Chapter 6 #2
Trinity points at me. “We need a plan in words.”
“We speak it,” I say. “Plan for the next twenty-four hours.”
Elise nods. “Say it out loud so we can hold you to it.”
“Tonight,” I say, “Elise and I will continue to sleep at our parents’ place. Trinity, you help us grab the laptop cord and the blue folder on the counter. Put the folder in your tote and guard it with your life.”
“Done,” she says.
“Tomorrow,” I say, “Elise and I meet Adam from IT at seven in the office. We’ll pull camera footage for the whole week and clone it.
We’ll label the clone and keep it off site.
I’ll have him lock the drive so only we have access.
I’ll message the investigator to ask for a time to walk through the report we can see.
I’ll keep the message short and factual. No midnight drafts.”
“Staff,” Sadie says.
“I send a neutral message at eight,” I say. “We remind everyone to report anything odd. No theories in front of guests. We set a single point of contact, so no one pings five people at once.”
“Who is the point,” Ginny asks.
“Me,” I say. “And Adam for digital files. Elise for facilities. That’s the triangle.”
Ginny lifts a finger. “And I’ll call the station at nine. If Declan answers, I ask for public info and timing on updates. If he doesn’t, I leave a message with the desk. No drama. Just facts.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Sleep,” Sadie says. “You promised.”
“I’ll do a real one,” I say. “Six hours minimum. No emails after ten.”
Elise bumps my shoulder. “I’ll set an alarm to make you stop.”
I nod. “Do it.”
Ginny grins. “I’ll send a meme at nine fifty-nine that says turn off your light, gremlin.”
“I’ll block your number,” I say.
“You will not,” she says.
Trinity stretches her legs. “We also keep the cottage closed. We don’t move things unless the chief says we can.”
“There’s nothing left to get,” I say. “We leave it alone.”
Elise’s shoulders drop. “Thank you.”
Sadie watches me and asks one more thing. “What about Declan?”
“What about him?” I say.
“If he calls,” she says. “Does he get through?”
I stare at the table. His voice plays in my head, low and rough, the way it sounded when we weren’t fighting. Fury flickers that I still remember the way he breathes before he tells the truth. I lift my chin.
“He gets one,” I say. “One call. Daylight. Public place. No past. Only now. If he bends any of that, I end it.”
Elise exhales. “That helps me breathe.”
“It needs to help me,” I say.
“It does,” she says. “I can tell.”
Ginny looks at Trinity. “You were ready to glare at him on her behalf. You still carrying that.”
Trinity weighs it and sets it down. “No. I set it down. If she needs a glare later, I can pick it up. For now, I’m not building a bonfire that no one asked for.”
We all hear the shift in her voice. That’s one mind changed on the page. Mine loosens a little in response.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” she says. “If I glare, it will be art.”
“Please don’t get arrested for art,” I say.
“Never,” she says.
We eat for a minute like normal people. The fruit’s good. The cheese is better. Ginny tells a short story about a tourist who asked which row of vines the house red came from. Trinity makes a face until she breaks and laughs. Elise leans on my shoulder and rests there. I let her. I need the weight.
Sadie wipes the knife and sets it aside. “I want to say something, and I want you to hear all of it. If I push, it’s because I want you both alive and bored. That’s my stake.”
It lands. I look at her and see the way her hands tighten when she says alive. I nod. “Message received.”
Ginny nods too. “I can be serious for thirty seconds. I’m angry that anyone thought they could rattle you. I’ll make the call with my polite voice. If that doesn’t work, I’ll use my other voice.”
“You have two voices?” Trinity asks.
“I have six,” Ginny says. “I save four for holidays with my family.”
We clean the charcuterie board. Sadie rinses the glasses at the little sink. You don’t see the work and then everything is clean. Elise flips the lamp. The room falls into soft gray.
We step into the hall, and cool air wraps around my arms. It feels like the day knows we made a plan, and it approves.
Trinity falls in next to me. “Do you want me to drive you, so you don’t have to take your car.”
“We’ll take mine,” I say. “We’ll be fast.”
She nods and then slows. “One more thing.”
“What?” I ask.
“Earlier, when I talked about him, I said I’d made peace with it,” she says. “I have. But I still held on to some anger about how he left—and maybe for how much it hurt you. I was ready to glare on your behalf if he ever showed up again. I’m letting that go now. That’s not mine to hold.”
I feel the shift in me. “Thank you.”
“If you need the glare later, I can borrow it back,” she says.
“I’ll order it like a service,” I say.
“Friends and family discount,” she says.
Ginny peels off toward her truck. “Text when you hear something or just if you need me,” she calls.
“We will,” I say.
Sadie hugs Elise and then me. “If you need anything in the middle of the night, you call me. I mean it.”
“I know,” I say.
We push through the back door and step into the lot. The night is clear. The long line of bulbs along the drive glows like a dotted path. Somewhere in the distance an engine hums and fades.
Elise opens the passenger door of her car and tosses her bag in. “Keys,” she says.
“I can drive you to your dad’s,” I say.
“I’m good,” she says.
She shuts the door. For one beat we sit in the dark and breathe. I don’t think about the acrid smell of the fire or the fire alarms that were gutted.
Elise starts the engine. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I watch until her lights disappear and walk toward my parents’ place. I watch and feel the plan hold like a net. It’s not perfect. It’s enough.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down. A text slides across the screen. An unknown number that’s not unknown at all.
I don’t touch it.
I shake my head. Not tonight. He gets one call. In daylight. On my terms.
I look at the main house and at the path to the side door. The porch light flicks on. My mother must have heard me coming.
Tomorrow, we start asking the questions that make people sweat.
The phone in my hand hums again. I leave it there.
Tomorrow is soon.
And I’ll be ready.