Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
T he smell of freshly brewed coffee and the low hum of conversation usually brought Lilia a sense of calm. Today, though, her nerves were stretched thin as she stood in line at the local coffee shop, staring absentmindedly at the menu overhead.
The barista greeted her with a warm smile. “What can I get for you?”
Lilia blinked, snapping back to reality. “Um, just a black coffee, please. And maybe . . . ” She paused, reaching for her wallet. “A croissant.”
As she handed over her card, the TV mounted above the counter flickered to life, its familiar jingle signaling the start of the local news. Lilia glanced up, barely paying attention until a headline crawled across the bottom of the screen:
“ Breaking News: Local Detective Found Dead—Supposed Suicide in Connection to Willow Montgomery’s Murder .”
Her stomach dropped.
“Did you need anything else with that?” the barista asked, confused by Lilia’s frozen expression.
Lilia’s hand faltered as she reached for her coffee. The cup tipped and fell, spilling hot liquid across the counter and onto the floor. The shop seemed to go silent in that instant, all eyes shifting to the TV, where the anchor’s somber voice carried through the air.
The barista jumped back to avoid the splash, but Lilia barely noticed. Her eyes were glued to the screen, her heart thudding in her chest as the news anchor spoke.
“—Detective Thomas McCall was found dead yesterday afternoon in what authorities are calling an apparent suicide. In his note, McCall allegedly confessed to the murder of Willow Montgomery, the young college student whose disappearance and death shook the community just months ago. Photos leaked online earlier today show Montgomery entering McCall’s car on the night she went missing.”
Lilia’s breath caught in her throat. No. No, this can’t be happening. A suicide? He had murdered Willow?
The anchor continued, the images on the screen shifting to pictures of McCall in his police uniform, followed by a grainy photograph of Willow stepping into a dark sedan.
“McCall’s note details an affair with Montgomery that reportedly led to her death. Sources say the detective flew into a rage when Montgomery tried to break off the relationship. The two were seen together in the days leading up to her disappearance, though friends close to Montgomery insist they were unaware of the relationship.”
A soft murmur rippled through the coffee shop as people began whispering to one another. Lilia could feel their eyes on her, could feel the weight of their collective gaze as the news replayed the same damning story she thought had been left behind.
“Is that the detective who was questioning you?” a voice said from somewhere behind her, a quiet, hushed tone.
“Yeah, it’s the same guy,” someone else responded.
The whispers grew louder. Lilia forced herself to look away from the screen, but it felt impossible to focus on anything else. She could feel the tightness in her chest, the air in the shop suddenly feeling too thick, too suffocating.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she couldn’t bring herself to check it. Not yet.
As the camera cut back to the news desk, another anchor chimed in, her voice sympathetic but firm. “This is, of course, a major development in the ongoing investigation. While McCall’s suicide note allegedly clears Lilia Chen and her friends of any involvement in Montgomery’s murder, many are questioning how such a high-ranking officer was able to hide his involvement for so long.”
The first anchor nodded. “It’s certainly a shock to the community. We’ve also heard reports that the DA’s office will be making a statement later this evening. It’s unclear whether the investigation will close entirely, but it seems McCall’s confession has provided some closure?—”
Lilia felt her legs begin to tremble. She reached out to steady herself on the counter, but it felt as if the entire shop were closing in on her. The barista handed her a wad of napkins, her face soft with concern. “Are you okay?”
Lilia nodded mutely, though she felt anything but okay. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and disbelief. McCall? He confessed?
None of it made sense.
Whispers grew louder, and suddenly it felt like the entire coffee shop was watching her, waiting for her reaction. She shoved the napkins in her pocket, muttered something resembling an apology, and bolted for the door, her heart pounding.
Outside, the air was cold against her skin, but it did nothing to slow the panic racing through her. She grabbed her phone with shaking hands, her stomach sinking as she saw dozens of missed messages—texts, voicemails, even some from her mother. The most recent one was from Augustus:
Lilia, where are you? Call me. Now.
But Lilia couldn’t call him. Not yet. She stared at the words on her screen, unable to process what they meant. McCall’s supposed confession, his death . . . It all felt too orchestrated. Too easy. And yet, it was everywhere, plastered across every news channel and social media site she scrolled through.
But one question echoed in her mind above all the others: If McCall really did kill Willow, then who had been tormenting them?