Chapter 40
forty
“Enough for today, ladies.” Maggie set down her sanding block and brushed sawdust from her jeans.
The women of Haven House’s woodworking class gathered their tools, some lingering to admire their finished projects while others rushed off to collect children from the daycare room down the hall.
The scent of fresh-cut pine and lemon oil hung in the air, mingling with the chatter of accomplishment—the sound of women rebuilding their lives one hand-made treasure at a time.
“Maggie, do you think I should add another coat of finish?” Marissa held up her small bookshelf, turning it to catch the light from the window.
“One more thin coat should do it. Let that dry completely first, though.” Maggie ran her finger along the edge of the shelf, nodding in approval. “Your sanding is perfect.”
Marissa beamed at the praise, her face transformed by the smile. Six weeks ago, she’d arrived at Haven House with a black eye and a broken spirit. Now she stood straighter, laughed more freely, made eye contact when she spoke.
“I’ll finish it next class,” she said, wrapping the shelf carefully in an old blanket. “Cason wants to put his Pokémon collection on it.”
“It’s the perfect display for Pokémon.” Maggie squeezed her shoulder. “Next week we’ll start on that desk for him, okay?”
The room emptied gradually, each woman carrying something she’d made with her own hands. Only Sarah remained, hunched over her keepsake box at the back table, meticulously applying grain filler to the corners.
“Sarah, class is over.”
No response.
“Sarah?”
Her head jerked up. She’d come so far in such a short time, but she was still as jumpy as a frightened doe, still carried that haunted look in her eyes. But there was also a new intensity there that hadn’t been present when she first arrived at Haven House.
“Sorry, I was just...” Sarah gestured to the box.
“No rush,” Maggie told her, beginning to wipe down the workbenches. “Take your time. I’m just cleaning up.”
“I want to get this part perfect.” Sarah didn’t look up, her dark hair falling forward to shield her face, and she bent over the box again. “It needs to be perfect.”
Maggie smiled at her fierce concentration.
In the weeks since her arrival, Sarah had thrown herself into the woodworking classes with unexpected passion.
Her box had started as a simple project—a basic hinged container for keepsakes—but had evolved into something far more elaborate.
She’d added inlaid details, carved delicate patterns along the edges, even fashioned a tiny hidden compartment beneath a false bottom.
“It’s already gorgeous,” Maggie said, sweeping sawdust into a pile. “You’ve got a natural talent for detail work.”
Sarah didn’t respond, just kept working with that same intense focus.
Maggie left her to it and moved around the room, collecting discarded sandpaper and stacking lumber scraps.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted to the events of the past two weeks.
Landry’s arrest had unleashed a flurry of activity—police statements, restraining order modifications, and endless calls from the network.
The most disturbing revelation had come three days after his arrest when Ghost discovered that Landry had never actually been in Billings.
He’d given his phone and wallet to some down-on-his-luck guy at a bar, creating an electronic trail that convinced everyone he was still hours away.
But he’d always been here, likely having followed her directly from Florida.
At least that answered one question. He’d been the one camping behind the forge near the creek. He’d likely been the one to stab Princess, though he’d repeatedly denied it.
“He’s going to get what he deserves.”
Maggie startled at Sarah’s voice. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped sweeping, lost in thought.
“Sorry, what?”
“That man—your ex.” Sarah looked up from her box, her expression unreadable. “He deserves whatever happens to him. Worse, even.”
Maggie set the broom aside. How did Sarah know what was on her mind? Had she been thinking out loud? “The legal system will handle him now.”
“Will it? Men like that know how to work the system. They cry and apologize and promise to change, and people believe them because they want to.”
Given her history, Sarah had every right to her bitterness.
“You’re right,” she acknowledged and leaned a hip against the worktable. “But Landry’s facing multiple charges. Breaking and entering, assault, violating a restraining order. The evidence is pretty solid.”
“Evidence can disappear. Witnesses can change their stories. Police officers can just be corrupt assholes who don’t want to do their jobs. It happens all the time.”
“Maybe.” Sarah returned to her box, applying the grain filler with renewed focus. “But sometimes justice needs a little... help.”
“Is that what happened with your ex?”
She ducked her head again. “Three times I tried to press charges. Three times the system failed me. The first time, he convinced the prosecutor I was mentally unstable. The second time, evidence ‘went missing.’ The third time...” She trailed off, and her lips flattened.
