Page 86 of What We May Be

And so did something else.

“You find them?” Marsh asked behind him.

“Yeah, but there’s something else under here.” He snagged the keys, then pulled his phone back out and hit the flashlight. And gasped. “I need a new pair of gloves,” he called to Marsh as he inched closer to snap a photo of the lone red rose at the edge of the shadows.

Knuckles tapped his leg and Sean traded Marsh the phone for the gloves. He tugged them on, carefully picked up the rose, then backed out from under the bleachers. He sat on the bleacher beside Marsh and examined the rose. Something shiny reflected in the center of the bloom. Probably what had caught his eye. “You see that?” He tilted the rose toward Marsh.

“Sure do.” He held Sean’s phone close to the bloom, spread his fingers on the screen to zoom, and snapped another picture. “Got it.”

Very carefully, Sean pushed the petals aside and pulled a single hair out of the center.

“So our killer has blond hair,” Marsh said. “Rachel still fits the bill.”

A resigned curse was on the tip of Sean’s tongue when another terrible possibility tore through him. A knife twisted in his chest as a horrifying picture came together, one he should have seen before but had been willfully blind to, the truth too awful to imagine. “Rachel’s hair is dark blond and curly.” He held up the long, straight, white-blond strand.

Marsh’s eyes grew wide, realization dawning. “Sean, you can’t think…”

“It all fits. All of it fucking fits. She must know about Alice.” He doubled over in agony, clutching his knees and gasping for breath. Gripped so tight in fear’s jaws he couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could barely breathe. “Call them back,” he wheezed.

Marsh didn’t need to be told twice, using Sean’s phone in his hand to call Trevor.

“Sean!” Trevor answered. “Are you on your way? You’re closer.”

“I don’t think it’s Rachel,” Sean managed to choke out.

“But the evidence—”

“Also points to Annabelle Henby.”

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