Chapter Fifty-Four Raine
Chapter Fifty-Four
Raine
The day unfolded as normally as I could make it. Molly and I drove to the grocery store. She picked foods that were her favorites. I said no to a few bags of candy. She scowled, fists clenched, but no full-on meltdown. A win in my book.
We were putting the groceries away when the locksmith arrived.
Molly ignored him, absorbed by the television, while I watched as he changed the locks on the front and back doors and installed sensors on the window frames.
I paid him, tipping him well. The extra locks were nice, but if someone wanted to get inside the house, they’d find a way.
I considered one of the three dishes I could make. Tacos. Easy and always a fan favorite with Ken, who was really a big child. My two other specialties were spaghetti and boxed macaroni. Time to kick up my game in the kitchen. But that was next week’s problem.
My voicemail held more messages from Edith. I owed her a call, but I’d wait until Molly was asleep.
A truck’s rumble lured me to the front window. A forensic van plus an agent’s vehicle. Judson.
I opened the front door as he crossed the porch. “Hey.”
Judson raised his gaze to mine. “We’ve come for the trunk and to collect evidence in the attic.”
“Of course.”
The tall woman behind Judson nodded. “I’m Agent Meg Pollard. Forensics.”
“Good to meet you.”
“I know the way,” Judson said.
Molly’s footsteps thudded toward me. She pressed her body against the back of mine and peeked around me at the two of them. Judson winked at Molly. She grinned.
“Molly and I were just about to go for a walk,” I told him.
Judson nodded. “We’ll be here at least an hour.”
“Take your time.”
“I don’t want to walk,” Molly said.
I grabbed her jacket and mine from a hook by the front door. “You haven’t seen where the horses used to live.”
She frowned. “Are there horses here?”
“Not now. But they have an interesting home.” I hustled on her jacket and slid on mine. “We better go before it gets really dark.”
Under protest, Molly followed me out the front door. The horse barn was located on the west side of the property. The barn had been built in the 1960s and in its day had housed six horses. By the time Judson and I had dated, the barn was empty. It had been our private place.
We walked through the tall grass toward the gray barn. Gabled roof, a weathervane, wide front doors, and windows on the first floor.
“Horses lived here?” Molly asked.
“They did.”
“What were their names?” she asked.
“Pumpkin, Regal, and Popcorn.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Weird.”
“I was very little when I named them.” In a corner of one of the stalls, a cat darted across the hall. Hissed. “Barn cat. We have a few of them.”
“I like cats. Do barns have dogs?”
“Sometimes.” The stray I remembered was a hound-shepherd mix. When dogs didn’t hunt well, the owners dropped them alone in the country.
Memories flashed of the skeletal remains in the attic trunk. Had that been the dog I’d befriended? “These are a little wild. Be careful around them. They can bite.”
A frown furrowed deep in her brow. “Can I have a horse?”
As we moved into an empty stall, I remembered the day Judson and I had first stolen away to be alone. I was so nervous. He was quiet. Steady. “I’m not sure these stalls are good enough for a horse now.”
“When you fix the house, will you do the stalls?” she asked.
“Maybe. First, I need to sell land to pay for it all.” I wanted to please her. She’d lost so much. “If we can get a horse, what would you name it?”
“Bingo.”
“Bingo?” I looked back at the house, but from here there was no view of the driveway.
“I saw Bingo in a cartoon.”
“Great name.”
As the shadows lengthened, we left the barn and started back to the main house. Windows of darkened rooms glared back at us. The forensic van and Judson’s car were gone.
After the walk, I made tacos, but Molly refused to eat them. So dinner became a combo of bagels and peanut butter. After a little more television, we headed upstairs. Maria had once complained that the bedtime routine was sacred. Skip a step—disaster. But I had no idea what the steps were.
“Ready for a bath?” I glanced toward the door to the attic steps. Closed.
“Okay.”
I found a pair of bear pajamas and in the bathroom drew a bath. I wasn’t sure if she could do this on her own or not, but I opted to hang close. Slips in the tub happened.
When she was settled in the water, I washed her hair as she rubbed a washcloth on her face.
Watching her splash, I decided tomorrow I’d bring a few plastic bowls and cups for her to play with.
Out of the tub, I dried her off. She slipped on her pajamas, and I carefully combed out the tangles in her hair.
