“What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling. I got the impression he was concerned about you yesterday. After what happened with his dad, I’d think Hornwood Cemetery was the last place he’d want to be.”

  “I know.” Nicole lowered her gaze, idly picking a loose thread on the bright blue towel layered over the chaise. Chlorine from the pool had bleached the tips of her nails whiter than any French manicure. “He seems sincere. He’s going through a lot with his mom. I feel bad for him.” She paused. “Remember how he and Marshall’s brother used to hang out? I always thought that was a weird friendship. They seemed so opposite. Do you think they’re still friends?”

  Chelsea kept her face tilted to the sky. “A doctor and a drunk? I doubt it.”

  “Marshall said Willard doesn’t drink anymore.”

  “I hope not, given he almost killed himself doing it.” She shifted to the side, left hip wedged against her towel in order to face Nicole. “I heard he got plastered one night, started up some piece of machinery he uses for landscaping, and nearly sliced off his arm.”

  “My God.”

  “It was bad. Blood everywhere. I don’t know who found him, but they got him to the clinic here in town. The doctor stitched him up enough for him to be transported to Bottleneck for surgery. I heard it was touch and go whether he would lose the arm.”

  Nicole thought back to her glimpse of Marshall’s brother in the yard. He’d had both arms, but she couldn’t recall if he’d been hampered in any way. “He’s lucky it didn’t impact his business.”

  “It did for a while. That’s why Marshall came home. At first, it was just a temporary leave. Marshall helped Willard around the house and made calls for him related to the business. Then an opportunity came up at the Bottleneck Wellness Center, and he decided to stay. Between you and me, I don’t think Marshall is cut out for big city living. He might be brilliant, but he’s still kind of awkward.”

  “He was pretty sure of himself when we talked the other day.”

  “Home ground.” Chelsea poked a finger in her soda, sending an ice cube bobbing. “I think he’s comfortable here in Hornwood. Happy, even. And it’s been good for Willard to have his brother back.”

  “Trace does orthopedic surgery. Wouldn’t it be weird if he was the one who operated on Willard?”

  “Maybe he did.” Chelsea sucked soda from her fingertip. “But I think I would have heard about it from Kevin. He’s always regretted what he and Curtis Hill did to Marshall the night of the senior party. Since Marsh came back, he, Kevin, and Vin have palled around.”

  “Whatever happened to Curtis?”

  Chelsea shrugged. “The same that happens to many people in Hornwood. They drift away and move someplace else.”

  Nicole knew all about that.

  Her friend regarded her levelly. “Only a few ever come home.”

  Glory was out when Nicole returned later that evening. She’d stayed for dinner with Chelsea and Kevin. By the time she arrived at the farmhouse, Glory was gone, the house still. Nicole found a note on the kitchen table.

  Decided to work the restaurant tonight. I think it’s good for me to keep busy. There’s leftover chicken salad in the fridge if you’re hungry. I put Janie’s notebooks on the coffee table in the family room.

  Love, Mom

  Nicole ran one fingertip over the looping letters of the signature line. When was the last time she’d seen those two words together? Love, Mom.

  “You’re working miracles, Janie,” she whispered to the empty room.

  Upstairs, she dumped her purse, changed her top for a loose t-shirt, then replaced her sandals with flip-flops borrowed from Glory. Afterward, she headed to the family room with a glass of white wine. The last rays of the evening sun spooled over the bleached hardwood floor in long fingers of butterscotch and tangerine, contrasted with the soft grays and blues of the furnishings. Above the stone fireplace, the portrait-sized photo of Glory in her role as Nina Maxwell from Fifth Street Sundown was banded in shadow.

  Nicole rested a hand on the mantel, studying her mom.

  It was easy to understand how Jude Beck had fallen in love with a woman eleven years his senior. How Nicole’s father waited fifteen years to marry the girl he dated in high school—never abandoning his love for her, even when she left him in favor of Hollywood. Why people flocked to a tiny town each year during Movie Night to spend a few minutes talking to the beguiling woman who’d enchanted them in a film panned by critics. When you stripped away the spotlight, Glory Larkin remained.

