Page 118 of Hometown Girl

“Beth?” His voice was quiet now as he entered the bedroom and moved toward the closet. The door was open, and all the clothes had been cleared away, revealing the door to the hidden room, which now stood open and exposed like a gaping wound in need of stitches.

Inside, under the dim light of the single hanging bulb, Beth sat at the table, studying the clippings and photos on the bulletin board.

She turned, tears in her eyes, holding a small photograph Drew recognized almost instantly. Him and Jess at the creek, proudly holding the fish they’d caught that morning. Jess’s mom had snapped the photo, and he’d found it tucked behind an article on the bulletin board.

“Beth, I—”

“It was you.” Her voice shook as she slowly faced him. “You were the witness. You know what happened to Jess Pendergast.”

Chapter Thirty

Drew stared at her, pain radiating behind his icy blue eyes. He looked at her, then at the photo in her hands, then to the room where she sat—a tiny room she hadn’t intended to find. When she’d cleared away the clothes, there it was—and what she saw inside looked like the work of a madman.

“This is why you’re here.”

He turned away, took his hat off and raked a hand through his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

“You could’ve told me weeks ago.” She scanned the wall of photos, newspaper clippings and random scribblings on napkins. Most of the items were old and weathered, undoubtedly the work of Harold Pendergast. But some of those things, like Davis Biddle’s business card, were brand-new.

Those things told her Drew not only knew about the secret room, he knew about the wall. He’d contributed to it.

Was he a madman too?

Beth waited for an explanation, but as usual, Drew seemed unable, or unwilling, to speak.

She stood and walked toward him. “Drew, what’s going on?”

He finally turned toward her but kept his eyes down, like someone with something to hide. He’d heard them talking about the case more than once yet never said a word. Was he protecting someone? Protecting himself? What ifhe’dbeen the reason Jess went missing? What part had he played in her disappearance, and likely, her death? Was that why he’d been so silent?

And if he was guilty—then why was he here at all?

“Did you have something to do with her disappearance?”

His face went pale, his skin white. “You can’t be serious.”

Beth paced across the room, trying to piece it together. “Was it an accident? Did you hurt her? Is that why you told the police you couldn’t remember?”

“I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.”

She spun around. “Then tell me.” She held up the photo, a copy of the one they’d found in Jess’s closet. “Tell me what happened that day.”

The air thickened between them.

She dared a step toward him. “Drew, you were a kid. A young kid. If you did something that led to her death—they wouldn’t have held it against you.”

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to hers, and for a moment, she thought he might actually explain. Instead, he looked away. “I’ll go.”

Her stomach dropped. “You’re leaving?”

His face fell. “I can’t stay here if this is what you think about me.”

“Tell me what to think. For once, just tell me the truth.”

He looked at her then, his eyes steady but so sad. Her heart broke for the pain she saw there, years of bottled-up angst with nowhere to go but in. Whatever had happened that day clearly still haunted him.

Could she blame him if he couldn’t talk about it?

He took her hands, brought them to his lips and held them there for a long moment. “Please know I never meant to hurt you. That’s the truth.”

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