Page 64 of To the Grave

I scrolled past the article, looking for a follow-up, and found it almost a week later: BLACKWELL SCHOOL FOR BOYS FIRE WAS ARSON.

The Blackwell Falls Fire Department has concluded their investigation into the fire at the Blackwell Home for Boys and determined it was caused by arson.

There was more: that an accelerant had been found in the building, something that had made the fire spread fast and hot, that the police were interviewing suspects, that the boys had been “relocated” and that a memorial service had been set for June Meynard, the woman who’d acted as their guardian.

“It was fucking arson,” Wolf said.

I stared at the words on the screen. “Just like at the Blades compound.”

Chapter 43

Daisy

Isank into the hot tub with a sigh and watched as Ruth did the same, her chestnut hair piled on top of her head. She’d finally — reluctantly — agreed to our spa day, and we’d spent the day getting massages, facials, and hair masks and making small talk.

Well, I made small talk. Ruth mostly acted like she was doing me a favor being here at all. Any other time I would have called her out on it, but Cassie and Sarai’s claim echoed through my mind.

Ruth was in trouble, growing up too fast for her own good.

I didn’t want the responsibility of looking out for her, but my mom and Blake were dead and my dad clearly wasn’t up to the job.

What was the old saying? It’s a dirty job but somebody has to do it.

The dirty job was keeping Ruth safe and I was the unlucky somebody who had to do it — whether Ruth wanted me to or not.

“This feels good,” Ruth admitted, tipping her head back.

I resisted the urge to say “Duh,” because I’d been trying to connect with her for the belated spa-day birthday present for weeks and she’d acted like I was trying to book her for front-row tickets to a human sacrifice.

“It does.” I looked around the hot-tub area at Blackwell Springs, the new-ish day spa that had opened up on Main Street. It was pretty, tiled with blue-green sea glass, huge salt lamps glowing orange in the corners, the jacuzzi sunk into the center of the room like a Roman bath. “I hope Cantwell doesn’t put this place out of business.”

Ruth opened her eyes. “Why would it?”

“They’ll have a day spa too, a fancy one,” I said. “Guests will be able to book discounted passes but other customers can book for the day.”

“Is it nice?”

I was surprised by the question, mostly because Ruth rarely showed any interest in my life. “It’s not done, but the plans make it look super luxe.”

“Will you get a discount since you work there?” Ruth asked.

“I’m not sure. I actually don’t know if I’ll still be working there when the place is done.” I didn’t know if I wanted to still be working there. I’d had the seed of an idea, a way I might be able to use the house to build a career for myself, one that didn’t make me want to scream into the void, but I wasn’t ready to tell anyone about it yet. Still, this was good, an opening for me to ask about Ruth, about her life, without seeming like the nosy older sister. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Ruth’s voice was lazy, the day of relaxation softening her earlier petulance.

“You’re a junior this year, and you’re taking classes at the college. That’s all a big deal. Have you decided where you’re going to college?”

There was no doubt Ruth would go away to school. I was the designated flunky in the family. Ruth would go to an Ivy, get a degree in something my dad could brag about, go on to work a high-paying job, marry someone equally impressive, and have two kids who would come out of the womb speaking five languages and solving advanced calculus equations.

“I’ll probably apply to Columbia, Yale, and Stanford,” she said. “We’ll see where I get in.”

“Do you have a preference?” None of this was what I really wanted to talk about, but Ruth was smart. She would be able to smell an ambush from a mile away. I had to be careful.

“Not really,” she said. “California would be fun, but I love the city, so Columbia would be fine, and Yale would look good on my résumé.”

Ah, to be Ruth Hammond. A high school junior and already thinking about her résumé.

“You must be excited to get out of here,” I said.

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