Chapter 19
As I pulled into the Ashfords’ driveway the next morning, a light glowed in the kitchen window, and for a moment, I saw silhouettes moving inside.
I’d called the night before to ask Rosemary if I could come by. She’d agreed without hesitation.
I stepped out of the car and walked up the drive. Before I reached the porch, the door opened, and Rosemary waved me inside, saying, “Come in, Georgiana. We’ve just made breakfast, and you’re welcome to join us. There’s plenty.”
“It smells incredible,” I said, stepping inside.
The scent of pancakes and bacon lingered in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of maple syrup.
As we entered the kitchen, I saw a man I assumed to be Rosemary’s husband at the stove, turning bacon with slow, deliberate movements.
His tall, thin frame made me wonder whether he’d lost weight since the death of his daughter or if he’d always looked that way.
He turned, offering me a slight smile. “You must be Georgiana.”
“I am.”
“I’m Dustin, Rosemary’s husband.”
“Good to meet you. Thank you for letting me come by.”
He nodded, then began putting strips of bacon onto a plate, and I sat down at the table, which had already been set with pancakes stacked on a platter, eggs in a ceramic bowl, and a pitcher of orange juice.
Rosemary poured a glass for each of us and took a seat beside me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “We could use a more detailed update.”
Dustin sat beside her, his hands clasped together, eyes fixed on the table. He glanced at me for a brief moment, the pain in his eyes laying bare the weight he was carrying.
“What have you found out?” he asked.
I took a breath. “I don’t have a lot of answers for you yet, but I am getting somewhere.”
In unison, they leaned forward, anxious to hear what more I had to say.
“I’ve spoken to several people since I took this case, including the police, Logan’s parents, some of Audrey’s classmates, and a few others. There’s something I’d like to tell you, but if I do, I need you to agree to keep it to yourselves for now.”
“Of course,” Rosemary said.
“In one of Logan’s sketchbooks, he drew a picture of a locket with the name Anne on it,” I said. “It turns out Anne was a young woman who went missing twenty-five years ago.”
Dustin raised a brow but said nothing.
“Why do you think he drew a sketch of a locket belonging to a woman who’s been missing for so long?” Rosemary asked.
“Yesterday, I spoke with Anne’s parents.
They showed me a photo of Anne wearing the locket, and I confirmed it’s the same one from Logan’s sketchbook.
And there’s something else. Anne went missing while she was visiting her aunt in Cambria, who just so happened to live in the same subdivision you live in now. ”
Rosemary glanced at Dustin, then back at me. “I’m sorry to hear about the woman who went missing, but what does any of this have to do with our daughter?”
“It seems to me that Audrey found Anne’s locket, and when she did, I bet she tried to figure out who owned it.
My guess is that she discovered Anne went missing all those years ago.
She told Logan, and the two of them may have done some investigating of their own.
I believe digging up the past is what led to Audrey being murdered. ”
Dustin went pale, staring down at his hands. “Does this mean she was targeted?”
“I’m exploring the possibility. If I’m right, Audrey’s death is connected to Anne.”
They both went quiet, as if taking in what I’d just said. The silence was uncomfortable and heavy, but I understood the need for them to process everything. We finished our food with minimal small talk, and Rosemary rose to clear the plates.
I stood.
“Would it be all right if I spent a few minutes in Audrey’s room?” I asked.
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “The police have already searched it, but sure, if you think it will help.”
Dustin pushed his chair back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I haven’t been in there since she died. Can’t bring myself to go inside.”
Rosemary reached for his hand. “Stay down here if you need to, dear. I’ll show Georgiana to Audrey’s room.”
He nodded and Rosemary led me upstairs to Audrey’s room, pausing at the door before opening it.
“I guess you can say I’m the opposite of my husband,” she said, flicking away a few tears. “I’ve been in here every day, but I haven’t touched a thing. It’s just the way she left it.”
She opened the door and stepped aside.
I walked in, getting the immediate sense that the room felt frozen in time.
The walls were painted a soft purple, and there was a full-size bed with a gray comforter and a knitted blanket that was folded at the end of the bed.
Miniature Polaroids were strung across the headboard—laughing faces, forest trails, snapshots of moments past.
A dresser sat beneath a round mirror and taped to the glass was a sketch of Audrey and Logan inside a heart, their initials overlapping where the lines met. The sketch held a simple sweetness, and yet it twisted my insides at the same time.
Two young people in love, a love that would never grow to fruition.
“I’m guessing Logan drew this of the two of them,” I said.
Rosemary stepped beside me, her hand pressed to her chest. “She loved that drawing. She stuck it here the day he gave it to her.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Would you mind if I had a few minutes in her room alone? It’s part of my process.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll be downstairs with Dustin if you need anything.”
She left the room, leaving me in the quiet of Audrey’s space.
I started with the dresser. Each drawer held folded clothes, organized in a way that suggested Rosemary helped her keep it tidy. Nothing looked out of place. I checked beneath the clothes, inside pockets, behind the drawers, still seeing nothing of note.
I moved to the desk. The surface held notebooks, gel pens, and a single photo strip of Audrey and Talia making faces. I checked the drawers, flipped through the notebooks, and scanned pages of homework and doodles.
Still nothing.
Next, I moved to the bed. I lifted the mattress and checked beneath it, feeling along the slats as I searched under the frame. But again, I found nothing helpful. Nothing to help me solve her murder.
I looked through her nightstand, her closet, her shoes, even the tiny jewelry box on the dresser. No clues. Whitlock and Foley had done a thorough job when they were here.
Frustrated and left without a single clue, I stepped back, my hands on my hips as I studied the room one last time. Something tugged at me, an instinct telling me I was missing something that should have been obvious but wasn’t.
Then my gaze drifted toward the window.
A small potted plant sat on the sill, its soil dry, leaves curled at the edges. I wondered if it had died before Audrey did, or if Rosemary had neglected to water it after her daughter passed.
I walked over to it and lifted the pot.
It felt light, almost too light.
I set it on the desk and attempted to separate the pot from its saucer, but it didn’t budge at first. It was as if it had been taped or glued together, but not well.
I pulled on the saucer again, and this time, it broke free.
A small baggie was taped to the underside of the pot.
I pulled off the baggie and opened it, reaching inside.
As I removed its contents, my pulse quickened, and I froze, staring down at the silver locket in my hand—oval, delicate, and etched with a ring of tiny hearts.
In the center, a name: Anne.
Foley and Whitlock had missed it, though I understood why.
And Rosemary had never known to look.
Audrey had hidden it well.
I closed my hand around the locket, and a chill swept across my spine—a truth I couldn’t shake. I was now certain someone had murdered Audrey to keep their secret buried, and I was closing in.