“Do you want to hear a story?” I’d grabbed a few books in my clothing haul.
“I can read.”
“Can you read to me?” I asked.
“Okay.”
We settled in the spare room bed under her comforter. I opened a book about Madeline, which had been a favorite of mine when I was a kid.
She began reading. I was surprised and relieved she could read so well. At the end, she flipped to the beginning and started over. We did this three times. Finally, she yawned. I took the book and tucked the blanket close to her chin.
“I’ll be right downstairs. Want me to leave a light on in the hallway?”
She looked around the room. Her wide green eyes reminded me so much of Gabe’s. How could such tender eyes kill his wife and lover?
“Yes.” She looked so small and pale. A fatigue in her gaze reminded me of a world-weary adult. Her life had changed. She knew it, but she didn’t have the words to express her feelings.
I couldn’t articulate my emotions, either.
A storm brewed in us both, and I didn’t know how to navigate around it.
“I’m going to sit in front of the TV. And in an hour, I’m coming up here to bed.” There were doors and windows to recheck. A house to secure.
“Okay.”
I left the hallway light on and tried to create some noise as I walked down the stairs. I poured a glass of wine, thought about Maria’s poisoned glass, and dumped the wine into the sink.
Switching on the TV, I kept the volume low, opened my laptop, and googled How to raise a five-year-old.
The suggestions were generic, and after a half hour of scrolling, I’d learned the importance of independence, social skills, consistent routines, and boundaries. Nothing groundbreaking.
Next, I searched Virginia adoption law. If the courts granted me custody, adoption seemed the next logical step.
Wind rattled branches outside. A knock on the front door startled me. I approached carefully—aware of a country night’s pitch black, trespassers, and Pete. It was Judson.
I opened the door. He was dressed casually in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt. A holstered gun on his hip. “What brings you back?”
“Checking in.”
Glad to see him, I stepped aside so he could pass. “Doors and windows locked. Child in bed for now. Googling how to raise children.”
“You’re thinking that far ahead?”
I closed the door and locked it. “I have to.”
The evening cold clung to him. “Have you spoken to Edith?”
I hesitated—shook my head. “I keep putting it off.”
“Will she fight you?” Judson asked.
A frustrated sigh leaked as I shut off the TV. “She might.”
His gaze fixed on mine. “What if Molly wants to go with her?”
I motioned for him to sit on the couch. “She’s a child. She can’t make that kind of decision.”
He sat. I sat near him, drawn to his energy. “But . . .”
“I don’t know. I’m Maria’s age. Edith’s in her late sixties. The last few days have been a strain. She’s dealing with the death of her only son. I don’t think she can keep up with a five-year-old long term.”
“Would you take Molly back to Northern Virginia?”
Technically, I was on medical leave and my life was there. Originally, the move felt temporary; now it felt a million miles away. Until I thought about Pete—then the distance shriveled. “I’m not going back.”
A heavy silence churned with Judson’s unspoken thoughts. “Fair enough.”
“Any more on the investigation?” I asked.
“The animal remains have been sent to the lab. We’ll know soon enough. Still piecing it together.” A pause. “More signs of Ken?”
Seemed odd to upgrade locks on doors that might ultimately be removed after the renovation. “No. Double-checked the doors. The locksmith installed additional catches on the downstairs window sashes, but he warned me the windowpanes are delicate and easy to break.”
All the years of living here had never bothered me. I’d never felt vulnerable in Hale House. I did now. I’d pack up Molly and leave, but the investigation, funeral, and yes, the house’s legacy anchored me here. For now.
“Are you doing okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Silence. “That’s your favorite f-word, isn’t it?”
A sudden smile spread across my face. “I use others.”
“But this one’s your favorite. You about wore it out when we were dating in high school. No matter the problem, challenge, or award, it was all fine. After we found your mother, it was all fine.”
“It’s a multipurpose word. It’s positive but also shuts down additional questions.” I leaned back against the couch, wishing he’d touch me.
His gaze skimmed over me. “It was a shield. A way to deflect.”
“Maybe. But as I remember, you were never a fan of questions.”
“What question didn’t I answer?” His voice was low and steady.
After Mom died, silence had crashed between us, like a mountain of stones. I deflected with fine because probing questions scared me. And Judson accepted my fines because he didn’t want to dig deep. “We never talked about my mother. We never processed finding her body.”