  Beautiful, vulnerable, ethereally mesmerizing Glory Larkin.

  The girl who almost made it.

  Unexpected pride surged through Nicole. Growing up, she’d taken so much for granted as Glory’s daughter. Now, after ten years’ distance, she was able to view the life she’d once had differently. The life she still had if she embraced it.

  Nicole raised her glass. “To you, Mom.”

  The wine was dry and tart, suited for the waiting task. Settling cross-legged on the sofa, she eyed the notebooks on the coffee table. Several dozen. She’d expected more—it seemed Janie was always scribbling—but her memory was blurry. All she knew for certain was she’d considered Janie’s habit strange.

  No journaling. No diary. Just lists.

  Drawing a deep breath, she pulled the first spiral-bound book into her lap.

  The bottom of the cover had split from being thumbed repeatedly, and a handful of pages showed wear. Still, given its age, the tablet was in good shape. Her gaze dropped to the header on the first page.

  When I grow up, I want to be…

  Happy.

  A lump formed in Nicole’s throat. Why had she chosen this book to start?

  A nurse.

  Or a veterinarian.

  I want a dog.

  And a cat.

  I’ll live in Hornwood.

  Not move away like Dad.

  I’ll buy the Boone Rail shack.

  Lettie talks to me there.

  The list ended abruptly.

  Nicole studied the last line, a frown pulling her brows. It wasn’t a list at all. More like poetry. Her sister had always jealously guarded her notebooks, never wanting to share them, saying the thoughts were private. But—

  Lettie talks to me there.

  She flipped the page. The next list was more practical.

  Foods I like…

  Shrimp tacos.

  Pepperoni pizza.

  Cheeseburgers with fries.

  Chicken corn soup.

  Caramel apples.

  Peanuts in the shell.

  That list went on and on. Nicole flipped pages, scanning each, but the lists that followed offered more of the same. My favorite colors… TV shows I like… Fun things I did yesterday… Names for dogs… Names for Cats… Names for Lettie’s baby…

  Nicole drew up short, puzzled by the blank page. Her sister had written nothing under the header. Why would Janie be concerned with dreaming up names for a dead woman’s baby?

  Lettie talks to me there.

  She thought about calling or texting Vin, curious what his impressions had been after going through the notebooks. Instead, she poured a second glass of wine and dug deeper. Sunlight faded, the sky layered with pewter and the smoked lavender of twilight. Outside, the white hydrangeas clustered by the patio appeared ghostly, soft petals pearlized in the hazy light. Janie loved nights like this.

  How appropriate the next list Nicole encountered was Why I like summer nights…

  Hunched over, she read three more notebooks, so absorbed she barely heard the wall clock chime the quarter hour. She paused only long enough to switch on a table lamp. Halfway through the last notebook, she encountered another mention of Lettie Boone.

  Why I go to the Boone Rail shack…

  History is important.

  Lettie’s legend is sad.

  Even though other kids go there, it’s my secret place.

  My keeping place.

  Lettie talks to me there.

  She’s still waiting.

  Nicole rubbed her forehead, frustrated by her sister’s fixation on a dead woman. Did Janie believe in ghosts? Had she really thought the phantom of Lettie Boone haunted the old shack? If that was the case, why hadn’t she been afraid?

  The two boys who’d found Janie’s body said they’d been directed to the spot by Lettie’s ghost. According to Chelsea, they’d been sincere when she interviewed them.

  Nicole flopped back against the couch, refusing to be sucked in by an old legend. She’d discovered so much through Janie’s writings tonight. Hers sister’s impressions of Nicole and their mother, Janie’s thoughts about Movie Night, Fifth Street Sundown, and their mom’s fame in Hornwood.

  Nothing truly unflattering, but a few items struck too close for comfort. Like Nicole’s preoccupation with Vin and the senior party, or Glory’s habit of cursing Bryce Keller whenever she watched the film that failed to make her a star. On the plus side, Janie had clearly liked Vin and listed all the reasons why he was good for Nicole.

