Page 114 of Confessions of the Dead

Riley said, “Take a few steps back, Sheriff. It’s easier to see if you don’t stand so close.”

Ellie was about to tell them all she didn’t have time for any of this but shuffled back instead. She was nearly against the opposite wall when she understood.

Mason whistled. “Oh, there it is. She got it.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes, squinted slightly. “That can’t be right.”

“It’s right,” Buck insisted. He pointed at the wall on his right. There were dozens of file boxes stacked nearly floor to ceiling. “All the records are right there. Every one of those pins ties out to a real crime.”

Ellie stared at the map for nearly a minute, then shifted back to the one of New England. It was easier to see on that one now that she knew what she was looking for. From the outer edges of the map to the center, the concentration of pins grew thicker, became solid lines when she squinted, with a blank spot at the very center where Hollows Bend was located marked by the single red thumbtack representing Emily Pridham. When Ellie squinted further, the illusion thickened—she was looking at concentric circles radiating out from the center. She was looking at some sort of bull’s-eye, with her town in the middle.

“I got a cousin who lives down in Florida. Calls me whenever they got a hurricane coming their way. Sends me pictures. That’s what this reminds me of—a hurricane with an eye at the middle, a calm spot.”

“Calm, up until today,” Ellie heard herself mutter.

“Someone shoved a stick in the eye, and it’s bleeding.”

Ellie didn’t want to buy into this, but it was hard to argue with the data, and she had no reason to doubt what Buck was telling her. He’d done his homework. Something was off, though. She took a closer look at the map of New England, then returned to the one of the Bend and surrounding area. “Town isn’t the exact center, is it.”

“No. The exact center is about a hundred yards from where I lost Emily. Near the old Pickerton place.”

“You need to tell me what happened that day. Every bit of it.”

88

Matt

MATT WANTED ADDIE TOscream again, because that would mean she was okay, but instead, she’d gone quiet. Not so much as a squeaky floorboard came from upstairs. Matt did feel a light breeze, though, and that meant the shattering glass he’d heard had been another window, like the one downstairs. Unlike the broken window downstairs, he doubted they’d tossed a firebomb through—he didn’t smell smoke. That meant either a rock or someone got in. As he crept up the steps, Matt tried to visualize the outside of Ellie’s house, wondering if it was possible to get up to the second floor without a ladder.

His palms were sweating by the time he reached the second-floor landing. Matt wiped them on his pants and clutched the shotgun tight against his chest. He gave himself a silent three-count, leveled the barrel, and swept around the corner to the upstairs hallway, finding it empty.

He froze and listened.

Nothing.

No sound. No smoke. No nothing.

The second floor of Ellie’s house wasn’t very large. The ceilings were low, only seven feet, which was common for many older homes in New England. The hallway was narrow, more so than it should be. Ellie had once told him her father rebuilt the upstairs walls when she was little to add a couple of extra feet to the two bedrooms, both on Matt’s left as he looked down the hallway with a small bathroom at the far end.

The doors to all three rooms were open.

Ellie used the smaller of the two bedrooms, once her childhood bedroom, for storage. She’d moved into the master about a year after her father passed away. Her original bed was still in the old space, still covered with a pink bedspread, but the top was covered in boxes. Most of the floor was taken up with furniture she’d moved out of her father’s room and had never brought herself to part with. Although the room was cluttered, Matt could see enough to know nobody was in there. The window was closed, the curtains were drawn. There was no place to hide.

Matt continued toward the master bedroom while keeping one eye on the bathroom at the far end of the hall. Although that door was open, the shower curtain was closed. He couldn’t get to the bathroom without stepping past the open door of the master. If he wanted to ambush someone, he’d hide behind that curtain, draw them to the master, then come at them from behind. Or he’d stand in wait at the bedroom door and take out his adversary when they passed the opening. Either plan was solid. If one of Stu’s men had gotten up here, which would they choose?

A sound from the bedroom.

A soft sniff.

Addie.

Possibly in trouble.

Possibly bait.

Matt crouched low, firmly gripped the shotgun, and drew ina silent breath. Kicking off from his back foot, Matt closed the distance, got an angle on the bathroom, and fired once—dead center on the curtain. He yanked back the slide and chambered another shell as he brought the barrel around and pointed it into the bedroom.

Standing at what remained of the bedroom window, Addie let out a soft gasp.

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