An unspoken agreement had settled between Judson and me that had grown thicker after Detective Hutchinson’s interviews. Mom’s funeral. “It was a lot for two young people.”
“We’re grown up now.”
“More or less.” I’d evaded his direct gaze when we were kids. Not now.
“Why did you try to kill yourself?”
My gap year between junior and senior years had been the subject of so much gossip. Amazing how people had filled in the missing twelve months. A European tour. A secret baby. Prison . . .
“You never asked me that before,” I said.
Judson’s gaze sharpened with profound interest. “It felt rude. Maybe I was afraid of the answer. Now I’m older and not as nice.”
That teased a small smile. My therapists had encouraged me to talk about my feelings. “At the time, my path seemed so unclear. Dad was dead. Mom was losing her mind.” I sighed. “Whenever I tried to verbalize my thoughts, I couldn’t. At the time, the hopelessness made sense. Now it doesn’t.”
“Why’d you hire Amy?”
“Maybe I was rescuing myself as much as her.”
He didn’t respond.
“She was homeless. Lost, maybe. But she adapted very quickly to life at Hale House.”
“Why did she copy you?”
“We learn by imitating, don’t we? Show a celebrity photo to our hairstylist. Buy clothes endorsed by a social media influencer. A form of flattery, right?”
“Depends on how far it goes.”
“Amy didn’t do anything malicious.”
I remembered her progression. Makeup, hair, a shirt, jeans, perfume. But we’d never talked about this—and hearing the facts from me seemed to matter.
“How long was she here?” he asked.
“About a year. I’d drive her back and forth to school. And with Mom we’d rotate nights.”
“What did your mother think of Amy?”
“I don’t think she noticed her. Toward the end, she confused Amy with me.”
“Did Amy ever talk about her private life?”
“She didn’t say much. Once at breakfast I saw scratches on her arms. She said she’d gotten them in the woods while taking a walk. She liked to hike by the creek.”
“You didn’t press for more details?”
She was serving a purpose, and I didn’t really care. “It seemed a reasonable explanation.”
The distance between us seemed to expand. Once we’d been so close, I had thought he could read my thoughts. We’d become accustomed to each other’s bodies. And I missed that familiarity. I hated the distance and wondered if we could get what we’d had again or if the window for us had closed forever.
He cleared his throat. Angled his body toward me. “You said she was strong, and no one’s fool, correct?”
If he intended to quell my desire, it worked. “That’s right.”
“She fell for Gabe in high school and then again this year.”
“Not the first strong woman who made a bad choice in men. Case in point—Ken and me.”
He didn’t comment on that last bit. “Amy didn’t love Gabe as much as Hale House,” he said. “She was obsessed with this house.”
He paused, as if considering his words, then added, “The medical examiner said Amy died before Maria and Gabe.”
“Amy. Maria. Gabe. Who killed who? Or was there someone else?”
Judson was silent. “I think Amy set fire to the attic while Molly was with her. It served as a message to Gabe.”
Molly had been unaware that the woman caring for her had risked burning her to death. “‘Love me or I’ll take everything you care about’?”
“Or ‘I know your secret,’” he said. Silence settled. “She sent the message to Maria.”
“Makes sense. Maria was following her around,” I said.
“You heard that, too?”
I hadn’t shared that bit of information. But neither had he. “Can we agree we’re on the same team now?”
He nodded. “You and Molly should live somewhere else.”
“She’s been uprooted a lot. From what I’ve read, she’s probably still in shock. The pending trauma will hit hard. For now, I think we’ll stay.”
He took my hand in his. The contact was electric. “I care about you. I want you safe.”
“Thank you, for caring.”
Natural to lean toward him. He wasn’t going to close the void. So I did. My lips met his.
Hand came to my waist—hesitant—then, as if discarding reason, brown eyes sharpened. He pulled me closer.
When he deepened the kiss, I tasted hints of the boy in the man he’d become. He was familiar and not. The shadows grew larger on the walls. I felt bolder.
“Come upstairs,” I whispered.
“Are you sure?” It was a question that he must have known answered itself.
“Yes.” Seventeen years. I’d missed this for seventeen years.
I rose, took his hand, and led him upstairs to the spare room I’d been using. I closed the door softly. Our mouths met again, slower this time.
The kids we’d been were gone. Grown into strangers. Now, it was time to discover who’d we become.