Epilogue
A CHUISLE MO CHRóí
Maggie
Another two weeks. Graham still hadn’t opened his eyes.
“This is insane!” I said, pulling the spoon out of my mouth and jabbing it into the obnoxiously huge bowl of rocky road ice cream on the butcher block while Katie side-eyed me through the video chat. “Can’t somebody do something? Is it even working?”
“I don’t know, Mags,” she said, holding the black-and-white striped knitted bikini top she was working on up to her chest. “The aunts aren’t worried… so I don’t think we should be either.”
“How can they not be worried? It’s almost been a fucking month!”
Katie sighed. “Girl, will you relax? Just trust them. They’ve got more experience with this whole wolfy thing than you wanna know.”
I picked up the phone, collapsed onto the window seat, and let out a defeated sigh. “Fine. I’ll try.”
Out of the corner of my eye, a police car pulled up my driveway. It rolled to a stop, and Nettles got out, followed by another officer.
“Kates, I gotta go. Nettles is here.”
“Mm-kay, girl, call me back.”
I clicked off the phone and opened the door before he had a chance to knock.
“Hi there, Maggie,” Nettles said, eyebrows raised. “I’m going to skip over pleasantries. I wish I had better news to give you. Can I come in? You’d better sit down.”
“What is it? Is it Graham? Have you heard something? Did you identify the asshole that shot him?”
“No. Just… sit down, please.” He gestured to the armchair in the foyer.
I sat, my heart pounding hard against my ribcage.
“Maggie, we’ve found Hunter Devereaux’s car at Dissolution Point.” Nettles sat on the footstool in front of me while his officer stood by the door.
I blinked. “Where’s that?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that we found this note.” Nettles pulled out the note Katie and I had fabricated. It was sealed in an evidence bag and had clearly been read over multiple times. “We believe Hunter jumped off the point.”
I brought my hand to my mouth.
Shit.
Either this was going to go exactly as planned, or I was fucked.
“We found a boot wedged between the rocks on the coast.” He showed me a picture of a very beat-up, very weathered, hiking boot. “Is this his?”
I took the picture, my other hand still over my mouth, and nodded.
“We also found a sizable engagement ring. There’s an inscription. ‘A chuisle mo chróí—’”
“I know what it says.” I said, cutting him off.
The officer handed it to me.
“Maggie, I’m sorry. Hunter was most likely killed on impact,” Nettles said, his voice broken.
I turned away, clutching the ring, my heart pounding with each word he spoke, eyes welling.
Sun rays faded in through the stained-glass window in the door, casting long, bright-colored shapes across the wooden floor, amplifying the silence.
“We’ll keep watch for his body.” Nettles paused. “But there is a good chance we’ll never find it. The rough tide will have taken him out to sea by now.”
“That point is known for shark activity,” the officer added.
Nettles grunted. “We’ll let you know if we find him.”
A sickening heat swelled in my body, sending pin pricks to my arms, raising goosebumps. The back of my neck broke out in a cold sweat and my shoulders spasmed with every shaky breath.
“Does he have any next of kin we should notify?”
“I-I don’t know.” I shook my head. “Hunter told me his parents died when he was young, and that he was an only child put into the UK foster system after their deaths.”
The silence in the room weighed the air.
“One more question, Maggie. Why didn’t you file a missing persons?”
“What? Um… I thought Hunter was away on a scouting trip.” The lie landed bitter on my tongue—or maybe it was the bile that rose with every breath. I shook my head, my hand over my mouth attempting to shove it back down. “He would leave for a few days at a time sometimes…”
Nettles exchanged a look with his officer, then leaned forward. “Maggie, I need to tell you something else. We believe Hunter Devereaux was responsible for the deaths of the women found along the coast. The ones that resembled you. The press coined the name ‘The Pretty Girl Killer’.
The air left my lungs.
“Hunter killed all those women? The ones like me?”
Nettles paused for a moment, nodding. “It appears that way.”
“And the Midwest girls?”
“Most likely.”
The dam holding back the tears finally broke.
“You mean… just like Graham tried to tell you?” I said, my hands shaking, this time in fury. My nostrils flared. This man had shown time and time again that he didn’t take Graham seriously—that he thought he was too wired to self-destruct when things got raw.
“Yes.”
Glaring at him, his words faded and all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears, all I could see was red. I had tunnel vision that led straight to him.
Then, without a second thought, I slapped Nettles—hard.
He turned his head slightly from the impact, his cheek blooming red, jaw tight, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“Boss?” The young officer leaned in, hand on his taser, ready to defend his precious captain.
“No.” He raised a hand. “I deserved it. Maggie, I’m sorry we’ve kept you in danger too many times now. I’ve already submitted the recommendation for him to take the Detective’s exam.”
“Great. Now that he’s dying—”
“He’s not dying, Maggie. I spoke with Bishop—”
“Fine… now that he possibly won’t be able to walk. How fucking gracious of you.” I crossed my arms and turned away from him again. “Get out,” I spat.
“Maggie, there’s one more thing.” Nettles rose.
“There was a copy of Hunter’s will in his glovebox.
It’s all official. He had it notarized and everything.
He’s named you as his beneficiary to all his accounts, and the new owner of Velvet & Vice Productions.
” He handed me the will, but didn’t let go right away. “What you do with it is up to you.”
And with that, he and his officer left without another word.
All I could do was gaze blankly forward—unblinking until more tears fell. Hunter didn’t give me all this… the curse did, and I didn’t want a single part of it, especially knowing he was behind all those other deaths even before me.
The following weeks consisted of me cleaning up the loose ends, erasing Hunter, resetting my life.
Katie, Derek, and even Trixi had become the solid foundation I needed to stay upright between trips to the hospital, to the courthouse, and the hours-long conversations on the phone with Hunter’s business associates.
Hunter Devereaux was worth fifteen million dollars—give or take. His business—twenty-five. I could have done so much with that money, but it didn’t belong to me. The last thing Hunter would do on this earth was attempt to make it right.
Thirteen victims’ families benefited from the sale of Hunter’s business—three million apiece. It wasn’t much—considering—and I hated the thought of putting a price on their life, but maybe it would bring a little ease to the burden of trying to survive while mourning.
For the families of the girls that looked like me… I pulled extra from the money Uncle Silas left me, what I earned on Velvet & Vice, and the sale of the engagement ring, adding an extra twenty-five grand each.
But what about my newly acquired property taxes?
Utility bills?
Food?
I didn’t care. I’d just have to figure it out. I’d start over if it meant the victims’ families could breathe easy for even one second. They deserved that at minimum. If it weren’t for me, half of them wouldn’t even have been victims at all.
The last of Hunter’s millions went to women’s shelters across the country, providing resources to those who sought safety, shelter, and peace.
It didn’t make up for the mistakes I’d made—hell, it didn’t even help me sleep at night.
But what it did do was guarantee that I’d never utter the words Amorus Fornicatio again—and that had to be worth something.