Page 33 of The One Before

“The things you write affect people. All you’re doing is stirring up ghosts.”

“I’m not the only person who thinks the Douglas family had a hand in covering this up. They did more than hire an outside examiner. They buried as many stories about Celia as they could. I bet my post onThe Falls Reportwas the only article you’ve even read. Why do you think that is?”

I stumble. “When theGazetteadopted their new online system—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. They lost a few articles. How convenient that every article about Celia Gray didn’t make the cut. The Douglas family has money and power. That makes them suspicious.” Bailey tilts her head to get a better look at me. “You don’t buy everything they say either, do you? That’s why you’re so bothered by this.”

“I’m bothered because I know Coop. He’s a good man, and I hate to see the way this incident has followed him.”

“Cooper Douglas seems like a stand-up guy. It doesn’t mean there aren’t skeletons rattling in his closet.”

I’m blushing, but I refuse to cower in front of her. A week ago, I might have been wounded by what she said, but Bridgette’s accusation changed things. It forced me to communicate with Coop about his past. Forced him to reveal this town’s involvement in his shame. For a while, I drifted through Whisper Falls, unsure of my purpose. Now I understand my role is to support Coop, assure him he no longer has to carry this burden alone. We’re in this together.

“I’m sure it’s difficult finding entertaining stories in a town this dull but work a little harder,” I say, holding eye contact as I take a step back. “And stop writing about Coop.”

I jog back to the track, not leaving the park until I’ve finished my routine.

Twenty-Four

Helena

I’ve spent the entire afternoon collecting materials at the local craft supply store. Tomorrow, I’ll drive to local florists and snap pictures of various arrangements on display. It’s a lot of effort to put into an event I know will never happen, but it’s important for me to build a rapport with Madison. To impress her, even. It’s the only way I can get close to her whilst steering clear of her in-laws. They’d know me in a second. How could they forget?

When it became clear the police were no longer investigating, I had to do whatever I could to keep my daughter’s face out there. I contacted news stations and newspapers, and not just the corruptGazette. Eventually, even they grew tired of my phone calls. There were bigger stories to tell, more important people than my girl.

That’s when I started drinking. I’d always been a social drinker, but now when I imbibed, it wasn’t for a connection; I no longer relied on people in the superficial way I once did. The bottle listened to my stories without telling me to move on or accept what had happened. The bottle didn’t tell me I was being irrational for placing the blame on Cooper Douglas. He knew something. His wealthy family hired a lawyer to shut him up, but who would do that unless there was something to hide? Why weren’t they contacting me, telling what they knew? They didn’t even send condolences.

After six months, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to contact Cooper directly. After several glasses of Merlot, I trekked to Whisper Falls and made my way onto the Douglas estate. I wanted to talk to Josephine, mother to mother. Cooper was young, after all. Maybe he was intimidated by me. His mother would understand the anguish of not being able to protect a child, and, perhaps, offer her support.

A mindful person would have reached out over the phone, but that would have provided too much time for a reaction. If his mother could only see me in person, she might take me seriously. Finding the house wasn’t hard. Everyone in Whisper Falls knew how to reach the Douglas estate. I went there on a Saturday afternoon, immediately mesmerized by the hydrangea bushes lining the driveway and the ominous lake in the background. I walked to the front door, which was opened by a member of the staff—what people have staff these days?—and was directed to the library.

I sank into a velvet armchair by the fireplace, scanning the rows of books between the floor and ceiling. The back window overlooked Whisper Lake. I wondered how many times my daughter might have visited this place. A dozen? More? How close had she and Cooper become? Surely his family mourned her loss as much as I did.

“I’m Josephine Douglas,” she said when she entered the room. She wore a lime skirt and blazer, a colorful silk scarf fastened around her neck. Her dark hair sat atop her head, a jeweled hairpin holding it in place. She pushed back her shoulders and smiled, her presence sucking the air out of the room. “How may I help you?”

“I’m Helena,” I said, standing to shake the woman’s hand. My knees buckled from the nervousness. This wasn’t the type of place I belonged, and Josephine wasn’t the type of woman I’d ever befriend. “I wanted to speak to you about your son.”

“Which son?”

“About Cooper.” I took a step closer.

“I thought this was about a charity event.”

The man who had let me inside was standing in the corner of the room watching us. She looked at him for confirmation, and he shrugged. Of course I wasn’t there about a charity event, but I needed some excuse to get into the house.

“Mrs. Douglas, I need to talk to you about Cooper. You see, my daughter—”

Her face filled with recognition and horror. She knew what I was about to say, but she wouldn’t let me finish. “You need to leave. Now.” She turned to exit the room.

“Please, if you’d just listen to me.” I yanked her arm, pulling her back. I didn’t mean to grab her with such force, but the combination of desperation and wine overpowered my manners.

“Let me go,” she said, her eyes as deep as the lake beyond the doors. And yet, there was something in them. Fear. I was scaring her.

“I know he was the last person to see her. Maybe there’s something he could tell me. Some way he could help.”

“Let. Me. Go.” Her words reverberated from a place of contempt.

I released her and covered my mouth with my hand. I was mortified by my behavior but exhausted of being rejected at every turn. I started crying, sobbing uncontrollably. “I only want answers.”

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