I whip around to face him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said you've always been interested in true crime, and it fascinates you?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you were so invested in it, you would have known about the disappearances and murders around here. It's been going on for two years. Two years, Emma. People have been losing their lives, and no one can stop it. News about it has been splashed all over every channel and newspaper across the damn country. If you had even the slightest interest in crime, you would have heard about it. But you said you found out about it and started getting interested after you got here, and I told you.”

  “It's just…”

  “It's just you're nosy and unbelievably insensitive. I can almost understand you having some curiosity about it and wanting to know more, especially after you and I started getting closer. You want to know what's happening,” he says.

  “Exactly. I just want to know.”

  “That's not enough,” he snaps, cutting me off. “Being curious is one thing. Being inappropriate and pushing yourself into situations where you don't belong is something entirely different. Do you have any idea how much all this has hurt me? How many wounds it's opened up? I trusted you. I leaned on you to help me get through it. Then I find you creeping around the cemetery prying into my father… into my wife.”

  “Jake, I'm sorry. I know I should have told you before I went to talk to Barnes, but there were some things I just needed to know.”

  “So, you went behind my back to talk to the man who is responsible for all this pain and torment. For what reason? What did you possibly think you could get out of that?” Jake asks.

  “She gets off on it,” LaRoche sneers. “It's the same reason she went up to the hotel.”

  “What hotel?” Jake asks.

  “The one where Ron Murdock, the man shot dead on her porch, was staying. She went up there, asking questions.”

  “I was trying to find out more about him,” I protest. “I don't think it's that strange to want to know more about a man I watched die.”

  “It is that strange when you didn't even know him, and you've already gotten an explanation about what happened to him,” the chief says. “You're prodding around trying to make more out of things than you should. I'd think you would learn after someone shot at you.”

  Jake's hand grabs my wrist and pulls me around to face him.

  “Someone shot at you?” he demands. “When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?”

  “I didn't want you to worry about me,” I tell him. “The police don't even know who did it. It could have just been an accident, or some stupid kids joy riding and shooting without thinking about where the bullets might end up.”

  I can feel LaRoche staring at me, the same searing, threatening feeling from the woods. I want my words to throw him off, to keep him guessing about how much I know so he will trip himself up.

  “You still think that after your light got broken?” Jake asks. He shakes his head and takes a step back from me. “I can't do this. I can't handle worrying about you on top of everything else.”

  He storms away, heading back toward the entrance to the cemetery.

  “Jake, please. Just let me explain,” I call after him.

  He hesitates and looks back at me. “You need to watch yourself, Emma. If you aren't more careful, someone could get hurt.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Listen to him,” LaRoche says. “Sounds like he knows what he's talking about.”

  “I don't need your advice,” I snap. “You haven't even explained to me why you were up at the hotel that day.”

  “Like I said, I don't need to justify anything to you. But since it seems you're determined to play Miss Marple, I'll tell you. It's not like I need to deal with getting your obnoxious little ass killed. I was up at the hotel to see Andrea. But you already know that. You saw us together. We're having an affair. I’d appreciate it if you kept your mouth shut about that. You don't need to go around messing up people's lives over two adults wanting to spend some time together.”

  “But why meet her all the way out there?” I ask.

  “Ever heard of discretion? I don't particularly want people around here knowing what's going on between the two of us,” he says.

  “Because it's happened before?” I ask. “I imagine you've made some people pretty unhappy with your dalliances.”

  “You don't know what you're talking about,” he glowers.

  “I know what Kenley told me. Why are you so willing to hang around stalking Andrea at work, but won't let her be seen around here?”

  “Like I told you before, I don't know what you're talking about. All I know is ever since you got here, you've been causing trouble. You need to back off and leave people alone. I don't want to have to tell you again.”

  With those words hanging heavily in the air around us, the police chief walks around me and leaves the cemetery. I stand beside John Logan's grave for another few seconds before making my way back to my car and heading toward Teddy’s.

  When I walk into the bar, I see two of the usual bartenders pouring beer and a few of the regulars scattered at the tables, but don't see Jake. Walking up to the bar, I flatten my hands down on it and lean over toward one of the bartenders. I know I met him, but his name isn't popping to my mind.

  “Hey, buddy,” I call to him.

  Fortunately, he turns my way.

  “Hey, Emma. Good to see you.”

  “Good to see you, too. Is Jake around? Maybe he's in the office?”

  The bartender shakes his head. “Haven't seen him. He called up your earlier to say he was heading to the cemetery to pay his respects. It's a hard day for him, you know.”

  “It is?” I ask.

  He nods, looking at me strangely as if I should know what he's talking about.

  “Yeah. It's the anniversary of his wife's death.”

  “Oh, shit,” I mutter, hanging my head. “How did I not realize that?”

