Chapter 4
EVELYN
I woke up two minutes before my alarm, the way I always did.
Old habits. Survival instincts. My body knew that those precious moments of silence before the day began were the only ones I’d have to myself.
I slipped from bed and padded to the window, scanning the rimrocks beyond our backyard.
Nothing moved in the pre-dawn shadows, but that didn’t mean nobody was watching.
The stranger at Carol’s motel had kept me tossing all night, thoughts circling like vultures.
John Smith. Obviously fake. A man with a gun who asked about local law enforcement.
Deep breath. Keep breathing. This is normal paranoia. You’ve handled worse.
After a quick shower, I moved through our morning routine on autopilot—oatmeal with brown sugar for Sophia, coffee strong enough to strip paint for me.
I laid out Sophia’s clothes for school: practical jeans, her favorite purple sweater, and the mismatched socks she insisted on wearing since Beth Morris had made them fashionable in her classroom.
“Mommy, can I wear my butterfly pin today? For the nature walk?” Sophia appeared in the doorway, her serious eyes watching me carefully. Always watching, always assessing. My heart ached at how much of myself I saw in her.
“Of course,” I answered, pulling the small enamel pin from her jewelry box. “Ms. Beth will love it.”
“Do you think we’ll see real butterflies today?”
“Probably not.” I fastened the pin to her sweater. “It’s too cold, too late in the year. Most butterflies have migrated for the winter.” I couldn’t stand her look of utter disappointment and added, “But Ms. Beth always finds something exciting.”
Sophia’s eyes lit up. “Maybe we’ll find a Mourning Cloak butterfly! Ms. Beth says they stay here for the winter. Did you know they are Montana’s state butterfly?”
“I did not know that.” I smiled as I helped her into her jacket. My girl, always so hungry for facts, for answers that made sense of the world. I envied that certainty, that trust in observable truth.
We walked the four blocks to Prairie View Elementary, Sophia’s hand tucked into mine.
The morning air had that sharp bite that meant winter was coming soon.
Another few weeks and these walks would end, mornings spent scraping ice off windshields and warming up the car instead.
I’d miss this—just the two of us and the crunch of leaves underfoot, no engine noise, no heater blasting.
We passed the bar and grill where Sheriff Parker’s cruiser sat parked in its usual spot. Wade was nothing if not predictable, his daily routine as reliable as the town’s single traffic light.
“Look!” Sophia pointed ahead. “Everyone’s wearing matching clothes.”
I glanced where she pointed. Three women stood chatting outside the post office, all in blue tops and khaki pants.
Nothing unusual about the clothing itself, but there was something.
.. uniform about it. Like they’d coordinated.
In a town where personal style ranged from Riss Hollenbeck’s platinum buzzcut and tattoos to Florence Pickering’s severe wool skirts, it stood out.
“Probably for a church thing,” I said automatically, though I wasn’t convinced. Something felt off, like the air pressure changing before a storm.
We reached the school parking lot at exactly 7:45 AM, fifteen minutes before the bell.
Everything looked normal—the same minivans and pickup trucks, parents walking children to the entrance, the ancient oak tree dropping leaves across the playground—but I couldn’t shake the chill tap-dancing down my spine.
Then I saw Beth Morris standing at the classroom door, and my stomach dropped.
Beth—perpetually disheveled, chronically late Beth—stood perfectly still, back straight, hands clasped neatly in front of her.
Her usually wild auburn curls were smoothed into a neat French twist. She wore a crisp blue sweater tucked into pressed khaki pants—the same outfit as the women at the post office.
No paint splatters. No mismatched socks.
No half-falling-out ponytail or smudge of marker on her cheek.
“Mommy?” Sophia tugged at my hand. “Why are you squeezing so tight?”
I loosened my grip. “Sorry, sweet pea.”
We approached the classroom, and with each step, the wrongness intensified.
Beth’s smile—usually broad and genuine and slightly chaotic—was perfectly symmetrical, her lips curved at precise angles that never reached her eyes.
Those eyes... usually warm and distracted, now focused with unnerving intensity on each child who entered.
“Good morning! Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said to the boy ahead of us.
The boy nodded and entered the classroom. His mother seemed not to notice anything strange, chatting on her phone as she waved goodbye.
Am I losing my mind? Is this paranoia finally tipping over into delusion?