“Well. Let’s just say some men have friends in high places. ”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be prepared.” Sarah blew sawdust from the corner of her box. “Does he have family? People who’ll bail him out?”
“I don’t think so. His parents died years ago, and he was an only child.” Maggie frowned, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Why?”
“Just curious. Sometimes they have people on the outside who help them.” Sarah shrugged. “Like that woman who came to see you.”
Maggie’s stomach clenched at the memory. Three days after Landry’s arrest, Taryn showed up at the ranch, having somehow convinced the sheriff to tell her where to find Maggie. She’d interrupted dinner, mascara streaking her face, her perfect blonde highlights limp with grease and travel.
“You have to drop the charges,” she’d demanded without preamble. “He didn’t mean to hurt you. He loves you.”
The whole table had gone silent, forks frozen mid-air. Anson had risen slowly to his feet, his face a thundercloud, but Maggie had stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Taryn, you need to leave.”
“He was just trying to talk to you!” Taryn had shouted, her voice cracking with desperation. “If you’d just listened, none of this would have happened!”
Even now, Maggie couldn’t believe the betrayal. Her producer, the woman who’d claimed to be her friend, her biggest supporter, defending a man who’d nearly choked her to death.
“He didn’t do it.” Taryn’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “And even if he did, he was just... he was upset. You broke his heart when you left him.”
That was when Maggie finally understood Taryn wasn’t just defending Landry because they’d been work colleagues or because she wanted to salvage the show.
She was in love with him. Had been all along, probably.
Nothing else could explain her willingness to ignore evidence, to blame the victim, to fly across the country to beg on his behalf.
Walker had finally escorted Taryn from the property with a clear warning about trespassing. Last Maggie had heard, the network had formally terminated Taryn’s contract.
“Maggie?”
Sarah’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Sorry, just thinking.”
“About that woman?”
“Yeah.” Maggie resumed sweeping, uncomfortable with how closely Sarah seemed to be tracking her thoughts. “I still can’t believe she tried to blame me for what he did.”
“People will believe what they want to believe.” Sarah’s voice hardened. “Especially when they’re in love with monsters.”
The vehemence in Sarah’s tone made Maggie look up sharply. Sarah’s gaze was fixed on her box again, but her hands had stilled, knuckles white around the applicator.
“How’s the grain filler working?” Maggie asked, deliberately changing the subject. “Is it filling those corner gaps?”
The tension in Sarah’s shoulders eased slightly. “It’s perfect. You were right about waiting for the wood to fully dry before applying it.”
“I’ve made that mistake too many times.” She moved closer to inspect Sarah’s work, genuinely impressed by the craftsmanship. The box was beautiful—made of cherry wood with walnut inlays, meticulously jointed and sanded. “This is professional quality, Sarah. I mean it.”
Sarah’s face flushed with pleasure. “It’s only because you’re such a good teacher.”
“I just show techniques. The talent is all yours.” Maggie circled the table, admiring the box from different angles. “The dovetails on this are tighter than some I’ve seen from furniture makers with decades of experience.”
“Really?” Sarah beamed, her earlier intensity replaced by something almost childlike in its need for approval.
“Absolutely. You could sell these, you know. Custom keepsake boxes would fetch good money at craft fairs.”
“I’d rather make them as gifts.” Sarah set down her applicator and closed the jar of grain filler. “Speaking of which...” She bounced to her feet. “I have something for you! A thank-you gift for everything you’ve taught me.”
“Sarah, you don’t need to—”
“I want to.” She was already hurrying toward the door. “It’s in my car. I’ll be right back!”
Before she could protest further, Sarah was gone. She shook her head and, smiling at the enthusiasm, turned back to the keepsake box on the table.
It really was exquisite work.
She ran her fingers along the smooth edges, admiring the precision of the joinery.
The lid fit perfectly, with no gaps or wobbles—the mark of a true craftsperson.
She lifted it carefully, examining the interior.
Sarah had lined it with velvet, dark blue like a midnight sky, and included the hidden compartment she’d been so excited about.
Maggie started to close the lid, but stopped. There was something carved on the underside—M & L forever.
Her blood turned to ice.
M & L.
Maggie and Landry.
Her fingers went numb, and she dropped the box. The carving on the tree at Landry’s campsite—the one Ghost had photographed as evidence—had said the same thing.
The exact same thing, in the exact same style.