  “It's been a long time, but he's still really broken up about it. You know, he's been happier since you came here than I've seen him in a long time.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. People see Jake and he seems so full of life and goofiness. He's always the one trying to lift people up and make them feel better. But it's all because he still hurting so much. Not to say he isn't a great guy or is always all gloom and doom, or anything. But there's part of him that's been closed ever since Melanie died. He wasn't ever the happiest and most social person before he met her, but she changed everything. Then when all that happened, it's like something inside him broke, and he closed off. He shut down. Then his father died, and he took this place over. Life started again for him. He woke up and became the happy, jovial Jake people know. But that little bit of emptiness inside him was still there. I didn't think it would ever go away. Then you came along. Now maybe he'll have a chance.”

  My throat aches, and I have trouble drawing a breath all the way into my lungs, but I force it in and then out in a long stream.

  “It sounds like you've known Jake a long time,” I say.

  “Ever since he was a kid. I didn't know him real well or anything. He wasn't the kind to come hang out with other kids or invite people over to his house. But we were friendly enough. I got to know him better after he met Melanie. He's a good guy. Despite everything, he's a good guy.”

  I nod and step back from the bar. “Thanks.”

  He gives me a little half wave, and I leave the bar to get back in my car. My next stop is Jake's house, and I'm relieved to see his car parked there. I know he leaves the door unlocked, so I don't bother knocking. He probably wouldn't answer the door, anyway, and I need to talk to him.

  “Jake?” I call out when I step inside the house. “It's me.”

  He doesn't answer, and I continue past the first room and into the cozy den set at the center of the house. There I find Jake sitting on the couch, slumped down far enough, so his head rests on the back as he stares at the picture album open on his lap. There's no expression on his face. His eyes seem almost glazed over, like he's not even seeing what he's looking at. I step cautiously closer.

  “I want to apologize,” I start.

  He flips a page of the photo album slowly but doesn't say anything to me. He hasn't directly told me to leave, so I get a little bit closer. Giving myself time to work up the words I'm going to say to him, I ease down onto the couch cushion beside him and look at the album across his thighs. It's not the same one I looked through the last time I was at his house, but it's put together in the same way. I have a feeling the same person put both of them together. Somebody wanted very much for the family memories to be kept close and safe. These pages hold moments of time that slipped by long ago. Without them, those moments might be totally forgotten. But each of these pictures crystallizes them so Jake can look back and relive the times that obviously mean so much to him.

  “Today is…” he starts, but his voice cracks, and he stops.

  “I know,” I whisper. “I'm so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “I thought spending some time with you today would help me get through it. Every year I go to the cemetery and leave flowers for her. I bring a bottle of her favorite wine and make a toast to her. It makes it seem more of a celebration of her life than a marker of her death. I try to tell myself one day, it won’t hurt anymore. It never works. Today I was going to do that early so I could see you for lunch. I hoped that would be all it would take to make the pain…less.”

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I wish there was something I could say to make it better for you. There’s no way to imagine what that feels like. “

  “When it happened, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't wrap my head around it. No matter how many times I heard it or the things I had to go through after it happened, there was a part of me that didn't really believe it. I went to identify her body. I saw her lying there, cold and discolored. The next day I went to the funeral home and arranged her funeral. I watched them bury her. Everything rolled past like it was barely even happening. My mind told me any minute she was going to come home, and it would have been someone else.”

  “I know how that feels,” I tell him. “Not in the same way, but close.”

  “After that, all that was left in Feathered Nest was my father and me. My brother and sister came back home for the funeral, but when they left again, it felt even emptier here than it had before. My father was gone a year later. And it was just me. I never missed my grandmother more than I did in those first few weeks after he died.” He lets out a mirthless laugh. “I missed her even more than I missed my father.”

  He touches the page of the album in front of him. The picture of his grandmother is similar to the one in the other album. She's wearing the same dress, but rather than standing on a step, she's sitting on a porch swing. The focus is tight around her, not letting me see much of her surroundings, but there's enough to reveal green leaves and bits of grass. I remember what Jake told me about celebrating Easter with his grandmother and siblings. I imagine her sitting there watching them search for the eggs she hid.

  “I can understand that. Sometimes it's even harder to cope with the people you lost longer ago than it is the ones who have just passed. It's safer to miss them more because you've been doing it for longer. Besides, from what you've told me about your grandmother, I know she's the one you relied on the most to help you through hard times. She comforted you and made you feel better when things were difficult. Losing your wife and your father within a year of each other is something harder than most people will ever have to face. I can understand why you would start longing for her when you were going through that,” I tell him.

  “Then can you understand why it is so hard for me to think of you in any danger. I hate the idea of anything happening to you,” he says, looking over at me.

  “I thought you were mad at me,” I say.

  “I am. I can't pretend it doesn't make me angry to think about you going to talk to Cole Barnes or that it doesn't bother me to see all those pictures in your cabin. And I hate that you didn't even trust me enough to talk to me,” he says. “But being worried about you is more important right now. I can get over being angry. But I can't get over the possibility of losing you.”

