are in store for some much-needed calm after the intensity of the past few weeks. This has been a time of much tumult and regeneration, but thankfully the worst is over. Jupiter sparkles in your self-esteem sector, giving you just the confidence you need to take things to the next level, both personally and professionally. You have a lot to offer, Scorpio darling. By taking big risks that position you outside of your comfort zone, you’ll continue to recognize and trust your own power.

  A new astrological season begins today when the Sun cruises into Libra’s domain, putting you in the perfect position to touch the sky. Go and get it, girl.

  Tonight: Reach out to an old friend. You just might find they’ve been waiting for you to make the first move to reconnect.

  CHAPTER 44

  I met Jay for coffee at Mysa on a Friday afternoon. He was involved in some loose ends that needed tying up at Greensville Correctional, and he stopped through Tuttle on his way back home.

  “The investigators think Tackett engineered the attack on himself,” he said, after Ridley brought us each a cup of black coffee. And me a cinnamon roll.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew Tackett was a lying dirt bag—the fact that he’d go to those lengths to get what he wanted was perfectly in character for him.

  “DNA evidence pegged an inmate named Sammy Parish as having been the one who beat Tackett to death. When they questioned him, Parish swore that Tackett paid him in cigarettes and ramen noodles to do it. He said Tackett told him he needed to make it look like the Romeros were after him,” Jay said. “Could be that Parish didn’t mean to kill him. The coroner said what killed him was one blow that severed an artery in his brain. Could have been an accident of bad luck or bad aim.”

  “Do you think?” I asked, skeptical. If Tackett had arranged the attack himself, he was certainly playing at a risky game. Then again, Joe Tackett had never shied away from risky behavior before.

  “Parish doesn’t have ties to the cartel that we know of, but we’re still investigating. I also think he could be saying that to reduce his charges from murder to manslaughter, but they did find a big stash of ramen in his cell.” Jay shook his head. “Prison currency is a strange thing.”

  “If it is true, it’s almost too ironic,” I said, still stuck on Tackett having arranged the attack himself.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Tackett always was his own worst enemy.”

  He smirked. “Ain’t that the truth?”

  “Keep me posted, will you?”

  He nodded. “You doing okay?” He gave me a meaningful look. He was obviously referencing my emotional state.
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  I smiled and said, “Pretty good.” Which was the honest truth. I didn’t mention the nightmares, which were becoming less frequent but always the same. We were back at the edge of Redemption Lake, and Megan stared at me from under the surface of the water, begging me through some silent form of communication to help her. I’d reach into the water and she’d instantly disintegrate into a million tiny grains of sand. The trauma of what happened to Megan—of all of it, really—would be with me for a while.

  I offered Jay a bite of my cinnamon roll, which he politely declined. “I’m trying to cut back,” he said with a self-conscious laugh.

  “Getting ready for Belize?” Jay and Chloe had planned a weeklong trip to an inclusive resort in the Caribbean. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t still a part of me that had a hard time hearing about their relationship. Old jealousies die hard, I guess. But Jay was about as good a man as there was in this world, and he had shown me the sort of devotion and loyalty that earned him a forever-place in my heart. Because of that I truly wanted him to be happy—even if that meant being happy with Chloe.

  “Actually,” he said, tracing the handle of his coffee cup with his finger, “the trip is off.”

  “Off? Why?”

  Jay’s cheeks started to color. “Well, she didn’t really want to go to Belize with me after I broke up with her.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I was surprised and, without examining it too closely, pleased. But lest I reveal myself as a horrible person, I said the obligatory, “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Jay shrugged. “But it’s better to be alone than with the wrong person.”

  We shared a look. A second before it went on too long, he changed the subject. “How about you?” he asked. “Are you going to take any time off after all of this?”

  “Nah,” I said, looking down. “I think the best thing for me right now is to get back to work.”

  “You really love your job, don’t you?”

  I smiled. “I can’t imagine working anywhere else.”

  “You headed back there now? I can drop you off on my way out of town?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got a stop to make first, but thanks,” I said. “For everything.”

  CHAPTER 45

  It was early March and the air was cool, but not cold, which was a welcome change after the brutal winter we’d had. I took my time on the five-minute walk, enjoying the feel of sunshine on my face and the crisp breeze blowing past but not through me. It was the cusp of spring, and the cold and ice felt like friends made at summer camp, distant memories as soon as the season changed. The sky was the color of my favorite crayon when I was growing up, Cornflower Blue, and I paused at the entrance to Stern’s Cemetery to reflect on how beautiful the grounds looked bathed in sunlight, almost as if the heavens had opened up directly overhead.

  I made my way over to Flick’s grave, following the winding path by memory. Not enough time had passed to set a gravestone, but we’d placed a temporary marker after his burial. It was a simple black metal sign on a straight stake. The inscription card read simply: “Hal Flick. A man of honor and loyalty, who left this world too damn soon.” I liked to think he would have appreciated the slight saltiness of the epithet.

  I’d never really felt the presence of the dead after they passed, as much as I wish I could sometimes, but it had been important for me to come here all the same. There was something I wanted him to know, and this seemed like the best place to tell him. I knelt down and placed my hand on the earth below. “We got ’em, Flick. Thanks to you, we got ’em.” Emotion crept up on me, and I sniffed it away as I stood up and whispered, “You can rest in peace now, my sweet friend.”

