Page 102 of Darkwater Lane

“It looks like she was a victim, just like the others.”

All my optimism crumbles around me. I was so convinced I’d found the culprit. How could I have been so wrong?

“She’s dead because of me.” I feel hollow inside. “Just like the others.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mike is quick to say.

“I should have warned her. I knew the killer was targeting my enemies. It’s obvious she’d be at the top of that list. I just…”

I trail off, remembering Sam coming home late the night before, covered in mud. Another enemy vanquished. Another time when Sam doesn’t have an alibi. This can’t be happening. I refuse to believe it.

“You just what, Gwen?” Mike asks, prodding me to finish the thought.

It takes me a moment to remember what I was saying. “I thought Rowan was the killer. I was so sure.”

She was the best suspect. Everything lined up. Now, I realize she must have been set up, the same as Sam. The killer has been playing us all, sending us down rabbit hole after rabbit hole, making us chase our tails and get nowhere.

“What now?” I ask. Something like despair takes root inside me, sitting heavily on my heart. I thought we were close to the end. I thought there was a light at the end of this nightmare.

“We keep looking.”

“They’re going to pin this on Sam, Mike. There are no other suspects.” It’s starting to feel inevitable.

“I won’t let them.”

“We may not have a choice.”

I reach the gate, and the agent is already calling final boarding for my flight home. “I have to go, Mike,” I tell him. He hangs up without a goodbye, his usual way of ending calls.

I spend the first half of the flight staring out the window into the gloaming. Below, bright lights surround swaths of darkness, and it reminds me of standing on my deck, looking out at Stillhouse Lake.

I keep picturing Sam coming home last night. I’m trying to remember exactly what he looked like. Was there any blood? Were his pants wet or just muddy? Was there any indication that his disarray could have been caused by trying to subdue Rowan and not changing a flat?

I think about this morning when he told the cops he was home. And about the security app on my phone that will absolutely show he got in later than he let on. It’s not proof of his involvement, but it certainly doesn’t exonerate him. My first instinct was to delete the footage as soon as I got back on WiFi, but now, I’m not so sure.

I lean my head against the window, letting the cool breeze from the air conditioning nozzle overhead wash over me. If I keep digging and I keep finding more proof against Sam, what am I going to do?

Even if he was somehow involved, I know one thing for certain: Sam isn’t a monster.

But that doesn’t mean he may not be guilty of murder.

I pull out my phone, desperate for a distraction from all the questions without answers.The Royal Murdersis still queued up on my podcast app—the teaser for the bonus episode Rowan promised.

I wonder if her death means it won’t be released.

I remember, then, the USB drive Madison gave me at our first meeting. The one with all the original episodes from before Rowan took over and re-edited them. I tossed it into my purse when I got the 911 call from Lanny and forgot about it.

Listening to Madison’s original episodes wasn’t a priority. Now, though, I’m curious.

Luckily enough, it’s the kind of USB I can plug into my phone, which makes it quite easy to queue up the episodes. I fit in my earbuds, close my eyes, and press play.

Madison was right. Her original episodes were much more generous toward me—even complimentary at times—which is surprising. I can only imagine just how much Rowan must have lost her mind when she first heard these. She must have been apoplectic. No wonder she fired Madison and re-edited everything before releasing it.

Maybe if she’d left well enough alone, she wouldn’t have ended up on my enemies list and become a target for the Sicko Patrol serial killer. I wonder what will happen to the rest of the unaired podcast episodes now that she’s dead. I assume there’s some other acolyte in the Lost Angels, ready and willing to take up the mantle of hatred.

Though perhaps they’ll change their mind about coming after me when they realize it might get them killed.

I land in Knoxville and collect my car. It’s cold, colder than it’s been in a while. My breath clouds around me as I text Sam to let him know I’m safe and on my way.

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