Page 17 of Sinful

“Such as?” Trudeau said, suspicion still flickering in his eyes.

I sighed and looked down at the table. “I was there the night she was taken, as I’m sure you know. I heard her talking to you and your associate at the door.”

“I’m aware. I heard all about your witness testimony,” he said stiffly. “The police really thought they could nail me with it.”

I looked up again. “I was only eight back then, and I was terrified. All I knew was that she went somewhere with you that night, and she wasn’t happy about it.”

“You greatly misinterpreted the things you heard that evening, Sebastian,” he replied. “It wasn’t what it seemed. Not at all.”

“I realized that a while ago,” I said, nodding slowly. “I assumed she was killed by the last people she was seen with—you and Jean-Pierre Leclerc. But she wasn’t found for six days after she went missing, and the coroner couldn’t determine her exact day of death due to the condition of the body. Only an approximation. So it could have been someone else she encountered in those days.”

He bristled. “Exactly.”

“The more I looked into it, the more I realized other things didn’t add up,” I went on. “For example, the symbols carved intoher body were unlike anything the investigators found here in Alderwood.”

Trudeau waved a hand. “I’m aware of all that,” he said. “Believe me, no one knows the case better than I do, given what we were put through up here. There are many good reasons that the investigators failed to lay any charges against us in the end.”

“Right. Well, here’s what I’ve been thinking for a while now,” I said. “My mother spent a lot of time here in Alderwood during the last six months of her life, because of her research. Everyone knew about it.”

“Yes, she was here quite often. Once, she even stayed for a whole month, when you were away at your first summer camp,” Trudeau cut in. “She was an honored guest. Everyone enjoyed her presence.”

I raised my brows and went on. “In those months, she also spent a lot of time in Pinecrest Falls and back at our home in New York City. I believe someone she encountered in one of those places wanted her gone, for whatever reason, and they decided to frame the most obvious suspects for what they did. As you said, the Covenant have always been scapegoats for everything.”

“This has always been blindingly obvious to me too. We were the easiest targets for framing,” Trudeau said, voice laced with derision. He tipped his head. “But what does any of this have to do with your decision to come here today?”

I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye. “I’d like to ask you for the same deal you made with my mother years ago, when she approached you about her research.”

“What do you mean? Whatdeal?”

“With your permission, I’d like to be able to stay here in your village and retrace her footsteps, in a sense,” I said. “If I can experience what her life was like in those last few weeks ormonths, I believe I can form a better picture of what happened to her and ultimately figure out who might be responsible for it.”

Trudeau scoffed. “You must be joking. That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“If you’re innocent, you shouldn’t have a problem with me reliving my mother’s time here, right?” I said, forehead wrinkling. “Unless you have something to hide after all.”

“I’ll ignore the rudeness of that statement for now,” he replied in a frosty tone. “What I meant is: your plan doesn’t make any sense. What answers do you think you can possibly obtain from stayinghereif you truly believe we are innocent? The killer is probably someone from Pinecrest Falls or the big city, as you mentioned a moment ago. So why not stay out there to look for him?”

“As I said, I want to relive my mother’s experiences here because I think it could actually help shed some light on what happened and who was responsible.”

“How?” he said, voice dripping with scorn.

“A lot of her research notes were lost after her death, because they were kept on a computer that went missing around the same time as her. The notes that survived were handwritten, and they’re a bit scattered. It’s hard to tell which ones are about Alderwood and which are about other subjects or people, because she often abbreviated things or just used initials instead of names, seeing as it was her own private notetaking system,” I said. I paused and leaned forward. “If I stay here, relive some of her experiences, and meet the same people she met, I might be able to sort out the notes and figure out who or what she was talking about. Once I finally know which of the notesaren’tabout Alderwood, I can start to investigate who or what they’re really about. That could give me a lead on who actually killed her.”

“Ah. I see your logic now, strange as it is.” Trudeau’s chin lifted as he spoke, and I saw his gaze drifting over my teacup. When he saw that I’d drained every drop, a vaguely relieved expression flitted across his face.

“Also, as a result of so much of her research being lost, the outside world still doesn’t know much about your people and your ways,” I went on. “If I stay here and see that everything is fine, and you’re all normal people with normal, non-violent lives, I can tell that to the rest of the world. Tell them that you’re not the crazy cultist witches they say you are. Just… different. Then, they’ll be more likely to shift their focus to where it really matters—finding out whoreallykilled my mom. They’ll be especially likely to do that when they hear it’s her own son who believes in your innocence. More evidence may come to light then, from all the interest in the case being revived. Evidence involving an outsider.”

“Yes, I see your point,” Trudeau said in a grudging tone, rubbing his chin. He went silent for a moment, pale eyes shrewdly assessing my face. “But there’s something else that brings you out here, isn’t there? Something you are very purposefully not telling me.”

This guy didn’t miss a trick. Even though the truth tea hadn’t affected me, there must have been some sort of tell in my appearance that gave me away as a liar. A certain look in my eyes, perhaps, or a particular flare of the nostrils.

“You’re right,” I said, lifting my hands and feigning an abashed look. “Thereissomething else.”

He smiled thinly and leaned forward. “Tell me. Now.”

I rubbed my jaw and sighed. “As you know, my father believes in your guilt. We’ve fallen out over our conflicting views quite a few times over the years, and things have finally come to a head.”

“How so?”

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