I think back to that night that I was in the car, and I overheard my parents talking about someone she lost. A death that they may have covered up.
I think about the photo we found on the cliff.
I think about the girl in it, and how she resembles Marissa.
It’s connected. I know it is.
Could my aunt Marissa be the killer?
Doubt resides in my brain, though, one connected to the reality that my aunt is fairly quiet most of the time. Except toward me, but that started when I was older, after we all moved to Star Meadows. I also saw her get angry at my mother once, but I have no clue why. She never did anything to my uncle, though, and barely spoke to my father, probably out of fear.
But the same could’ve been said about me while I was married to Jason; I was quiet most of the time until all of it built up and poured out of me like a dam breaking. Like what happened at the gas station a handful of days ago, and I’d gone off on that man.
Could my aunt be like me? Could she have lost it and started killing people?
But that still doesn’t explain why she was running around the woods, tormenting me with recordings of Clover’s voice that she shouldn’t have.
I’m so far gone in my thoughts that I barely notice the trees thinning around me. A moment later, I exit the woods and step into the field where the cabin we’re staying in is visible. The lights are on, showing me where to go. But I don’t head straight for it. I twist around and face the woods that have haunted me for years.
“Bailey!” I shout, my voice echoing around me.
Thunder booms in the distance, and lightning streaks across the sky.
“Bailey!” I try again, my eyes burning with tears. “Come on! If you come back, I’ll give you a treat!”
Another grumble of thunder.
“Bailey.” Tears stream down my cheeks. “Please come back?—”
A bark, and then Bailey comes barreling out of the trees.
He’s excited to see me and ends up jumping right into me. I stagger back, but stop myself from falling, then crouch down and pet him as tears fall down my cheeks.
As I’m petting him, my fingers brush against a piece of paper tucked under his collar.
“What the heck is this?” I ask as I grab it.
It’s a photo, but it’s too dark for me to see what’s on it.
Holding on to Bailey’s collar, I hurry back to the cabin. Clara opens the door as I reach the path that leads to the porch.
“What happened?” she asks worriedly as she folds her arms around herself.
My lips part to tell her, but the words fade from my lips as the glow of the porch light touches the photo.
On it is my father, and he’s standing by a girl with blonde hair and daisies in her hair.
A girl I thought I knew well, but I’m not so sure anymore.
My daisy friend.
Clover.
34
AVA
I’ve been in shock before, but this is on an entirely different level. I keep replaying in my mind how I read in Clover’s diary that she was dating a secret guy who was older. I never considered the guy was in his forties—at least that’s how old he’d have been when Clover and him were dating.
