Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Wren’s thoughts continued to race, pieces of an imaginary puzzle trying—and failing—to connect.
Nash caught her eye across the table. He tilted his head toward the door, and she nodded. He wanted to talk privately. So did she.
She followed him onto the front porch and pulled the door shut behind her. Through the window, Nora’s voice picked back up, coaxing everyone in the kitchen back into something as close to normal as they’d get.
Nash didn’t say anything until they were out of earshot. “Tell me about Roy. I’m sensing there’s more to this story.”
“There’s not much to tell. He used to promote our concerts. Before . . .” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Before Christian disappeared. He stayed in touch for the first few years, but I don’t remember the last time I talked to him.”
“Why did he lose touch?”
“I don’t know. He and my dad had some kind of falling-out—money, I think. I never got the whole story.” She frowned, working back through it. “Roy used to be at the house all the time when we were kids. He was practically family. We always called him Uncle Roy.”
Nash nodded slowly. “Who else would’ve known that? That he wasn’t blood, but close enough to be considered an uncle?”
“Anyone who knew us back then. Half of Fog Lake, probably.” She blew out a breath. “Why does that matter?”
“Because somebody connected to your family died in the woods on the same day your brother walked out of the very same woods.” Nash’s voice stayed even, but something behind it had sharpened. “That’s not something you should ignore.”
Wren pressed a hand to her sternum. She’d had the same thought, but hearing it acknowledged aloud, especially from a detective, made it all the more real—and unsettling. “You think his death is somehow connected to Christian.”
“I think I don’t like how many things have happened today after an entire decade of nothing.” He held her gaze. “I don’t have proof of anything. I just don’t believe in this many coincidences converging at the same time.”
She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t know what to say.
“I should go back in,” she said finally. “Check on everyone.”
“Of course.”
“Do you want to come back in? Give us more advice or help us come up with a plan of action?”
He offered a half smile. “I think you ladies have that covered. You’ll figure it out.”
She nodded slowly. “Thanks again for your help.”
“Anytime,” he murmured.
A sick feeling lingered in her gut as she climbed the porch steps.
As Wren walked back into the house, she remembered Mason’s practice. It was at six o’clock, which meant they needed to leave—she glanced at her watch—five minutes ago.
Part of her wanted to cancel. To keep Mason home, somewhere she could see him every second, where she could convince herself that overprotectiveness was the same thing as safety.
But canceling meant admitting out loud that nothing was safe anymore, not even a Saturday evening on a soccer field with a dozen other parents watching. She couldn’t live in fear, no matter how tempting it seemed sometimes.
She stepped back inside and told everyone her plan. Then she called Mason over.
As Mason gathered his gear, Wren made him a quick peanut butter sandwich to eat on the way, and she grabbed his favorite pickle-flavored sunflower seeds and some Gatorade.
Nora’s gaze flicked toward the window. “Text me when you get there.”
“Will do.”
Her sister had the same fears she did, Wren realized.
A few minutes later, Wren double-checked that her son was buckled into the back seat and headed to town.
The Civic had a hundred ninety thousand miles on it and a crack in the windshield she’d been meaning to get fixed for two years. The car had been all she could afford at nineteen. It started every single morning anyway, which was more than she could say for most things she’d chosen at nineteen.
She checked the rearview mirror entirely more than she needed to.
A mile from her house, her gaze stopped on a dark sedan parked on the road, its engine idling. The windows were dark, and she couldn’t see if someone was inside or not. There were no bumper stickers either.
Nothing about the vehicle was out of place. Not really. People pulled off along the mountain roads for various reasons all the time.
But something about the vehicle bothered her, though she couldn’t pinpoint what. It was probably everything that had happened. Christian’s reappearance, Mason running off and climbing the tree, Uncle Roy’s passing . . . all of it was messing with her mind. It was a lot to take in. That was all.
Still, she’d keep her eyes open.
Mason chattered the whole drive about cleats and a kid named Dawson, who could juggle a ball nine times without dropping it. Wren forced herself to respond at the right moments.
By the time she turned into the gravel lot behind Fog Lake’s community field, she’d nearly forgotten about the sedan.
It was probably nothing. Her imagination was just working overtime.
She prayed that was true.