We don’t want your sort here. If you don’t leave Maple Ridge, we will remove you ourselves. In a body bag. And we’ll make sure no one finds your remains. You’ll never get to be laid to rest. Die, bitch, die!
Signed,
A concerned citizen
I reread the message, my hand shaking, my heart pounding. What are the chances it’s nothing more than a hoax, a way to scare me so I’ll leave town?
And what are the chances it’s not a hoax? That whoever wrote this is unbalanced enough to carry through with their threat?
I chuck the letter on the desk as if it’s a venomous snake and stare at it, willing it to disappear. Praying it’s nothing more than a bad dream.
The office phone rings. I startle, a high-pitched gasp squeezed from my lungs.
I pick up the receiver, my hand still shaking, my heart still pounding, my mouth dry. “Hello?”
“Hello, this is Roger Carmichael. I need to speak with Troy Carson, please?” The man’s voice is stone cold, his tone sharp enough to draw blood.
I swallow my fear and try to rearrange my voice to that of a friendly office assistant who didn’t just receive a death threat. “I’m sorry.” My voice trembles and squeaks. I clear my throat. “He’s not here right now. Can I take a message?”
“Tell him I don’t appreciate him hiring a dangerous offender to work for him. Because of that, I’m canceling the kitchen renovation I booked with him.”
Fuckers.“There seems to be a misunderstanding, Mr. Carmichael. Troy hasn’t hired any dangerous offenders.” I assume the man is referring to me.
“You’re that ex-con I’ve heard about, isn’t that right?”
My shoulders sag, the weight of all the false accusations crashing down on them. “Like I said, there’s been a misunderstanding.” I aim for a friendly voice. It comes out more like that of a terrified rabbit chased by a coyote. “I spent time in prison after being falsely accused of something I didn’t do. But I’m nothing like what the”—judges of the witch trial—“what people who don’t know me have claimed.”
“Did you or did you not spend five years in a state prison with other murderers?”
I close my eyes, my throat tightening. “Yes.” The word sounds more like a wheeze than an affirmation.
“That’s all I need to know. Troy’s services are no longer needed.”
The line goes dead. And Roger Carmichael’s sharp voice rings in my ears, accompanied by the rapid thrumming of my pulse.
41
TROY
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
I siton Garrett’s garden bench, the sandwiches I picked up from Picnic & Treats on the table in front of me. The laptop he was working on when I arrived is perched next to his plate on the table.
“You sure you don’t want a beer?” Garrett calls from the vine-covered archway that bisects the hedge separating this part of the garden from the house.
“No, I’m good.”
“Are you and Jess still going to Mom and Dad’s for dinner tonight?” He walks along the path, carrying two glasses of water.
“Yes…but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.”
He hands me a glass. “Why not?”
“Mom wasn’t thrilled to hear that Jess was Savannah Townsend. And I’d kept it from her.” I shrug since it’s too late to worry about that. “But she did invite us to come, so I guess we’re all good…unless it’s an ambush.”
Garrett huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah, she’s not a big fan of secrets and lies. As I learned the hard way quite a few times growing up. Don’t worry about Mom. She liked Jess before she heard the news; I doubt that’s changed any.”