  Granddaddy’s grave was marked by a tall, thick rectangular headstone with rough-hewn edges. The inscription was a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson that my father had chosen. It had been one of Granddad’s favorites. Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. I had visited this spot many times in the years since his death, but today felt different. I felt a sense of peace that I hadn’t before. It was as if finding out the truth of what happened had helped me let him go. I would always miss my grandfather, but the jagged edges of my grief felt smoother now.

  Granddad used to say that the best obituaries answer the question, “What can we learn from this person’s life?” And while I could never quantify all that I’d learned from Albert Ellison, it wasn’t until I discovered the truth about how he died that I could fully understand the man he’d been. His death, ironically, told me all I needed to know about his life—which had been a living, breathing testament to unconditional love and sacrifice. He’d made a heartbreaking choice to allow my story to go on knowing that it meant his would end. The weight of that would never leave me. He gave up his life for mine, and that was a gift I would not waste. I kissed my fingertips and placed them on the top of his headstone. “Thank you, Granddaddy,” I said. “I love you.”

  As I walked out along the path, the hum of new life buzzed all around me. The early spring sunlight glinted off the stone monuments, setting off bits of sparkle where the light caught them just right. There was so much beauty here, so much love. There was sadness too—the undeniable sorrow that comes with death—but mostly this was a place where memories burned bright. It struck me that a graveyard was in many ways like a well-written obit: filled with beginnings and endings, mourning and celebration, reflection and renewal. I’d come here today to pay tribute to two men I’d lost, and for the first time in a long time, instead of feeling the injustice of the way they left this world, I was inspired by the spirit of how they lived. It filled me with a kind of optimism that I hadn’t had for a long time.

  As I approached the gate, an impatient sort of anticipation started brewing inside me. I looked back over my shoulder one last time. I wanted to remember this place in this moment. I knew I’d be back, but I had a feeling that it would never look quite the same to me again. My eyes found the top of Granddad’s stone, and I could just make out the first line of the engraving. Do not go where the path may lead… A soft, smiling gust blew through the cemetery and landed gently on my back as if to say, It’s time to go. Who was I to argue with the wind? So, I turned and walked out, excited by the certainty that although I would always be guided by those who had come before me, the time had come for me to set off on a trail of my very own.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The biggest thank you of all goes to you, dear reader. In a world where there is so much competition for everyone’s time and attention, I so appreciate your giving me yours. It is an honor, and I am truly grateful.

  My sincere thanks to Emma Sweeney and Margaret Sutherland Brown at the Emma Sweeney Agency, who work so expertly and thoughtfully on my behalf. Your sound counsel and staunch support is a guiding light. Plus, you are a pleasure to work with, plain and simple.

  A huge thank you to the entire team at Prospect Park Books. I know that not every author gets to work with a team that is as hardworking, supportive, talented, and fun as you are. I feel incredibly lucky to get to create books with you. Caitlin Ek, Julianne Johnson, Katelyn Keating, Dorie Bailey (who has moved on from PPB, but not before making this book better), and of course the amazing Colleen Dunn Bates. I want to add an extra layer of thanks to Colleen, whom I consider a friend, mentor, and general role model for how to be a super-smart-and-nice-yet-still-totally-badass-boss-lady.

  A great big shout-out to the incredibly talented cover design team of Nancy Nimoy and Susan Olinsky for creating what might be my favorite cover yet. And, as always, a million thanks to Amy Inouye, Margery Schwartz, and Leilah Bernstein for their detailed work in polishing this book to its best advantage.

  Sincere gratitude to my friend and legal expert Dan Knight, who patiently answered all my questions and talked me through the prosecutorial process on more than one occasion. All inaccuracies are mine. And speaking of inaccuracies, please know that I am in no way a trained astrologist. The horoscopes in th
is book are a combination of language I learned from legitimate astrology websites like Refinery29, Allure, and Astrotwins—and a heaping helping of BS.

  To Melinda Jenne, my “how long can a voicemail be” consultant, thank you for sharing your expertise on this issue. Please continue to test the limits of voicemail capacity, preferably by calling me. A message from you always makes my day better.

  A special thank you to the real Megan Johanning, who is nothing like the character who shares her name. The real Megan is charitable, strong, hardworking, funny, and brave. Thank you for sharing your story with me and being up for the adventure of being fictionalized.

  To Laura McHugh, Jennifer Gravley, Ann Breidenbach, and Nina Mukerjee-Furstenau, my beloved “writing beasties.” I can’t imagine writing without having you all in my corner.

  Thank you to my many girlfriends for every moment you’ve shared with me along this journey. I say it often because it’s true: I have the best friends. And while I’m bragging, I might as well just say: I have the best family, too. Much gratitude to my mom and Jack, my dad, Scott and Cheryl, Eddie and Dawn, and Allison and Pete. Thanks for the many ways in which you support me.

  Thank you to my son Fletcher and my daughter Ellie for your unwavering support. You guys are the best thing I will ever create. You make me proud every single day.

  And last, but never least, thank you to Jimmy. You are the yin to my yang, the hot to my cold, the macaroni to my cheese. There is nothing in my life that isn’t improved by having you by my side. Thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jill Orr is the award-nominated author of the Riley Ellison mystery series, which has been called “delightfully comic” and “highly amusing” by Publishers Weekly. In a starred review, Booklist said the series is perfect for fans of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum and Kyra Davis’s Sophie Katz books.