Page 20 of Half the Summer's Night
I don’t bother listening to the voicemail. Just punch my thumb against theCallbutton and hold the phone up to my ear, my breath shaky and trembling.
I was acquitted on all charges two years after Blake’s death. Why is Ms. Staunton calling me?
She picks up on the first ring. “Abilene,” she says, her voice breathless. “Oh, thank god.”
“What’s wrong?” I stumble out of bed, my thoughts buzzing. The sunlight is too bright. It feels sharp, like a knife.
“I was worried you—” She cuts herself off. “I’m sorry to call out of the blue like this. But you need to know.”
I freeze in the middle of my room, the wooden floorboards cold against my bare feet.
“Know what?”
I don’t like this. It feels like I’m sixteen years old again, about to be led out of my parents’ house in handcuffs.
She takes a deep breath. “Do you remember Olivia Pearce?”
I squeeze the phone, the name clanging around in my head. It’s familiar, although I can’t place it.
“She was the reporter?—”
That’s all Ms. Staunton has to say, the wordreporter.It all comes back to me. Olivia Pearce was a reporter for the newspaper in my hometown. She had covered my case from the beginning, and she was the only one who believed my story about Blake assaulting me. She was young—well, probably the age I am now. Mid-20s. Pretty. When she interviewed me, she told me she had been a cheerleader at my high school.When they’re good at sports,she had said darkly, the two of us sitting in the dusty little coffee shop in downtown Magnolia,this town will let them get away with anything.
“Abilene? Abi?”
Ms. Staunton’s voice cuts through my memory. I stumble back until I’m sitting on my bed. “I’m here,” I say. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Ms. Staunton goes quiet on the other end of the line, and I know something did. A killer broke into my house last night, and now my past is calling me this morning.
“I don’t know any way to say this nicely,” Ms. Staunton’s voice is tight and rigid. “So I’m just going to tell you. Olivia’s body was found this morning.”
Blood pounds in my ears. “And I assume it’s not…” My voice trails off.Natural causes,that’s what I want to say, but I can’t get my mouth to form the words.
“It looks like murder, yes.”
My whole body goes numb. I stare at my closet, the door hanging open a little.
Just like the door to the examination room last night.
Bile rises in my stomach, and I lean over and retch before I can stop myself. There’s nothing to throw up, just pale, foamy stomach acid.
“Abilene?” I can barely make out Ms. Staunton’s voice on the phone.
“What happened?” I say, switching the phone over to speaker. “Where was she? How do they know it’s murder?”
“They don’tknowit’s murder,” Ms. Staunton says. “As I’m sure you’re perfectly aware. But it doesn’t?—”
“It doesn’t look like an accident?” I stumble into the bathroom and fill my toothpaste cup with water to clean out my mouth.
Allhiskills look like accidents.
“No,” Ms. Staunton says. “Her body was, um, mutilated. I don’t want to frighten you, but?—”
“I want to do the autopsy.” I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look like hell. Dark circles under my eyes, my skin wan and pale. “I’m a coroner now. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” Ms. Staunton says gently. “Yes, I’ve seen your name around. That’s actually why?—”
“Who do I need to call in Magnolia?” I say. “To make sure I can do it? I know they’re bigger than Rosado, but?—”
