Ana
I’ve lost Camille and Bree, and I sit shivering in the trees by the side of the road, when I hear the roaring engine approaching.
Bright headlights come fast around the bend. I step from the trees and the dark car comes to a stop in front of me. I’m numb
with the frigid cold, with fear. The passenger door swings open. And I hesitate a moment, wondering if this is a frying pan
into the fire situation. But I’m out of options. Climbing inside the car, the relative safety and heat are a blessed relief.
I put my hands numb with cold up to the vents, don’t greet or even look at the driver.
“Hello, Ana,” he says.
That easy, low growl of a voice.
I’m shaking, still hearing April wailing in pain, worried about baby Noah who I left behind. Total babysitting fail. I’ve
really started to like that little chunker; now I bet Brock and Iggy will never let me take care of him again. Assuming I
get out of this alive.
“Drive,” I tell him, looking through the window into the woods.
A glance into the trees reveals only darkness. It makes me nervous that they gave up the chase so easily. Where did they go?
I have a bad feeling. The full moon is a white-blue disk in the sky.
He doesn’t ask me where we’re going. He puts his foot to the gas, and we peel out.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says so softly that I can barely hear it over the roar of the engine.
I’m not sure this is the moment for confessing our feelings.
I don’t answer him because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling him that the same is true for me.
Since our raunchy first meeting, I keep returning to that bathroom, feeling the heat of him, the strength. His mouth. His
hands. It’s been super annoying, considering that at the moment, he’s my enemy. It’s also kind of hot.
“And not just because you’re the prime murder suspect in my investigation,” he goes on into my silence.
I finally turn to look at Detective Bandeau.
“You know I didn’t kill Paul,” I say.
His profile, strong and angular, looks like it should be etched in marble. He keeps his eyes on the road, expression unreadable.
“Then who?” he asks as he makes a hard right.
I have a theory. More than a theory. But it’s a Cove rule to keep quiet; April was right about that much. The Cove manages its own problems, metes out its own justice to its members. No outsiders. And absolutely no police.
“How should I know?” I ask. “I’m a victim here.”
This earns a snort. “I’m thinking you’re nobody’s victim. And you know more than you’re saying. That much is obvious.”
He pulls over sharply and kills the engine. We sit in the dark, face-to-face.
“I discovered a few things tonight,” he says. He takes the phone from his pocket, and taps it a couple times. When he holds
it up, there’s a grainy video, time stamped Wednesday night before the brunch, after midnight. What I see there makes me gasp.
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
“Amanda Alessi’s neighbor. The doorbell camera footage.”
I hand him back his phone, brain in overdrive trying to fit the pieces together. He stows the device, starts driving again.
I had my theories, but this I did not imagine.
“That’s a mistake,” I say, unable to believe my eyes. “Like a deep fake or some shit.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Where are we going?” I ask. Since he hasn’t asked me, it seems like he has a destination in mind.
“Is it true that your Aunt Agnes has a poison garden on her property?”
Okay. Now, who told him that?
“That if we go there I’ll find hemlock and wolfsbane, the toxins of which are consistent with what killed Paul? Or the death
cap mushroom, which is likely what made your friend Iggy sick?”
Silence is often the only good answer.
“Is it also true that you and Vera maintain the property and the garden to this day?”
Silence expands, all things I want to say, can’t say.
Our bathroom assignation. It was more than just a tawdry hookup. There was—is—an undeniable connection. Still, despite that
or maybe because of it, I left and then ghosted him. I feel it again now, a pull to him. A desire to confess all my sins and
secrets.
“I—can’t,” I tell him now. I can’t. I won’t.
My phone pings, and I look down to see that there’s a text from Lisander, and it makes my blood run cold.
Ana, we have Vera. You both have a great deal to answer for. We would like you to come tonight to observe the Wolf Moon so
that justice might be served.
Panic has me shaking. Why do they have Vera?
The answer comes quickly: they think I killed Paul Hayes, and that she helped me. They won’t turn us in to the police. But they will punish us. I’ve violated the rules of The Cove too many times.
I try to call my sister, but it goes straight to voicemail. I hang up, mind reeling.
“Ana,” the detective says, and there’s something about his voice that soothes. I look at him and he holds my eyes. He’s present,
right there, in a way that I have found men are often not.
Who is he? Can he be trusted?
He seems so familiar. I felt that way the first night, like I’ve known him, that we’ve met before. I haven’t felt that way
about a man. Usually it’s strangers, strangeness, that excites me. Darkness. Violence.
I glance at my phone again, willing my sister to call me back or text me and tell me what to do like she always does.
But Lisander goes on via text about justice and new beginnings, and bringing The Cove to order, eliminating bad actors, blah,
blah, blah.
But I’m only focused on one thing: they have Vera.
Why? What is happening?
And who am I without my sister? Who are any of us without her hand on the helm?
I look at the LifeWatch app and see that Vera’s location is not available.
Equally troubling, Coraline is at Agnes’s.
My throat goes dry, heart now a timpani drum in my chest.
What the actual fuck?
I feel suddenly lost, alone. Afraid.
Without Vera to consult about what to do next, I’m ten again, standing in the driveway, watching Mac, then Sadie, get carted
away.
I’m standing in front of Agnes’s for the first time, realizing that a place I’ve never been before is now the only home I
have.
Every time, no matter how hopeless things seemed, I could look to my sister. She always knows what to do, what to say, how to get us through. Every single time I call, no matter what I’ve done, she’s been there.
Do they really have her? Is it just a lure to make sure I’ll come?
Did Vera have something to do with Paul’s murder?
She’s tricky, that one. Despite her Stepford Wife, Soccer Mom persona, my sister has a dark side, is capable of nearly anything
if someone she loves is threatened.
“Can I trust you?” I say, fear and anger doing a dance in my center. It’s a stupid question. He’s a cop. But I see something
else in him. The shadow.
He doesn’t answer me for a moment, then he nods ever so slightly, the lights from the dash washing his face. And in that moment
I see in him an ally, not an enemy.
“My sister is in trouble,” I tell him.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Take me to Agnes’s. And I’ll tell you everything.”
It’s not unprecedented.
Agnes had Chief Royer. He was her ally and her friend, her sometimes lover. He protected her, made sure to direct suspicion
from her when he could. She helped him advance his career, protected him from enemies. They founded the food bank together.
Allies in high places are an important asset, she told me when I questioned their relationship since it clearly violated The Cove’s rules. But it was more than that.
They were high school sweethearts. Even though he was married with children, there was deep connection. I wasn’t the marrying kind. Never wanted kids. He needed that kind of normal life. Our relationship is exactly what it can
be.
“Everything?” Timothy asks now.
“Everything I know.”
The detective looks at me a moment, then gives me a quick nod.
He guns the engine and I start talking.