But no. I knew Beth Morris. The woman who had sobbed openly at the kindergarten Thanksgiving play. Who wore clothes straight from the laundry basket, often inside-out. Who carried a tote bag exploding with half-finished projects, student artwork, and emergency snacks for “her kids.”
“Good morning!” Beth’s smile turned to us. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Sophia tilted her head, studying her teacher. “Your hair is different, Ms. Beth.”
“Thank you for noticing.” Beth touched the bun. “Thought I’d try something new.”
“We’re doing the nature walk today!” Sophia bounced on her toes.
“We are. Should be a great learning experience.” Beth’s hand settled on Sophia’s shoulder, and I suddenly wanted to snatch my girl away from her, which was ridiculous. “I see you’re wearing a butterfly pin. Butterflies undergo complete metamorphosis. They change entirely.”
The words themselves weren’t alarming—Beth often went off on educational tangents—but something about the delivery felt rehearsed.
Sophia glanced back at me, uncertain. “I know, Ms. Beth. We talked about it yesterday. Remember?”
If I wasn’t mistaken, something like panic crossed Beth’s face before it flattened out again, and she smiled.
“She’s doing really well this year,” she said, ignoring Sophia’s question and turning her attention to me. That wasn’t normal, either. The Beth I knew never ignored a question from one of her kids, no matter how inane. “You should be proud.”
“I am. Thank you.” I knelt and wrapped my arms around my daughter. “Have a good day at school, sweet pea.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Remember what I taught you?”
She nodded solemnly. Our code. If anything ever felt wrong, if she ever felt unsafe: hide, then run to Dutch’s store or home, nowhere else.
“I love you.” The words caught in my throat, and I could tell Sophia was worried. I suddenly didn’t want to leave her, and it took every ounce of control I possessed to stand up and let her go. “I’ll be here at three-fifteen, right after school.”
“Okay, Mommy.” Sophia gave me one more look, her eyes too serious for a five-year-old, then walked into the classroom.
I needed to stop overreacting to every little thing. My paranoia was starting to frighten my daughter.
I walked back toward Main Street, my thoughts spinning. Beth had cleaned up her act. So what? People changed. Maybe she’d finally gotten tired of being the messy teacher. Maybe she’d met someone. Maybe she’d just decided to try harder.
And those women at the post office? Maybe they were part of a Bible study group. Maybe it was a town joke I wasn’t privy to—after all, I was still considered an outsider by a lot of the lifelong Garnett residents.
It was nothing. I was seeing threats where none existed. Just like I’d been doing for months.
Dutch was restocking canned beans when I finally made it to the store, thirty minutes late for my shift. When the bell above the door announced my arrival, he didn’t bother turning around.
“If you’re not early—“
“I know, I know. I’m late,” I finished for him, hanging my jacket on its usual peg. I’d walked around town after leaving the school, looking for anything else that felt off. I didn’t see anyone else wearing the blue-and-khaki combo, and now that I was here, I had to laugh at myself.
“Car trouble,” I lied, tying my apron. “Had to walk Sophia to school.”
Dutch grunted, eyeing me over his reading glasses. “Coffee’s cold. Make a fresh pot.”
I nearly sagged with relief at his grumpy command. Dutch Henderson, cantankerous as ever, was wonderfully, reassuringly normal. The knot in my chest loosened just enough to breathe.
“Dutch, have you noticed anything...unusual around town today?” I asked, as I measured coffee grounds into the ancient percolator.
He snorted. “Besides you being late? Nope.” He continued shelving beans without looking up. “Though when Carol Ruper stopped in, she seemed different. Less gossipy. Almost polite.” He frowned, as if only just realizing how odd that was.
The bell jangled, and Sheriff Wade Parker stepped inside, hat in hand. He nodded at Dutch, then me, before heading straight to the coffee. I poured him a cup from the freshly brewed pot.
“Thanks, Evie.” His smile was normal, his eyes clear and alert. “Mornin’, Dutch. Got those fishing lures I ordered?”
Dutch gestured toward the counter where a small package waited. As Wade paid, he glanced out the window at a passing car.
“Folks need to slow down on Main Street. Thirty miles per hour is the posted limit. Safety first.” He tipped his hat and left, mug in hand.
Nothing strange there. But then the bell rang again, and Wade poked his head back in. “Forgot to ask—those kids giving you any more trouble?”
“Not since last week,” Dutch answered.