Page 50 of The Truth You Told

“Shit,” Shay said, dropping the bag and shifting to put the top back on.

Her hand paused midair.

Then, slowly, she hooked a finger over the edge of the box, pulling it closer.

Articles. They were newspaper articles, all carefully cut out. The ones that had jumped from page one to other sections were pasted together on cardboard paper, like a school project.

Except Shay couldn’t imagine that anyone at Max’s school had directed her to collect all the articles that had been written about the Alphabet Man.

Shay riffled through them, her fingers becoming desperate and careless the deeper into the box she went.

There was nothing else in there, but every single mention of the Alphabet Man had been preserved.

She hit the bottom and then her ass hit the ground. In the next moment, Beau squatted in front of her, concern written in every line of his face.

“You shouldn’t have come in here,” he said, like she was to blame for this.

“I needed ...” She trailed off, the excuse sounding so hollow now. Then she blinked up at him. “You’re home.”

“I got off early. I heard ... something in here.” His eyes slipped to the box, lingered. “You’re freaking out.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“There’s no reason to,” Beau said. He’d always processed things quicker than she had.

And what he said would be true if Max weren’t who she was.

If she were just a preteen with a dark fascination with a serial killer terrorizing their part of the state, Shay would have shrugged. But Max wasn’t like every other kid. She had a police file and a psychiatrist who specialized in violent children.

“I’m sure she just wants to solve the mystery,” Beau continued when Shay just stared at him, incredulous. “She wants to figure out who it is. You know how curious she is.”

“Curious. Right,” Shay said with a nasty laugh. Anger burned bright, turning the panic to ash. Why was she the one who had to worry about Max? Beau always seemed to shrug off everything that had happened. Even when she’d finally admitted to him that she’d moved the gun, he’d simply nodded, saidGood call, and proceeded with his day. In every other aspect of their lives, he carried his fair share, even more than his fair share sometimes. But he never did anything that would ensure Max wasn’t a danger to herself—or, more importantly, others. “You think this is just weird twelve-year-old girl stuff?”

Beau’s attention drifted to the box once more. “It’s all the articles?”

“From what I can tell,” Shay said, a little helplessly. “I haven’t been following along all that closely. Maybe she missed some.”

“But most,” he said, and then sighed. He sat down and leaned against the wall, his knees drawn up. He looked tired these days, ever since Billy’s funeral. Or maybe even before then? Had she missed the signs? All the anger that had flared up a minute ago died down. Beau had probably been tired since he’d decided to coparent an eleven-year-old girl. His father’s funeral had probably just pushed him over the edge. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Shay. I think it’s probably an odd little hobby or something, but you’re staring at me like we just found a body.”

“A hobby—”

He cut her off. “It’s not like she’s the Alphabet Man. She’s twelve.”

“But—”

“Yeah, okay, she’s had some violence in her past,” Beau continued, steamrolling over her side of the conversation. “That still doesn’t make her a serial killer. Not everyone who’s been involved in a self-defense murder then goes on to tattoo stupid messages on dead girls.”

Shay blinked at him. When he put it like that, of course it sounded absurd. All at once she deflated. “You’re right.”

“Oh, should I mark the day on the calendar?”

She kicked out at him and then dropped her cheek to rest on her upturned knees. Quietly, she admitted, “I worry about her, that’s all.”

“I know, bud,” Beau said, knocking his head gently against her own. “But she’s going to be fine. She’s a good kid. You know she is.”

“Yeah,” Shay said, just a beat too slow for honesty. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized Beau was right. Maxwasa good kid—someone who would buy her sister ice cream with the last of her meager savings just because Shay had taken Max to the beach. There were a million moments like that. There was the photo on the dresser. There were those silly stars on the ceiling.

Max was more than what was in her past.

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