  She tapped a finger against her chin. No wonder Jude said there was nothing worthwhile in the notebooks. At least nothing pointing to who Janie’s killer might be. Oddly, there was no mention of the Storybook Lady, Janie’s bracelet, or its inscription.

  Which meant there had to be another notebook.

  A missing notebook.

  The night of the senior party, Janie passed the hours scribbling in a tablet that ended up in Elderberry Creek. The whole reason Marshall originally thought she’d fallen in.

  Chelsea had been the one to find it. Once Marshall told them what happened, most of the kids fanned out in a search for Janie, combing the banks, calling her name. Some of the guys had even waded into the water where Marshall said she’d fallen. Vin had dived under the murky current repeatedly, coming up soaked, mud and twigs clinging to his hair and clothes. She remembered his teeth chattering as they’d stood on the bank waiting for his father and Jude Beck to come. Officers from Drem County arrived to expand the search.

  Chelsea found the notebook trapped between tree roots jutting into the creek, cover and pages waterlogged, ink running together. There’d only been a few pages of writing, but had those pages contained mention of the Storybook Lady or the bracelet’s inscription? What if the Storybook Lady was Janie’s killer?

  Nicole pressed her temple, trying to remember.

  What had they done with the notebook?

  She dug out her phone, fingers flying as she frantically texted Chelsea.

  Hey, thanks for today. Loads of fun. Quick question… senior party, U found Janie’s notebook. What did we do with it?

  She waited, holding her breath, watching the blue dots signaling Chelsea’s reply dance across the screen. After a few seconds, the answer appeared.

  I think Vin’s dad took it. Maybe Jude. Is something wrong?

  Nicole swore softly. The night had been chaos. It made sense Police Chief McCain or Jude would have retrieved it, along with Janie’s cellphone and her backpack. Not the purple bag she favored, but a red one patterned with beige and yellow diamonds. Strange how that stood out in her mind, the backpack and phone lying on the blanket, discarded pieces of Janie’s life. Everything would have eventually been turned over to her mother. Given the condition the notebook was in, Glory might have trashed it. It was one thing to hold onto Janie’s old backpack, another to cling to a ruined notebook with a few pages of smeared ink. Even if Nicole could find it, would the contents be legible?

  She turned her attention back to Chelsea’s text and typed a quick reply.

  Just looking thru some stuff that made me think of the book. No worries. Thanks again for today. She added a smiley emoji and two red hearts. After a second, Chelsea replied in kind.

  Nicole clicked off the phone. Jude told her they’d tried to retrieve data from Janie’s old cell, so clearly Glory kept it all these years—another reminder of the dead daughter she’d been unable to part with. That meant the red backpack and the notebook must have been returned, too. Her mom probably stashed them someplace separate.

  Nicole shoved from the couch and headed for Janie’s room.

  It was hard going through her sister’s belongings, but she steeled herself for the task. Stuffed animals and books, clothes, assorted baubles, and hair ribbons. Each held special meaning for Janie. Even the odd colored rock, stray button, or bubble-gum glitter pen. Janie collected trinkets the same way she’d collected ideas for lists. But despite searching, the only thing Nicole found were musty memories. Finally, when she was ready to call it a night, she hit upon the idea of looking under the bed. When they were kids, Glory had never wanted them to store anything under the bed, saying it amounted to clutter. But Nicole needed to put herself in her mom’s recent mindset.

  The red backpack would be a reminder of the night she believed her daughter drowned. Something she couldn’t look at, even contemplate, yet she’d be unable to part with it because it was Janie’s. Judging by the state of Janie’s room, Glory hadn’t disposed of anything that belonged to her youngest daughter.

  On hands and knees, Nicole swept the bed skirt aside. She spied a dark lump under the headboard, but had to scrunch on her belly, arm stretched full length to grasp it. Resettling with the bag in her lap, she tugged on the zipper, the metal grooves parting easily. Far easier than she would have expected for a ten-year-old backpack. The fabric was clean, free of congealed dust and grime. Someone had clearly handled it not that long ago.

  Still seated on the floor, she folded back against the bed.

  “Jude already looked through that.”

