Page 78 of Darkwater Lane

As I approach the stranger, I keep my legs and arms loose and stay on my toes, ready to defend myself or run—whichever is necessary.

She’s dressed smartly, which is part of the reason she stood out. Most people around here dress for comfort, even more so in the winter, but not this woman. She’s wearing dark leggings and a wool tunic with ankle boots. A large cashmere scarf is wound around her neck. It’s a pretty outfit, but she’s probably freezing, especially given that the breeze tends to be stronger on the dock out over the water.

She senses my approach because she turns to face me before I have the chance to say anything. I recognize her instantly, and my stomach twists.

“Rowan.” What the hell is she doing in Stillhouse Lake? What’s she doinghere, right next to my house?

The answer is obvious. She’s been waiting for me. The thought sends a chill through me. I wish again that I’d carried a gun with me while jogging or had at least cut through the woods to grab one from the house before approaching this woman.

I stop where I am at the edge of the dock. From everything I’ve learned about Rowan recently, she could be a serial killer, and I might be her next target. She doesn’t look like one, of course—they rarely do.

She looks me over, her expression remaining unchanged. If she hates me or is imagining my mutilated corpse, I can’t tell. The woman has one hell of a poker face.

“I know about the bones,” she says. No preamble, no small talk.

I blink, completely blindsided by the statement. “What bones?”

She smiles slightly as if amused by my feigned ignorance. Except my confusion isn’t feigned. “Melvin’s bones,” she says. “I know someone robbed his grave, and I know they’ve been leaving his bones at various crime scenes. Murders, mostly.”

As far as I’m aware, the police haven’t released that information. “None of that is public knowledge.”

“You think the police are the only ones able to dig up information and put the pieces together? Please.”

“Why are you here?”

“Research. I’m considering a second season of the podcast and wanted to see where you lived after fleeing Melvin Royal. I always wanted to figure out what it is about this place that made Sam turn against the Lost Angels. Stillhouse Lake is synonymous with Gina Royal and Gwen Proctor. I wanted to see it all for myself.”

I narrow my eyes. “What’s the real reason?”

That gets a genuine smile. “Sometimes, I forget how smart you are. Then again, you have to be to have bested Melvin.”

She swings a large purse off her shoulder and reaches inside.My mind screamsgun, and I’m already pivoting to run when she pulls out a folder. She notices my scramble to bolt and tsks. “I’m not here to hurt you, Gwen. Not physically.”

“Then why are you here?”

She rolls her eyes. “If you’ll take the damn folder, I’ll show you.” She stalks closer and shoves it at me.

Unless she’s coated it with some sort of poison—unlikely since she’s handling it with bare hands—I can’t see any harm in taking it. I flip it open. Inside are dozens of pages, each a dossier of a different victim. I recognize most of the names: Cooper Kuntz, Salem Adams, Forrester Blakeny. All men I’d come across during Sicko Patrol. All men who sent me vile threats.

All men who ended up dead or missing, with one of Melvin’s bones found with them at the crime scenes.

I count ten murder victims in all, three more than I’d found on my own and passed along to the FBI. I stare back up at her, studying her. What kind of game is she playing?

“How did you get all this?”

“The Lost Angels tip line,” she says. “We’ve been running an ad for it at the end of the podcasts, inviting anyone with information to reach out. Most of what we’ve gotten is crap, but some of it turned out to be true.”

It’s a plausible explanation, though I’m not sure I buy it. I don’t trust anything Rowan says.

“You know what they all have in common other than Melvin’s bones being at the crime scenes?” she continues. “You. They’re all men who threatened you in some form or another. Now, they’re all missing or dead.”

It’s rich that she’s blaming me when she’s the most viable suspect. I wonder if this confrontation is somehow a part of her plan to set me up.

I close the folder. “I had nothing to do with these men’s deaths.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “For someone so innocent, a lot of people end up dying around you.”

“You know, there’s no such thing as a perfect murder. Whoever did this will get caught. I hope you have a good lawyer.”

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