35. Chapter 35
Cate
Present
They put us in a small room with a metal table and three chairs.
No windows. No clock. The air felt recycled, thin and faintly stale, like it had been breathed too many times already. A camera sat in the corner, dark and unblinking. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the space where comfort should’ve been.
Seth took the chair beside me. He didn’t sit back. He perched on the edge like he might bolt at any second.
Detective Marshall closed the door behind us.
“Thank you for your patience,” he said, and it sounded like a lie he’d practiced.
I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking.
“This is just routine,” he continued. “We’re going to ask a few questions. Some of them may feel… personal.”
I almost laughed. Personal had lost all meaning tonight.
“Let’s start simple,” he said, opening his folder. “When was the last time you saw John Rosewood?”
The room seemed to tilt.
I answered automatically. “Ten years ago. May 10. The night he disappeared.”
“What time?”
I hesitated. “Late. After dinner. He said he needed air.”
“Did you argue?”
Seth’s breath hitched beside me.
“Yes,” I said. “We argued.”
“About?”
I swallowed. I hadn’t spoken this out loud in years.
“About the wedding,” I said. “About… About us.”
“Was he upset when he left?”
“He was quiet,” I said. “Which was worse.”
Detective Marshall nodded, scribbling notes. His pen scratched loudly in the silence.
“Did he take anything with him?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Just his jacket. His phone. His wallet.”
Seth shifted beside me.
“Did he ever come back?” the detective asked.
“No.”
“Did he contact you after that night?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Each answer felt like another nail.
The detective flipped a page. “Were there any signs he intended to leave? Financial stress? Mental health concerns? Substance use?”
“No,” I said sharply. “He wasn’t like that.”
“What was he like?” he asked calmly.
I opened my mouth, and stopped.
Because how did you explain someone who disappeared without making them sound like they were already halfway gone?
“He was steady,” I said finally. “Thoughtful. He planned things. He loved me.”
The detective didn’t react.
He turned slightly toward Seth. “Mr. Peterson. You were with John that night?”
Seth stiffened. “Earlier. Not right before.”
“Did you argue with him?”
The air shifted and Seth’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
My heart skipped. “You never told me that.”
His eyes flicked to me, his guilt sharp and immediate, then back to the table.
“What was the argument about?” the detective asked.
Seth rubbed his palms against his jeans. “Does it matter?”
“It might.”
Seth exhaled slowly. “We were drinking. We said things we didn’t mean.”
“What things?”
Seth hesitated too long.
I felt it then, the way the room leaned toward him. The way the questions sharpened.
“He was angry,” Seth said finally. “I… I asked him get my girlfriend a place in his wedding party - to make her a bridesmaid.”
My chest tightened. I hated thinking about that night, that stupid fight. And to know he and Seth fought too… I never should have accused him of wanting her.
“Did he mention leaving?” the detective asked.
“No,” Seth said immediately.
Then Detective Marshall closed the folder.
“There’s something else,” he said.
My pulse jumped.
He reached down beside his chair and lifted an oversized yellow envelope onto the table between us.
The sound it made, paper against metal, was absurdly loud.
“We recovered these items from the deceased earlier tonight,” he said carefully. “We need to determine whether they belonged to John Rosewood.”
The deceased.
Not the man. Not the victim.
The word hit like ice water.
He slid the envelope closer to me but didn’t let go.
“I’m going to show you the contents,” he said. “You won’t be able to keep them. This is for identification purposes only.”
My hands trembled as I nodded.
He opened the envelope.
First, a phone.
An older model smartphone. The screen was cracked spiderweb-thin across one corner. The battery was dead, the case missing. It looked worn, used, carried.
My stomach clenched.
“That’s his,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
The detective raised a brow. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.” I leaned forward despite myself. “That crack - he dropped it on the driveway the summer before he disappeared. He didn’t get it replaced, he said it gave it character.”
Seth sucked in a breath beside me.
The detective made a note and set the phone aside.
Next he pulled out a wallet.
Brown leather. Soft with age. A faint crease where John always bent it when he sat.
I pressed my lips together so hard they went numb.
He opened it methodically.
Credit cards. Business cards, names I recognized. People John worked with. People he trusted.
Then the driver’s license.
John’s face stared back at me - younger, smiling slightly, eyes bright.
My vision blurred.
I reached out without thinking, then stopped myself, hands hovering uselessly over the table.
“May I?” I asked.
The detective hesitated, then slid it toward me.
I picked it up like it might disappear if I didn’t hold it just right.
“I know this picture,” I said softly. “He hated it. Said it made him look smug.”
Seth let out a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it hadn’t broken halfway through.
The detective cleared his throat. “There were also photographs.”
He turned the wallet, and I froze.
John and Seth when they were younger, arms slung over each other, drunk and grinning.
John’s parents.
And then…
Me.
John and me in Silverpine. Snow everywhere. My hair a mess. His arm tight around my waist like he was afraid I’d vanish if he let go.
My breath left me in a rush.