  Nicole glanced up to find her mother standing in the doorway.

  “I should have known.” The adrenalin spike she’d been riding earlier dive-bombed in a crash. She tugged the notebook from the bag’s mouth, no great discovery, just an old composition book, cover and pages waffled and stiff after a stint in Elderberry Creek. She glanced at her mom. “You shoved it under the bed.”

  Glory settled on the floor beside her. “It’s the only thing of hers I can’t bear to look at.”

  Nicole opened the cover. With the exception of the first line, nothing was legible, blue ink smeared in long runners down the page. But that single line was almost pristine, only a faint smudge on the last word as if the water had refused to obliterate it.

  What I want to do tomorrow.

  Beside her, Glory parted with a soft sigh. “She never got a tomorrow.”

  Nicole turned the page, the crinkle of the paper overly loud in the stillness. This list, too, was lost in a blur of stains, a word visible here or there, nothing of significance.

  She closed the tablet, mentally berating herself. She’d been foolish to think she could play detective. Find hidden meaning in her sister’s words when her mom, Jude, and Vin had already been through Janie’s old notebooks. Her sister was dead, and her killer would likely never be found.

  She squeezed her mother’s hand. “Janie didn’t have a tomorrow, but you do. Jude loves you, and I think you love him. It’s time you stopped living in the past. Janie’s gone, but you still have a future.”

  “I know you’re right.” A single tear tracked down Glory’s cheek. Her smile quivered as she tightened her fingers around Nicole’s hand. “Tomorrow I want you to help me pack up Janie’s belongings. It’s time I give this room a fresh look.”

  Chapter 15

  Glory woke early on Saturday in order to make a homestyle breakfast for her and Nicole. It had been years since she’d had someone to cook for. To be in the kitchen, radio playing in the background, aromas of coffee, bacon, scrambled eggs, and pan-fried potatoes mingling in the air left her surprisingly light-hearted. She cooked for Jude on occasion, but more often than not it amounted to something simple—an egg sandwich or toasted bagel with cream cheese—before he took off for the police station. Having Nicole home made her realize how much she missed cooking for her daughters.

  Daughter.

  Even after all this time, it remained hard wrapping her head around the reality. But Nicole was right. It was time she moved on. She’d taken the first steps by sharing her past with Jude. All that remained was to do the same with Nicole and pray her daughter would forgive her. Breakfast wasn’t a bribe, but it was something to bring them closer. After that, she hoped to tackle Janie’s room. Maybe during the process of packing boxes, she’d find the nerve to spill her closely guarded secrets.

  There’s so much you don’t know.

  It was time to correct that and suffer the consequences.

  “That’s the last of them.” Glory dropped three empty boxes she’d carted from the basement onto the bedroom floor. Even with the AC running, the air was stuffy. She swiped the back of one hand across her forehead. “I guess I’ll have to get more.”

  “It’s great you had what you did in storage.” Nicole folded the flaps of a box resting on the foot of Janie’s bed, locking the lid into place. Other cartons, packed and labeled, had been shoved against the wall. Janie’s serviceable clothing was being donated to the local church. Anything old or outdated had been earmarked for disposal.

  Throwing Janie’s possessions away was hard, but a step Glory forced herself to take. She’d selected a few special trinkets, several books, and two stuffed animals to keep for herself. Nicole had taken a few things as well. They’d donate the remaining books to the library. Toys and other useable items would go to the church in hopes that someone less fortunate could use them.

  “We’ve been at this for a while.” Glory surveyed the progress they’d made. “Why don’t we take a break?”

  Nicole scrawled church on the box she’d just sealed. “Are you sure? We’re almost done.”

  “I’m sure. The patio has nice shade this time of day. You head out back, and I’ll grab a pitcher of lemonade.”

  Thankfully, it didn’t take more cajoling. Glory was grateful they’d burned off breakfast, and there was little other than nerves to make her stomach roil. While Nicole disappeared outside, she detoured to the kitchen to round up the pitcher along with two tall glasses. When she stepped onto the patio, she found Nicole sitting in a wicker rocker, head tilted back, eyes closed.

 

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