“Yeah.”
“Have you seen this?” He shows me his screen. He’s pulled up a Finn River Journal story with Annaleise’s byline and the headline:ARSON FIRE TIED TO MURDER.
My stomach curls into knots.Murder?
“Can I?” I ask him, reaching for his phone.
“Sure.”
Annaleise’s story is painfully brief, but it reveals the awful details of Trina’s last moments. She sustained some sort of head injury that likely knocked her unconscious, but she was very much alive when the house burned.
This paints a completely different picture than what I had imagined. Someone hurt Trina, then lit the house on fire to try to hide what they’d done.
Who would do such an awful thing?
Russel’s accusations rattle around in my head.She knew your firefighter. Intimately.
I hand Jordan’s phone back, but my fingers are shaking.
Maybe this is hitting so hard because all along, I’ve sensed it might be true.
Why would Linden lie to me about Trina?
Chapter Twenty-Six
“She’s working,”I remind Greta while I season a pan of homemade fries. “You know how it is.”
“But she said she’d call.” Her voice has an edge of desperation that has my senses on high alert.
“She would if she could,” I reply in a steady tone, then tuck the fries into the oven.
As a flight attendant, Meg’s forced to endure the same delays as travelers.I lived through a crash once.It’s not that. She’s just unavailable. If anyone should understand, it’s me.
“How am I supposed to get ready for tryouts without her?”
I shrug. “I can watch you rehearse.”
“You don’t know anything about cheerleading.”
“Then teach me.”
She gives a frustrated huff. “She’s the only one who knows the choreo.”
I pull the package of burger meat from the fridge and the cutting board from under the counter. “Looks like I’m all you’ve got right now.”
“Well, it’s not enough!” She races upstairs, a sob escaping her lips, then her door slams.
I release a full breath, puffing my cheeks. Then I wash my hands, and head upstairs.
When I knock on her door, she gives a soft sniffle. “Yeah?”
“I may suck at cheerleading, but I’m a pretty good listener.” I stand outside her door, waiting.
Seconds pass, then finally, “Okay. Come in.”
When I open her door, she’s sitting in the middle of the bed, her arms wrapped around Petey, her giant lion stuffed animal. I sit on the side of the bed, facing her, and wait.
“I’m sorry.” She hugs Petey tighter.
