But I stop myself.
I focus my eyes back on him, force a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me. Go have fun with the others.”
He shoots me a small smile before leaving, and I let him go, sinking back into my thoughts. I try to force the grief away as much as possible, focusing instead on what Villanueva’s truth bomb could mean for me. For the investigation. Only hours ago, I suspected Nick Gould was the one who killed Phoebe, but this news changes everything. It gives the father of her unborn child a clear motive for her murder: ending the pregnancy he never wanted.
And I can’t picture Phoebe having sex with Nick. Not with the open disdain she had for him or his constant scolding of her.
A thought flashes across my brain unbidden, before imprinting itself.
Unless it wasn’t consensual.
But then there’s Kyan. He was the most likely to have gotten Phoebe pregnant. And what about the other two? Declan and Josh. As much as I’d like to, I can’t rule them out either.
And there are still so many other things that don’t line up. So many secrets, lies. The whispers I overheard at Kyan’s the other morning between Declan and the mystery person. And the incessant feeling I can’t shake since I returned, that everyone seems just slightly off. Like they’re playing the part that’s expected of them.
I think of Villanueva’s request.Do not share this with the others.
It was one of those whirlwind relationships, where emotions ran high and attachments clicked in seconds. It felt like we’d lived years together, but we were barely together thirty tumultuous days. Not long enough to really understand each other. To know the others’ secrets, their motivations. To know what makes them tick.
How well did any of us really know each other, after all?
***
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I hear the scream.
My eyes snap open, and I’m shocked to see early morning light filtering in through the window. Somehow I slept through the night.
The sound comes again, long and pained. And I realize it’s not a scream, but a throaty caw.
I stumble up and over to the window, pulling aside the curtain to reveal a glistening black raven, perched on a tree branch a short distance from the Inn.
Crows bring bad luck,my mother always used to warn me.
I don’t know what the protocol is for a raven, but I can only guess the same, if not worse.
I pull the curtain shut, but the bird’s call still rings in my ears. As my heart rate calms, I check the time on my phone. It’s still early, too early for the others to get up, but there’s no chance I’ll get back to sleep. And while I’m here, there’s something I need to do.
I need to go to the mine, Phoebe’s last resting place. I tell myself it’s to pay my respects, especially after what I did to help lead her there. But there’s a small voice in the back of my head telling me there’s another reason.
To make sure there isn’t evidence I left behind.
My mind flashes to the knife, its blade glinting in the starlight, my hand clenched so tightly around the shaft it left blisters.
The police would never be able to find it, I tell myself. But I can’t be entirely positive.
I swiftly pull on my clothes from yesterday and take the stairs two by two. Despite the early hour, Randy is hunched over the front desk. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can strike up a conversation, I blurt out that I’m taking a walk and dip out the lobby’s back door.
The Outback stretches before me, more uninterrupted land than I’ve ever seen in one place in my entire life. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is, how untouched by human life. The dirt is everywhere. Loose and pebbled in certain places, tight and compact in others, but it stretches as far as the eye can see, the stark light of the sun absorbed entirely in the red clay, all of it situated around Beulah, the craggy red mountain.
I swipe at the flies that seem to glue themselves to me as soon as I step outside and head in the direction of the mine, the route burned into my memory. I don’t remember exactly where I left the knife that night, halfheartedly buried under red dirt I clawed at with my fingertips, specks of it clinging under my nails for days. I was in such a frazzled state, and I didn’t dare mark where I’d buried it, assuming that doing so would make it easier for the police to find. But still, I scan the ground as I go, tracing the dirt for any sign of sun glinting off metal.
The chill from the night hasn’t yet faded, and I pull down the sleeves of my sweatshirt, glad I decided to wear it even though the peak of the afternoon promises to be at least thirty degrees warmer. My skin feels dry, as if the air is so in need of water that it will absorb moisture from anywhere that has it. I take note of the crispy bushes, the dead twigs that crunch beneath my feet. I realize I haven’t seen anything remotely green since we arrived yesterday.
I walk for nearly twenty minutes, until a sound in the distance roots me in place, a loud bang slicing through the quiet morning air.
I startle, my head snapping up from where my eyes have been glued to the dirt. Was that…a gunshot?
I scan the distance but see nothing.
