Chapter 29
June
I wanted nothing more than to go back to our little house and go to bed—but we were needed at the police station in Perry.
Because Abel Trent was dead.
Whit Ward had ‘accidentally’ found evidence of Amelia Trent’s murder.
And…well, more than a few people claimed to have seen a heavenly spirit among the folding chairs.
I sat with a blanket draped over my shoulders in the sheriff’s office, Silas beside me, our hands intertwined on the armrest between us.
Whit was sprawled in a chair at the edge of the room, while Delilah stood with her arms crossed by the door.
Neither of them liked cops much—but we’d had to convince them that we needed their story to flesh this whole thing out.
Because just as we’d expected, they’d found something while we were…well, distracting Abel was an understatement.
“So,” the sheriff was saying, brow furrowed. He looked down at the gold cross necklace on his desk, the deed to the church beside it—a deed that conspicuously left out Abel. “You went to the revival to…what? Play detective?”
I shook my head. “Abel had been showing up a lot around the church, and we just wanted…well, we wanted him to know that we had as much a right to visit his services as he had to visit ours.”
“And your friends here?”
Whit raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything.
Silas flashed the sheriff a smile. “They were tourin’ the property.”
The sheriff gave a low, unamused grunt. “Right. Sightseeing in the middle of a snake-handling sermon.”
Delilah leaned against the wall, mouth hardening into a thin line. “Look, we weren’t trying to make trouble. He was the one waving a rattlesnake around like a damn stage prop.”
“He was the one who died,” the sheriff shot back, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Just…been a hell of a night.”
No one corrected him.
He rubbed his temples for a moment, then gestured to the deed. “So you found this…evidence. The land transfer files, and of course another few snakes. And the cross…?”
Delilah nodded. “Bottom of the box with the deed, wrapped in a cloth.”
He lifted the cross again, squinting. “It’s engraved. ‘To Amelia, all my love. S.’”
Silas didn’t say a word.
Neither did I.
The sheriff cleared his throat and set the cross back down with exaggerated care, like it might shatter.
“Well. If what you’re saying holds up, turns out Amelia Trent’s death wasn’t a tragic accident after all; it was premeditated murder.
He used a rattler like a weapon. Once on his sister, and once on you, Miss Fontenot. ”
“Almost,” Silas muttered, jaw tight.
The sheriff nodded slowly, then turned to Whit. “And you, son? Just happened to stumble across all this in the middle of a tent revival?”
Whit smiled like he didn’t give a damn. “Guess I’m just lucky that way.”
The sheriff stared at him a second longer, then huffed. “Guess you are.”
He leaned back in his chair with a creak that sounded like it might snap something in his spine. He was tired. We all were. But the weight of what we’d brought him was starting to settle into his bones, too.
“This is gonna be a mess,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Church folk, out-of-towners, social media. I’ll have reporters on my doorstep by sunup and God knows what kind of statement the fellowship’ll try to put out.”
“Don’t think many of them will give a shit now that their dear leader is gone,” Delilah said, venom in her voice. I looked back, and I could tell she was resisting the urge to smile. “Not after tonight.”
A beat passed.
The sheriff groaned.
“Anyway…thought you’d want to know we’re reopening your fiancée’s case, Mr. Ward—but it’s pretty open and shut,” he said, looking at Silas. “We’ll need to keep the cross for evidence, but we’ll call you as soon as you can take it back.”
Silas gave a single nod. I could feel his fingers tighten around mine again, just slightly. Enough to let me know he was still here.
“Thank you,” he said, and I knew what it took for him to say it after they’d dropped the ball in the beginning. “For taking it seriously.”
The sheriff grunted. “It’s what we should’ve done the first time.”
Silas didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
The sheriff tapped his desk, then stood up. “Go on home. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
The parking lot was slick with rain when we stepped out of the sheriff’s station in Perry, the sky glowing with the kind of predawn light that painted everything in silver and indigo.
