Page 81 of Our Darkest Summer
Connor nodded. “Dad designed it for her. Emerald was her favorite.”
I traced the outline of their smiles. They lookedhappy.Happy-happy. It was strange to see Joshua like this.
Connor rested his head against my shoulder, and I let myself lean into him. We sifted through the rest of the pictures in silence, the soft lull of the lake filling the spaces between us. After a beat, he nudged me.
“What?”
He smirked. “Scooby-DooorModern Family?”
I huffed out a laugh, tilting my head toward him. “NoTangledtoday?”
Connor clutched his chest dramatically. “Don’t tempt me, Kins.”
I chuckled, nudging him back. “You know my answer.”
He grinned, reaching for his laptop, and I sank into the moment. The warmth of the sun on my skin, the sound of Connor humming theScooby-Dootheme under his breath. The feeling of knowing, at least for now, we were still here.
Then—
My phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER
I hesitated, remembering the last time I’d received one of these. But I stood anyway, the pier creaking beneath me.
Connor looked up. “Everything okay?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure yet, and answered the call. “Hello?”
“Is this… oh, dear, I’m not sure if I pressed the right thing. Is this the number from the poster? About that missing woman?”
The voice crackled softly. It sounded like it belonged to an older woman.
“It is,” I replied. “I’m Kinsley Green. I’m the one who left the flyer.”
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. “I-I almost didn’t call. It’s been so long, hasn’t it? But I’ve been watching these detectiveshows lately, and they say even the smallest thing could matter.” She paused. “And I suppose I always had this feeling… that something wasn’t right.”
My pulse picked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I was up late that night. I don’t sleep much anymore—bad knees, too much tea, and it was so warm. My TV chair’s right by the window... I like watching the street, you see. And, well, it was very late—not at first, sorry, I’m rambling—I’m just a bit nervous?—”
“I—would it be easier if I came over?” I asked gently.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, yes! My address is 34 Maple Lane.”
I made a mental note of it. “Thank you, Miss?—?”
“Miss Marsh. Evelyn Marsh.”
“Thank you, Miss Marsh. I’ll be right there.” I ended the call.
My heart was racing now. Maybe this would finally lead us somewhere.
ME
I might have something. What do you think about heading into town, ASAP?
I’d barely hit send when the front door opened and Thomas jogged down the stairs. Connor paused the show—right as the Mystery Machine pulled up to a fog-shrouded manor—and closed his laptop.
