Page 4 of Little Shattered Dreams

She was dead.

CHAPTER3

Before I had the chance to figure out my next move, there was a knock at 2B’s door. I stood there a moment, frozen, wondering who it was and why they were stopping by so late. The retreat had a lights-out policy beginning each night at 9 p.m. All guests needed to retire to their rooms by that time unless special permission had been granted.

In my opinion, the policy was ridiculous.

I didn’t care if we were at a retreat.

We were grown women.

The day before I’d voiced my thoughts to Grace Ellison, the retreat’s founder. She explained a dose of quiet time in the evening, followed by a good night’s sleep was the best way to declutter one’s mind. Maybe the method worked for her, butmymind was a lot different. Shutting it down was no easy feat.

When someone knocked again, I opened the door and saw Clara, one of the staff members. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five and was a tiny slip of a thing. Her long blond hair was twisted into a braid, which cascaded over her shoulder.

Her eyes widened like she was shocked to see me standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Why are you in Quinn’s room?”

Unsure of what to say next, I muttered, “I, uhh … I was sleeping and I heard a noise. I came to check on her.”

“I just spoke with her here in this room about twenty minutes ago. Where is she?”

“Why are you here past curfew? I thought it was lights-out for everyone at nine o’clock, including staff members.”

“Quinn needed something, and she has an appointment.”

“With whom?”

“It’s not for me to say.”

Quinn was alive twenty minutes earlier and now she was dead?

I needed more information.

Before I could query further, Clara poked her head inside and scanned the room, her eyes coming to rest on the deceased.

“Quinn, it’s time for your appointment,” she said.

“She’s, ahh …”

Clara raised a brow. “What's going on with her? Why isn't she answering me?”

I shrugged, and Clara pushed past me, rushing to Quinn’s side.

“Wait!” I said. “Don’t touch her.”

Clara glared at me, confused, and bent down next to Quinn, shaking her like she could jar her awake. “Quinn, it’s me, Clara. I came to get you just like I said I would.”

In that moment, Clara noticed the hole in the couch pillow and the blood on the wall. She turned back toward Quinn, her eyes coming to rest on the back of her head. “Is that a … is that what it looks like?”

“Depends. What do you think it looks like?”

“A bullet hole.”

“I’d say so.”

Clara stood, staggering backward. Her eyes bored into mine likeIwas to blame for Quinn’s tragic end. She jerked a cell phone out of her pocket and said, “Stay back! Stay away. Don't you dare come near me.”

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