Page 105 of Building What's Meant to Be

“What about Mrs. Stoll, is she going to be okay?”

“I think so. We’re working on it. Stoll is being brought in. The Kravens are going to jail for a long time. This case is the tip of the iceberg. Their crimes are wide, deep, and cold. Would chill you to the bones, but they're clever and cover their tracks. Now, we have something solid.”

Cassian claps me on the back. “Well done.”

“What’s your next case?” Aggie asks.

I chuckle. “How about the mystery of the missing book?”

“Sounds right up my alley.”

That night, Tinsley refuses to answer Toby’s door. She won’t talk to me. I blew it just when I’d decided to choose her over work. But I had to finalize the case. Serve justice one last time. Finish what I started before I begin my new life.

The next morning, a sleek black sedan pulls up to Toby as I trundle through the woods on the four-wheeler. The driver, in slacks and a white button-down shirt, puts Tinsley’s luggage and a box in the back. She and Brave get in. I’m too late. Now, they’re really gone.

I spend the day in the office doing paperwork. Even though I solved the case, my life unraveled. I had it all for thirty days. It’s over.

I try to take a few deep breaths, but not even cute cats help me now. Not a big one like Aslan either. All is lost. I’m alone.

Later, when I get back to the trailer, I find traces of Tinsley. Her dewy, rainy scent lingers in the air. She left a pink hair tie on the counter. One of Brave’s chew toys is on the floor under the table.

And on the bed, freshly made, a doll with a chubby ceramic face and rosy cheeks leers at me from its glassy, eerie eyes. Its hair is sparse like maybe a mouse ate it when pickings were slim. The doll wears a tatty floral dress and holds what looks like a pitchfork.

Murder Doll.

I stagger slightly then honing my senses, I listen. Footsteps patter and someone whispers. I grab the flashlight by the door and shine it into the night. “Who’s there?”

“Wooo. It’s the ghost of...” a spooky female voice starts then whispers, “What was I again?”

“Shh. He’ll hear you.”

“I’m Lucinda, the ghost of love, here to tell you that you’ve been a fool.”

A second, eerily possessed voice, says, “And I’m Murry the Murder Doll, here to exact revenge for the one you lost.”

I whip around, but the doll remains still on the bed in the trailer. Never sleeping there again.

“Wooo, you have a choice to make,” the ethereal, ghostly voice says.

I roll my eyes, realizing my sisters are out there putting this on.

“The choice I’m going to make is which sister to get first.” I rush out the door and the two of them, crouched by the grill, scatter.

I make chase, not wanting either of them to go into the woods or get lost up here in case there are wolves or coyotes nearby. For a moment, I feel young again, free, and like I wear the same smile Tinsley did when she was playing in the field with Bubba’s kids—moments before her encounter with the bees. I want Tinsley more than anything. Maybe my sisters can help.

It’s dark and late. There’s a good chance we could come across much worse than insects.

“Bess, Mae, want something cold to drink?” I call.

“Yes, please. I forgot how sweaty I get when I run,” Bess calls, panting.

“Do you have chocolate?” Mae asks. “I’m only calling a truce if there’s chocolate.”

“I can’t make any promises. Maybe Tinsley left some.”

A deep grunt comes from nearby, and I crash to the ground having tripped over something at the same time all one hundred-something pounds of my baby sister tackles me.

From the hard landing, I groan as the wind kicks out of my lungs. “Ow, what are you doing?”

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