Delilah dug around in her purse for her keys, Whit already leaning against the Jeep, while Silas unlocked the truck.
“So…now that we’ve taken care of Abel, how about some eggs and grits over at Mabel’s?” Whit said.
“Jesus, Whit,” Silas muttered. “A man died, for fuck’s sake.”
Whit shrugged, utterly unfazed. “And you watched it all go down, which is exactly why you deserve hashbrowns and biscuits. Maybe even pancakes. We earned that shit.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they’d prefer to go home and fuck it out.”
I choked on a startled laugh.
“No…you two enjoy your post-revival breakfast,” I said. “I think that, as Delilah said, we need to go home and fuck it out.”
Silas didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes as he opened my door for me. I was too tired to tease him about it—even if I loved the way he hovered. We could do that later.
Right now, though, we needed to talk about Amelia.
The drive was quiet for the first few minutes, the roads wet and empty, the whole world hushed. I swallowed hard as I looked out the window, half-expecting to see the flutter of ivory wings.
It was Silas who spoke first.
“I think she’s actually gone now,” he said. “For good.”
The road hummed beneath us, intensifying the bonedeep exhaustion I felt after the night we’d had. But I needed to talk to him…and I needed to listen.
“That was pretty amazing,” I said, “what she did.”
Silas let out a noncommittal grunt that did nothing to convey what I was certain he felt. “Do you think she meant to kill him?”
He didn’t look at me when he asked it. Just kept his eyes on the road, knuckles white on the wheel like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.
I hesitated before answering. “I don’t think it works like that.”
He nodded slowly. “No. I don’t either.”
“But she protected us,” I said. “She protected you.”
Silas exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “She never got the chance before.”
I reached across the console and laid my hand over his. “She did what she could, when it mattered.”
His eyes flicked toward me. “You think that’s what she wanted all along? Closure?”
“No,” I said, surprising even myself. “I think she just wanted you to be happy after all this time.”
We rounded the curve into Willow Grove, dawn just cresting over the tree line, rain dripping from every branch.
The lights at Mabel’s were flickering on, despite all the to-do last night; a banner under the town’s welcome sign announced the annual Gloaming Festival.
It was perfectly ordinary in that extraordinary, Willow Grove way.
“Didn’t think Mabel’s would be open for breakfast,” Silas laughed under his breath. “Given the everything of it all.”
I smiled. “With the kind of gossip going around today? Of course she’ll be there.”
We rolled down Main Street, past the shops…past homes, past the church on the right. The stained glass somehow glowed from within, a scene of the Garden of Eden—featuring a snake that seemed a little more friendly than it had before.
And then we were home.
Sitting in the driveway together…drenched, baptized, thoroughly exhausted. Silas didn’t move, so I sat and waited for him to speak again.
“I think I’m done with ghosts,” he said finally.
I looked at him, surprised by the sudden certainty in his voice.
“I’ll miss her,” he continued. “But I think that was goodbye.”
I nodded. “It felt like it.”
The truck’s engine rumbled to a stop as Silas pulled the key from the ignition, shaking his head and reaching up to squeeze the bridge of his nose.
“I should’ve known,” he said, “back when she died…I should’ve known it wasn’t an accident.”
“You couldn’t have,” I said gently.
“I knew Abel,” he replied. “That should’ve been enough.”
“You know him now,” I corrected. “What’s past is past, Silas.”
Silas finally reached for the door handle and got out, rounding the front of the truck to open mine before I could beat him to it.
I didn’t tease him this time; just slipped into his arms and held him there in the driveway, wrapped in mist and birdsong and the kind of quiet that only comes after a storm.
He kissed my temple, my cheek, my mouth.
“What’s past is past,” he repeated.
“But that doesn’t mean we won’t remember,” I said.
He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, brushing a damp curl from my face. “Thank you,” he murmured.
And then he lifted me into his arms, carried me up the porch steps…and took me home.