Page 39 of Where the Darkness Goes

She looks up at me, brows drawn down. “They, the police, they found Cassidy Cole’s necklace at Britney’s house. Do you remember the one that was missing?”

My throat is so thick and immovable it may as well be filled with concrete. I nod, or at least I think I do, then step away to the window to look out.

Why would Britney have Cassidy’s necklace?Thenecklace.

Cassidy’s mom was an actress years before she had Cassidy, and she’d been given the necklace by a director. It was worn by Marilyn Monroe at one point, or so they told everyone. It’s worth more than most of the houses in our town.

“Yeah, of course.” Cassidy bragged about it every chance she got, but on the night she and her mother died, it and its matching bracelet were discovered missing. Most people in town think their murders were somehow related to the missing jewelry.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I tell Tessa, crossing the room with a sharp ringing in my ears. It’s as if someone stood next to me and screamed at the top of their lungs. My whole head is spinning with this news.

“You okay?” She stands.

I cut a glance back at her, not missing the deep line in her forehead that tells me she’s worried, and I’m only adding to it. As badly as I want to reassure her that everything’s fine, I can’t stay here. I need air. Now. “Fine. Just realized I forgot my phone in the truck.”

I dash away from the room and down the hall, waiting until I exit the building to pull my phone out of my pocket and call Will again.

“Yes, dear?” he teases.

“They found the necklace.”

“The necklace?” His voice shakes as he asks, and I know he’s hoping I mean any other necklace in the world. But I don’t.

“Britney Foster, er, Davis now, I guess. It was at her house. They’ve already connected it to Cassidy. Dude, you need to come home. It’s only a matter of time before they?—”

“Don’t say it,” he warns, his tone sharp. Then, lower, he adds, “Trust me, no one will ever know we had it.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TESSA — AGE 17

When Will and I get home from the lake house, Mom is waiting at the door, dressed in her long nightgown. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, her face makeup-free and wrinkled with concern.

“Get inside before anyone sees you. They’ll crucify me if word gets around you two were out of the house after dark. I’ll be all the talk at church,” she grumbles, shutting the door and locking it behind us. Growing up, our doors were never locked. Friends of ours and Mom’s came in and out at all hours, most often without needing to knock. Now, things are different. There’s been a definable shift from a place with nothing to fear to suddenly seeing danger everywhere.

“What happened to Emily?” I ask Mom, studying her expression to see if she knows more than she’s going to tell me. “Was it a car accident?” It’s ridiculous, really, that that’s what I’m hoping for. Something we can easily write off rather than a new reason to add to the terror spreading like ivy across the town, suffocating us all.

“No.” Mom releases a long breath through her nose. “No, it was not a car accident.” She weaves between us, moving slowly.Her arthritis is acting up again—she gets it in her knees and ankles from years of cleaning houses and businesses for a living.

“Do you need me to get you some medicine, Momma? Are you hurting?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Gently, she eases down onto the couch, both hands out to slow her descent to the cushion. Once she’s in place, she pats the cushions on either side of her. “Come. Sit. We need to talk.”

Will and I do as she’s told us, sitting next to her. This feels strange. Mom looks more serious than usual.

“What’s going on?” It’s Will who asks, though it’s the question on both our minds.

“I want you two to be careful about what you hear, okay? And what you say. Something bad’s going on in town, and I don’t want the two of you mixed up in it.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Something bad?”

“I know you’ve heard the rumors. We all have.” Mom’s eyes are somewhat distant as she looks between us.

“People think it’s a serial killer. That someone is targeting people,” Will says. “But it’s ridiculous, right?” He tries to laugh, but Mom doesn’t join in. “I mean, why? Bad things don’t happen here. This is the most boring town to ever exist.”

“Oh, plenty of bad things happen here.” Mom gives us an affirmative bob of her head. “Yes, they do. People in small towns—not just ours, but all of ’em—are better at covering up the bad, keeping it quiet. You got to, if you want to be able to look your neighbor in the eye, you know? See ’em around town.”

“What are you talking about?” Will asks. “Bad things? Like what happened to Dad?”

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