Page 63 of The Only One Left

I pick it up and show it to Jessie. “When was this taken?”

“A couple weeks ago.” Jessie plucks the photo from my fingers and arranges it in a pile with the others. “They were always typing.”

“Do you know what?”

“Mary never told me,” Jessie says as she stands and crosses the room to her dresser, where she drops the Polaroids into the top drawer. “At first, I thought it was some kind of physical therapy. You know, working on Lenora’s motor skills. But they were there all the time. Sometimes even after Lenora was supposed to have been put to bed.”

She moves to a tape recorder sitting atop the dresser next to a hardcover copy ofLacewith a library sticker on its spine. She pops a cassette from the recorder and hands it to me. “This is for Lenora. Part one of the new book. Maybe it’ll take her mind off everything.”

“Thanks.” I pocket the cassette and head to the door. Before leaving, I turn back to Jessie and say, “Did anyone else know about the typing?”

“I don’t think so,” Jessie says. “I only knew because I walked in on them one night. I thought it would be a cool picture, so I stood in the doorway and took it before they realized I was there. Mary kind of freaked out about it. She made me swear not to tell anyone. I probably shouldn’t have even told you.”

But I’m glad she did.

Because now I know why Mary knew so much about the Hope family and what happened that night.

Lenora told her.

I see that look you’re giving me. I’m more observant than people give me credit for. And right now I can tell that you think you won’t like where all this is going.

You won’t.

But I promised to tell you everything, so that’s what I’m giving you. My deepest, darkest secrets. Things I’ve never told anyone before.

Only you, Mary.

Only you.

TWENTY-ONE

The fingers of Lenora’s left hand sit atop the typewriter, atypically still. Under normal circumstances, they’d be sliding from key to key, slowly but surely adding words to the blank page I’ve wound into the carriage.

But these circumstances are anything but normal.

A pall has settled over the house now that the police have left. The place is quiet and the mood somber. A resident of Hope’s End is gone, and while I never knew Mary Milton, I feel her loss all the same. We were alike in so many ways. More than I ever imagined.

That’s why I brought Lenora to the typewriter after dinner instead of guiding her through her circulation exercises. An infraction I know Mrs. Baker wouldn’t approve of. I stand next to Lenora, hugging myself despite the gray cardigan thrown over my uniform. Although the storm has passed, it’s left behind a damp chill that seeps through the windows, giving her room the shivery air of a ghost ship.

Fitting, seeing how on the desk next to the typewriter is the page Lenora had typed on earlier. Two words catch my eye.

my sister

“Why did you lie to me about Mary being scared of your sister?”

Lenora looks up at me, apprehension flashing in her green eyes. Then she types.

it wasnt a lie

“Your sister is dead, Lenora,” I say, tightening my cardigan around me. “And ghosts don’t exist. So you’ll have to do better than that to hide the fact that you and Mary spent a lot of time typing.”

Lenora can’t hide her surprise. She tries, but her expressive face betrays her. There’s a slant to her lips and a twitch at her right eye, like she’s working hard to keep it from widening.

“You were telling her your story, weren’t you?”

Lenora taps twice against the typewriter. With it comes a twinge of disappointment that I wasn’t the only person she trusted enough to tell. I’d thought I was special and that there was a specific reason Lenora chose me. Now I have no idea why she’s doing it.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Or Detective Vick?”

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