  “Jake, I…” I stop the words trying to come out of my mouth. I don't want to keep spiraling. I don't want to keep building lie upon lie, so I'm never able to pull myself out of it. This is all going to explode soon enough. At least maybe this way I won't have to try to survive it alone. “I'm sorry I worried you. That's exactly what I didn't want to do. But there are some things you don't understand.”

  “Then tell me. Help me understand,” he begs. “Because right now I can't figure out why you would want to have anything to do with things the rest of the town is trying as hard as we can to escape.”

  “Chief LaRoche was in the cemetery with me today because I found something out about him, and he wanted to confront me about it,” I tell him.

  “What did you find out?” Jake asks.

  “I was telling the truth when I told you I went to that hotel to find out more about the man who was shot and died on my cabin porch. I needed to know more about him and didn't think the police were giving me enough information. They were brushing me off and acting like it wasn't a big deal, so I decided to go find out for myself. All I wanted to do was find out his real name and where he came from.”

  “His real name?” Jake asks.

  I nod. “The name they found out for him just didn't sound right. I did some research on it but couldn't find him. So, I went to the hotel and asked the owner about him.”

  “Did you find out anything else?”

  “Not really. His registration card had the name Ron Murdock on it, and the address wasn't a real house. That's all the information it had. But while I was there, I saw Chief LaRoche with a woman. They were very friendly with each other. When I asked the owner about who else was staying at the hotel, she said no one from Feathered Nest had checked in there in weeks. He was hiding that he was there. He left before I did. When I walked out into the parking lot, there were two shots. I didn't see any car or anything. Then just a minute later, LaRoche showed back up and acted like he just happened to be in the area and heard over the police scanner that there was a shooting. He even spoke with the owner of the hotel and acted like he hadn't been there at all.”

  “Are you saying you think LaRoche shot at you?” he asks. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he thinks I know something he doesn't want me to know, possibly. I ended up tracing the girl he was with, Andrea and found out she works in a bar in another town. I went to see her, but she acted like she didn't know anyone from Feathered Nest, even though the other bartender told me a man comes and watches her work all the time, and she's seen Andrea get in a car with him. Jake, she looks so much like Cristela Jordan,” I say.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As soon as I say it, it's obvious the name strikes a nerve. Jake pulls back slightly, his eyebrows lowering.

  “Cristela, who used to come into my bar?” he asks.

  I nod. “The one murdered and found by the train tracks.”

  I'm starting to say more, but Jake shakes his head and reaches to take my hand.

  “Emma, you have to calm down. I think you've gotten in over your head with this. Just like he said, you are giving significance to things that don't have any,” he says.

  “He's having an affair with Andrea. He admitted it. And the first time she stayed in the hotel was after Cristela died.”

  “That could just be a coincidence.”

  “Cristela was staying at that hotel, too. She stayed there several times. You knew her, Jake. You knew she lived just on the other side of Feathered Nest. Why would she go stay in a hotel three towns over clear in the opposite direction of where she lived?”

  “I don't know,” he admits.

  “Unless she was meeting someone, and she didn't want anyone to know. And, Jake, think about it. You know, as well as I do, Barnes couldn't have dug up that grave and moved your father's bones himself. He just doesn't have the strength. You told me yourself LaRoche's father got involved when things happened between your father and Barnes years ago. People thought finding your father's bones could have something to do with the murders and disappearances because Barnes did it. But what if it's because LaRoche wanted a distraction? He wanted to confuse people and get them thinking about all that again rather than what's going on now.”

  “Why would he do that?” Jake asks.

  “I'm not sure, other than to screw with people. But I do know when I went out in the woods the other night; I felt someone watching me.”

  “This isn't safe for you, Emma. You need to tell someone what you know,” he insists.

  “Who should I tell? The police? I can't tell anyone anything until I have something more concrete to go on. And you have to promise me you aren't going to say anything, either. I'm trusting you with this.”

  “Emma… “

  “Jake, I'm trusting you. I only told you because I don't want you worrying about something you don't know. And I want you to be on your guard. I know you're still going to be interacting with him as he pretends to investigate Barnes. You have to be aware.”

  “How am I supposed to just sit by and not say anything when I know what this man has done? To me, to you, to all of us? He's supposed to be the most trusted member of our community, and he's picking us off one right after the other. Now he's coming for you.”

  “I will be fine, Jake. You have to trust me,” I say.

  “I don't want you out at that cabin by yourself at night. It's too dangerous. Come stay here with me.”

  “No, Jake. I'm not going to let him chase me out of my cabin. I'm not going to give him that kind of power,” I argue.

  “It's not giving him power,” he says. “It's being smart and safe. He was sending you a message with that glass, and you know just as well as I do, he's not going to back down now. If he has even the slightest clue of how much you know about him and what he's been up to, he's going to do anything he can to make sure you don't tell anybody. Keep in mind, you're tall and blonde, too.”