Page 86 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

“How do you know?” she cuts me off. There’s a challenge in her voice, one that I don’t have the energy to deal with. “How do you know he wasn’t at least in touch with your mom? She wouldn’t have told you. She never told you anything about her past.”

“What about the other things in the note?”

“Right, yeah. So he said his lifelong love had died and he’d never gotten to atone for his sins against her and he couldn’t stand the guilt.”

My brain continues to hum with every piece of new information she feeds me, my thoughts becoming louder and more tangled until I shake my head violently—like that’s going to help.

This all feels too…neat, I guess. Too perfect.

Was my mom in touch with her old boyfriend? What were his sins against her?

Or—or—did Thomas Freese even kill himself at all? Did someone murder him and try to make it look like a suicide? Why?

“Juniper?” Matilda’s voice yanks me from my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I say.

“So you don’t know anything more about this guy? Or where you could find more information about him, or about your mom?”

I sigh. There’s a little thought eating at the edge of my mind, a caterpillar nibbling on the edge of a leaf. But that thought worms its way in, further and further, until it’s all I can see.

“I might be able to,” I say with another sigh. “Thank you so much, Matilda. I appreciate all the trouble you went to.”

“No problem!” she says cheerfully. “You know I love hot goss. Anything else?”

“Uh, maybe,” I say. “If you’re able to find anything about someone named Cam Verido, that might be helpful?”

“Spell it.”

“I’ll just text it to you.”

“Sounds good. This is fun; I feel like a PI or something.”

I have no response for this, so I just thank her one more time and then hang up, texting her Cam’s name and then setting my phone aside.

My eyes drift up, up, up, until I’m staring at the ceiling, as though I can see through it and into my room. As though I can spot the small cardboard box on the floor of my closet, the one that contains my mother’s few remaining belongings…

And her laptop.

I’m not ready. I don’tfeelready. That box has been living an out-of-sight-out-of-mind existence, and I’m happy to leave it out of my mind. Thinking about the stories my mother told herself in feverish bouts of writing…I don’t want to know more.

But I’m not sure I have a choice. So up the stairs I climb, a woman in a trance of dread and anticipation. I think I probably look possessed or something, but I can’t bring myself to snap out of it. I’m building last-minute reinforcements in my mind, patching the roof before the storm hits. When I arrive in my room, I stare at the closet for a good five minutes before finally moving forward and opening it.

Pull out the box. Remove the lid. Shuffle past old legal documents and folders until my fingers meet cool plastic casing wrapped boa constrictor style by a charge cord. Heft it out, plug it in, and wait. Pace restlessly. Wait. Pace some more. Until finally the welcome screen pops up, the tinny sound of that opening chord filling the room.

I know exactly where the file is; on her desktop. I let the cursor hover over the icon only a moment before clicking. And then I dive in, my eyes finding the first line:

Once upon a time there was a girl. She had three friends…

* * *

When Aiden findsme two hours later, I’m curled up on my bedroom floor, snot and tears covering my face. My head is pounding from crying so hard; my body aches and protests the hard wood beneath me.

Aiden curses when he sees me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply leans down and lifts me, hefting me up until I’m bridal style in his arms. He smells like the woods and crisp, fresh air, and I press my face into his neck, breathing him in more deeply.

He carries me down the small stairs, around the corner, down the big stairs, and finally to his bedroom. There he sets me gently on his bed, propping pillows up behind me and spreading a large blanket over my legs. Then he hurries to the chest of drawers, opens thefourth drawer down, and digs around for a moment. I have just enough presence of mind to keep my eyes on him; this is the elusive fourth drawer, the one whose contents he won’t reveal. But now he pulls out three things: a packet of crackers, a protein bar, and a miniature piece of chocolate.

Food, I realize dazedly. He keeps food in there.

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