Page 75 of Unpacking Secrets
When Chief Roberts arrived an hour later, his grim expression matched our somber moods. Without preamble, he said, “We got a hit on the sketch. Tom Heller is wanted for questioning about a string of missing girls outside of Rochester starting in 1987. The county sheriff’s department is stepping in to help. If he was responsible for those murders here back in the eighties and nineties, I want that son of a bitch nailed to the wall as soon as possible.”
“He must be using an alias,” Libby said quietly. “I think he signed in at the clinic as Ted something or other. I’ll check my records for the last name.”
“That’d be much appreciated, Doc,” Roberts replied.
He introduced the four of us to the officers who would be keeping an eye on the house, shook our hands, and left to go meet with the sheriff.
Though she looked pale enough that I worried she might collapse, Juliet seemed calmer and more focused after that conversation. It was like uncovering the identity of the boogeyman gave her something concrete to focus her energy toward, especially as the fury at this man for causing the rift between her mother and Nan—the chasm betweenthemand Nan—began to fuel her.
The change came over her, bringing with it a new sharpness in her eyes, a stubborn set to her jaw. A mixture of relief and curiosity filled me, wondering what was going through her beautiful head.
Libby and Mark decided to head home as well, taking Blue with them. Each of them embraced both me and Juliet.
“You hang in there,” Libby whispered in Juliet’s ear as they hugged one another tightly. “They’ll catch the bastard, I’m sure of it. And I’ll be ready with champagne to celebrate.”
A ghost of a smile lingered on Juliet’s lips once I locked the door behind them and turned to her. When I opened my arms, she pressed her face to my chest and inhaled deeply, absorbing the calming scent of the soap she loved so much.
“What do we do now?” she asked quietly.
“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing my lips across her forehead. “It’s a waiting game now, I think.”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around my waist, whispering, “I want to get my mind off Heller or whatever the hell his name is. I don’t want to think about the past or my mother or the cottage.”
“I have just the thing.”
I guided her to the couch, positioned her so she was spooned in front of me as we stretched along its length, and found a romantic comedy for us to watch. It took longer than I would have liked, but eventually Juliet’s body relaxed and she snuggled deeper in my arms.
By the time the movie ended, she was half-asleep, dozing with her head on my arm. It didn’t take much coaxing to get her up to bed, where she burrowed into a cocoon of blankets around us and fell asleep curled against my body.
Just before dawn, I awoke to Juliet weeping into the pillow, her entire body wracked with sobs.
“Hey, hey,” I said, drawing her close.
I opened my mouth to promise her everything would be okay, but the words caught in my throat. She deserved honesty. In the end, I simply held her and let her cry. Once her tears were finally spent, she sighed against my shoulder.
“I feel so selfish,” she whispered. “I want him to pay for whatever he did to those missing girls, but I just can’t stop thinking about what he took from my mother. Everything else feels so abstract to me still, everything except him splitting my family apart.”
“That’s not selfish, Red. You’ve lost so much. If he committed those crimes, the police will take care of it. We don’t know who those victims were—hell, most of them were killed before you were even born. It’s not selfish to grieve for what he took from your mother and Nan, for what he’s taken from you.”
My own chest twisted with pain, whether it was my place to grieve alongside her or not. I stroked her hair, wrapping a curl around my finger. We fell silent after that, tangled up in each other’s arms, offering and accepting some small degree of comfort.
When she finally drifted back to sleep, I let myself doze, holding her tight against my chest. Several hours later, my eyelids peeled reluctantly open to late morning sunlight streaming through the open curtains. My arm was still wrapped around her soft, sleepy form, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead.
It felt like a lifetime had passed over the last forty-eight hours. Juliet stirred, grumbling sleepily before she clasped a hand over her eyes.
“What time is it?” She peeked out between her fingers, blinking at me dazedly. “What year is it?”
I laughed. “I was thinking the same thing. Then I figured, who cares? I could stay here forever with you.”
In painful contrast to the words, my phone started buzzing on the bedside table and I groaned as I reached for it to read the series of texts.
Juliet’s face drained of color. “What now?”
“No need to panic. Everyone is okay. The computer crashed over at the inn,” I said, typing out a quick response and tossing the phone down so I could collapse back onto the bed.
“Stupid real world,” Juliet muttered. “I was hoping you’d be up for providing some morning distraction.”
With her hand still over her eyes, I couldn’t see her full expression, but there was no hiding the tinge of pink creeping along her cheeks. That meant she wanteddistraction,not another made-for-TV movie.
