Page 97 of Darkwater Lane

“And Lanny…you would be enraged if you saw her now. Her hair color changes from week to week. She wears baggy clothes and black nail polish. She’s a proud feminist. And guess what else—she dates girls. She’s smart too. She’s gotten into colleges that would blow your mind, and she’s going to go, and she’s going to live an incredible life.

“You wanted to raise her to be meek and mild and afraid like I used to be. Well, guess what? She’s loud. She’s got strong opinions and loves to share them. She’s fiercely loyal—to her brother, to her friends, to me and Sam.

“Speaking of Sam, he’s a wonderful father. He’s their real dad, not you. He adopted them, did you know that? He listens to them, he supports them, he challenges them. Helovesthem. He truly does—not the way you claimed to. They’re not some prop he uses to make himself look good. Also? He’s pretty damn amazing in bed. I never get tired of feeling that man’s hands on me.”

I realize I’m crying, but they’re happy tears. Relieved tears. Thekind you let loose when you’re reaching the end of something momentous.

“So, you know what, Melvin? We’re doing pretty fucking well without you. We don’t need you. We never did. I’d say I hope you rot in hell, but I don’t care. I don’t care about you at all. I’m done with you taking up space in our lives.”

With that, I turn on my heel and leave.

I recall the maintenance building being on the back edge of the property and decide to walk rather than drive. I use the opportunity to breathe in the fresh, frigid air, letting it sear my lungs. When I reach the building, I find an older man unloading bags of mulch from a truck. He’s wearing a beat-up tan jacket and a plaid hat, and his face is weathered and wrinkled from decades spent outside.

“Excuse me, hello,” I call out as I approach.

He pauses and looks up, then straightens, taking his time with it and arching his back to stretch it a little in the process.

“Do you work here?” I ask, even though it’s obvious from the badge on his jacket that he does.

He nods. “I do. Name’s Callum.” He holds out a hand.

“Hi, Callum, I’m Gwen,” I say, shaking it. I note that his palms are rough and calloused. Unsurprising, given his job. “Can I ask you a couple of questions about one of the graves?”

His forehead wrinkles in concern. “There a problem?”

“Oh, no, not like that. I’m not here to complain or raise a fuss.” I try to figure out the best way to explain the situation without giving too much away. “I’m just curious about something. Grave marker 820724, you know where that one is?”

He thinks for a moment. “Over in section seven. Barre gray, single upright.”

I remember the woman at the funeral home poring through the options, trying to upsell me at every turn. My answer was always the same: whatever is cheapest. I’d have thrown his body out to rot in a garbage dump if it had been allowed.

I nod. “That’s the one. I’m surprised you remember it off the top of your head.”

He shrugs. “I’ve been mowing around these graves since before you were born. I remember when they put that one in because most anonymous folk end up in the pauper graves. Not that I care much. Don’t change the job none.”

He’s got a point. “Do you have any idea who’s buried there?”

He shakes his head. “No, ma’am, I sure don’t.”

“You sure? His name wasn’t in any records?”

He shakes his head again. “They keep those up at the office.”

“You’ve never been curious?”

“It’s not my job to be curious. It’s my job to take care of the graves and the grounds. We all belong to God, no matter who you are or what you’ve done.”

I wonder if he’d change his mind if I told him the grave belonged to a man who’d tortured and brutally murdered over a dozen young women. “Have you noticed anyone paying special attention to that grave?”

He grabs a water bottle from a nearby table and takes a long sip as he considers. “There was a woman who used to come by every now and again, but she stopped a while back.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Did you tell the FBI agents when they were here before?”

He frowns, clearly confused. “FBI agents?”

I nod. “They came out a couple of months ago.”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t here. My daughter had a kid near a year ago. He came early—was in the NICU for a long time. I took an extended leave to help her take care of her other kids. Just came back a few weeks ago.”

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