Chapter 8
Blake stepped back and let Paradise and Drew wander the home and yard where Paradise had spent most of her childhood. He tried
seeing it through their eyes—the new paint and floors, the freshly updated kitchen, rich with the sweet scent of maple syrup
on the morning’s pancakes. He’d hoped the differences would keep the pain at bay for the woman he loved, but the shadows in
her amber eyes told the true story.
While Paradise showed Drew where the box of belongings had been found, Blake wandered to her old bedroom and stared at the
closet where she’d hidden while a killer bludgeoned her mother to death. It was still decorated for a little girl since Evan
and Honey’s daughter had claimed the room. The fairy princess room was an explosion of bubblegum-pink walls with a matching
comforter. He stepped closer to the closet.
What had happened here was something no child should have had to go through. Had anyone examined the closet for anything left
from those old days? Honey had said to poke through anything they wanted, and he made the quick decision to do just that.
He opened the closet door and pushed all the hanging clothes to one side, then removed the mishmash of shoes and toys on the floor.
He turned on his phone’s flashlight app and shone it around the floor and walls.
There didn’t appear to be any cuts in the drywall that would indicate a hidden panel.
He moved the desk chair to the closet and stood on it to peer around the walls above the closet shelf before training the light on the ceiling.
It was a bust.
He sighed and put everything back the way he’d found it and started for the door. Then he swung back and stared at the closet.
What about the floorboards? He went back to the closet and moved aside toys and doll clothes again. He checked each wooden
plank one by one until his fingers brushed ridged edges. The board didn’t feel tight. He used his pocketknife to pry at the
board, praying he didn’t do any damage. Evan might not appreciate the defacement of his daughter’s room.
Blake was about to give up when the edge of the board popped loose, and he lifted it up, revealing a small storage pocket
underneath.
His fingers grazed something, and he shone his light inside. A pink diary held closed by a discolored brass clasp lay covered
in dust in the cramped space under the floor. His pulse shot through the roof. It had to be Paradise’s. Almost reverently
he lifted it out and put the floorboard back into place and stared at the diary.
Though he wanted to open it and read it, he stopped himself. This was Paradise’s privilege. Maybe he should check to make
sure there weren’t any surprises that would ambush her emotions. His fingers moved toward the clasp, but he drew back his
hand. She wouldn’t thank him for interfering in her quest. These were her secrets to discover and unwrap. Hers to confront,
no matter how difficult they might be.
He rose and stepped to the hall. Their footsteps were above his head, moving toward the ladder they’d climbed to the attic.
He waited for them with the diary clutched against his body.
Paradise descended first, smiling up the pull-down ladder at her brother.
The sight of her joy swelled Blake’s heart.
Discovering her brother had been good for her.
Drew’s big shoes came next, and he landed next to her, then slung his arm around her shoulders. Their camaraderie was so natural
it could have been lifelong. Blake smiled to think how their relationship would grow over the years. Drew would be a good
uncle. He was a natural with the boys.
Blake cleared his throat and Paradise’s smile veered his way. “We didn’t find anything but dust and spiders that I had to
kill for Drew. Who knew a big, strong detective would scream like a girl when a spider scurried his way.”
“I did not scream.”
Her gaze returned to her brother, and she poked him in the ribs. “Sounded like a scream to me. And you backpedaled so fast
you nearly fell.”
“It startled me.”
“We were in an attic, Drew. You should always expect creepy-crawlies.”
He removed his hand from around her and gave her a little shove. “You’re a vet. You have to like all the animals.”
Her expression sparkled with mirth that faded when she approached Blake and spotted what he held in his hands. “Is that a
diary?”
He held it out. “I found it under a loose floorboard.”
Her eyes widened, and she reached out to touch it. “I—I think I recognize it.” She took it and fiddled with the lock. “I probably
don’t have the key any longer.”
Blake took out his pocketknife and bent over the diary in her hands. “I think they’re easy to pop open.” One little twist of the blade and the clasp released. “There you go.”
She stared at it. “I’m not sure I want to read it. What if the truth about their deaths is in here, and it’s my fault?”
“Babe, it’s not your fault. No matter what happened, you have to remember you were nine years old. You’ve never had a mean
bone in your body.” He lifted the diary’s cover. “Maybe go straight to the back and see when you last wrote in it.”
She glanced at Drew, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Let’s get coffee. I think I need fortification for this. Pray for me,”
she whispered for Blake’s ears alone.
“Always,” he said.
