Page 74 of Whispers of Deception

She felt a pang of guilt watching them. What must it be like to lose someone so publicly, to have the entire world pick apart your grief as if it were a tabloid headline? McCall had taken Willow’s life, but in the process, he’d also destroyed his own family. And now they were left to face the fallout.

“Do you think it’s true?” Sebastian asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the din. “That he killed Willow?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. Lilia didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. She still didn’t know what to believe. McCall’s confession had seemed convenient, too well-timed. But there were those photos—grainy, damning—that made it harder to argue against his involvement.

“I don’t know,” Lilia whispered. “I really don’t.”

Delilah glanced at her, worry etched into her features. “It’s hard to believe he could do something like that. He was always so . . . by the book. I mean, he was a cop.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Cops aren’t saints, Delilah. You’ve seen how they can be. Just because he wore a badge doesn’t mean he couldn’t—” He stopped himself, glancing toward the reporters. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

The church doors opened then, and the funeral began in earnest. The McCall family, flanked by officers and pallbearers, slowly made their way inside. The protesters grew louder, their shouts rising to a fever pitch as the coffin was brought forward. Lilia watched, her heart heavy in her chest, as the casket was carried past the crowd. Some threw insults, others jeers. A woman held up a picture of Willow, her face tear-streaked and filled with rage.

“How could you?” she screamed, her voice shaking. “How could you kill her? She didn’t deserve this!”

Lilia felt the bile rise in her throat. She knew that grief all too well, that desperate need for answers, for justice. But standing here, on the outside looking in, she realized how little any of it actually mattered. McCall was dead. Willow was dead. And nothing they did now would change that.

Reporters scrambled for better angles as the family slipped inside the church, their voices a steady hum in the background. One man, his camera raised high, called out, “Do you think McCall acted alone? Or is there more to this?”

Lilia looked away, unable to stomach any more. The truth didn’t seem to matter to anyone anymore. Not when the story was more important than the people involved.

She took a deep breath, the cold air stinging her lungs, and turned to Augustus. “We should go.”

He nodded, his expression still hard, unreadable. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

The four of them started to move away from the crowd, their footsteps soft against the cracked pavement. But as they walked, Lilia couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking away from something far bigger than just McCall’s funeral. There were still so many questions left unanswered, still so much they didn’t know.

And as the shouts of the protesters faded into the background, Lilia couldn’t help but wonder if the worst was still yet to come.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The house looked even more foreboding up close—its pale, peeling paint against the overcast sky giving it a haunted feeling. Lilia had walked past their house five times in the past twenty minutes, pacing back and forth like a restless ghost tethered to a place that didn’t want her. She was certain by now that they thought she was either a reporter or a stalker. Finally, the door opened and Lilia froze as a woman with disheveled hair and a tired expression lugged a large box out onto the porch. Her face was hidden behind loose strands of blonde hair. She placed the box down with a huff, then paused, her gaze locking with Lilia’s.

“Can I help you?” The woman’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

Lilia flinched. “Me? Uh, no.”

“You keep walking back and forth,” she said, her tone laced with suspicion. “I’ve seen you. I’ll call the police if I have to.”

“I’m not—uh.” Her voice faltered, her nerves getting the better of her. She could feel herself stammering. Her mind raced, trying to find an excuse.

“I know you,” the woman squinted.

“No,” Lilia shook her head, taking a small step backward. “You don’t?—”

“I do.” Her voice turns icier, a dangerous edge lingering. “You were friends with that girl—the one they say Tommy killed.”

Lilia opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her thoughts scatter like dead leaves in the wind. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she finally managed. “I just wanted to give you my condolences.”

Jessica’s face softened, if only for a moment. She sighed, glancing down at the box by her feet. “You know,” she said quietly, “you’re the first person to say that to me.”

Silence fell between them. The air was heavy with unsaid words, laden with grief.

“For what it’s worth,” Lilia said, “I don’t believe Detective McCall killed her.”

Jessica slightly, resting her hand protectively on her stomach. “Would you like to come in?”

Lilia hesitated, unsure if she was ready to step into the home of the man everyone believed killed her friend. She’s afraid of what she might find, or see. Despite her hesitation, she nodded. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

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