Page 153 of The Sweetest Obsession

Also, the sickening paleness of those bleached bones.

The skull is just a dome protruding from the dirt. One empty socket partly exposed, staring at me like it’s waiting for me to give it a name.

Now I get why some folks say the dead can be more demanding than the living.

God-fucking-dammit.

Every time I think I’ve learned just how fucked up the secrets in this town are, something darker turns up.

Someoneelse.

This deep instinct inside me twitches, aching to know, but also afraid to find out who.

I might not like knowing who those bones belong to.

Still, it’s part of the job.

Tearing my gaze away from the unmarked grave, I refocus on the paramedics carrying that man to the back of Redhaven’s lone ambulance. They push the stretcher up the small slope of hill to the highway visible in snatches just past the woods.

My crew stalk through the scene like scavengers, staking out the clearing with police tape, cordoning it off in yellow lines that add another garish splash of color to this unholy ground.

One of the EMTs breaks away, giving the man one last troubled look before jogging over with her brown ponytail bouncing.

“Captain Faircross?” she says breathlessly. “Hey, I’ll get you a full medical workup for your police report once we’ve had a good look at him at the medical center, but...”

“But?” I prompt.

“Right now, it’s looking like attempted suicide,” she says reluctantly. “From taking his vitals, he’s going into organ failure. Vomiting blood was a classic sign. Some sort of toxic substance, I bet. It’s possible he tried to kill himself with rat poison, antifreeze—there are a ton of household cleaners that could do the trick. Even overdosing on some OTC meds. Actually, I’d put my odds on that, this dude wandering off under the influence. Anyway, once we run toxicology, I’ll have a better idea for you.”

“Thank you,” I grind out. That’s the only thing I can manage when my mind’s still stuck on her very first words.

Attempted suicide.

Second suicide in less than a month.

Don’t fucking tell me it’s not connected to the Arrendells.

No matter what Montero said—no matter what fucking front they put up, parading their staff in front of me—that uniform doesn’t lie.

It’s the same suit every other butler there wears.

They’re connected, somehow.

Cora Lafayette’s death and this strange man’s attempt.

They can’tnotbe.

No way in hell.

The ambulance starts its siren and the EMT gives me an expectant look.

I nod at the vehicle.

“Go on. I’ll wait for y’all to call. Gonna work the crime scene over in the meantime.”

She stares at those bones significantly, then snaps off a sharp nod before jogging back through the trees. I watch her until she vaults over the highway guardrail up the slope and vanishes into the back of the ambulance. The door barely slams shut before the thing goes rocketing off toward the outskirts of town, screaming like a banshee the whole way.

Leaving just me.

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