The hiss of the coffee steamers mingled with the conversation flowing in University Grounds. In spite of joking around about
spiders, Paradise still reeled from the ordeal of watching her brother walk the backyard where her father had died. She’d
stood in the backyard where she’d once hung her legs over the edge of the tree house. Her mind’s eye saw what the autopsy
had revealed—her father sprawled out here dead, and even with the hiss of the steamers and the strong scent of brewing coffee,
she couldn’t erase the images. Her father had been bludgeoned with the same bat the killer had used on her mother while Paradise
hid in the closet.
Why couldn’t she remember all of it? Only bits and pieces had filtered back to her consciousness. Her feelings of guilt increased
with every small memory that resurrected itself.
Drew placed an iced peppermint mocha in front of her on the outside table. Tupelo Grove University students usually thronged the sidewalks and the porch with their notebooks and computers spread out on the iron-and-glass tables, but it was summer break. They had the porch to themselves today.
Blake exited University Grounds with his drink in one hand and a plate of beignets in the other. “Sustenance.” He slid the
plate of treats in front of her.
Paradise stared at the diary on the table. “I need a pot of coffee before I tackle this.” The pink cover with its old clasp
was so familiar yet so alien. The gilding on the paper edges was even still there.
Her biggest question was, why had she hidden it?
She took a sip of her drink before she reached for the book. It felt terrifying in her hands, though she knew she’d once loved
writing on its pages. It felt all wrong to have this now, to feel the smooth faux-leather cover. The pen was missing. Maybe
it was still in that hiding place.
“Want me to read it first?” Drew asked. “Or Blake?”
She shook her head. “I think I’ll start at the beginning. Maybe some of the events will jog my memory.” She lifted the cover
and stared at the first entry: March 15, 2004.
I’ve never had a diary before! My birthday was so fun. Mommy curled my hair, and I wore my new pink dress. Abby got me this
diary along with a bright pink pen, and I’m going to write down everything that happens this year.
Her eight-year-old self sounded so joyous and excited.
Had she ever been that happy since the year before she lost her parents?
She gazed at Blake sitting across the table from her and at Drew beside her.
Maybe now was even happier. She knew loss and heartbreak yet had weathered them both to find a new life.
She appreciated those contented days more than she had as a child.
When you never knew pain, you couldn’t fully be grateful for the blessings.
She flipped each page slowly, reading about school and tests, then came to one with a different tone in October.
Mommy told me I had to stay in my tree house until she called. She had a visitor, and she didn’t want me in the house. I had
my binoculars with me in my backpack and my snacks. My tin of Cheez Balls was gone first, then I used my binoculars and looked
in the kitchen window. I didn’t know the man there. She was crying, and she kissed him! Right on the mouth like she does Daddy.
I didn’t want to see so I put my binoculars in my backpack.
Paradise caught her breath. “Drew, look here.” She slid the diary to him. “Could your father have come to see her?”
Drew’s frown deepened as he read the entry. “You’d never seen your mother with another man?”
“The sheriff used to come by sometimes, but I never saw her kiss him. I’d heard that a neighbor reported they’d kissed, but
it wasn’t in the file. I don’t think it was true. His wife said they were having an affair, but I’ve never found confirmation
of that.”
“This was four months before she died. It might mean something.” He snapped a picture of the page with his phone. “Are there
a lot more entries?”
She fanned through the pages. The diary was nearly full. “There are a lot more.”
He glanced at his phone. “I don’t want you to miss anything, but I need to call my partner. He has a question about a case we’re working on.”
“And I need to get back to the park,” Blake said. “Let’s table the diary until after dinner, unless you want to read it by
yourself while I take care of the night meal for the predators.”
She pushed back her chair and rose. “I’ll help you. We can reconvene after dinner and see if there are any other clues. This
feels like it could be important though. Why would Mom not want me around? It had to be a discussion she thought would get
back to Dad.”
Drew took his phone and put it to his ear, then went down the steps to the sidewalk. His words were soft and muffled from
the distance.
“Maybe she thought you wouldn’t understand,” Blake said.
“I didn’t understand the kiss.”
“Do you remember the incident at all?”
She closed her eyes and tried to remember how she felt sitting in the tree house with the leaves fluttering around her. The
view to the house was decent, but most days she’d lain on the hard pine floor and stared at the foliage over her head. She’d
watched ants crawl on the tree’s bark and listened to the neighbors argue. They were always arguing, and she’d been glad her
parents never fought.
A memory slammed into her brain. Her dad yelling, her mom crying. The sound of a door slamming. Her eyes flew open. “I just
remembered something that happened a few days before they were murdered. I’ll tell you on the drive.”