Page 5 of One More Secret

“Are you volunteering to organize it?” I raise an eyebrow, even though I know where this is headed.

“Hell, no. I did the work of coming up with the idea. It’s up to you young’uns to figure out the rest.” Bill nods at me, and I grin, knowing I walked into that. But his idea does have merit.

“Speaking of Iris’s house,” Frank says, steering the conversation back to where it started. “I think you’re gonna be out of luck, Troy, if you’re hoping to buy it. I saw a woman with Anne at the house earlier this afternoon. She had a suitcase. Maybe Anne decided to rent the place.”

Shit.“Are you sure about that?”

“The only thing I know for certain is the girl was pretty.”

Bill leans in, his face brightening and giving me a glimpse of his younger self. “Was she a looker like Iris?”

Frank chuckles, the sound papery thin with age. “Definitely. From the photos I’ve seen of Iris back in the day. Remember Old Man Winters? He kept asking her out, and she kept brushing him off. She was only interested in being his friend.”

“Maybe that’s ’cause she wasn’t interested in dating an old man?” I point out.

“He wasn’t old for Iris. But he was much older than us.” Frank nods at Bill.

Bill points at the cards in Frank’s hand, indicating for him to keep shuffling or to deal them. “I can’t believe Anne managed to rent the place out. The exterior is quite the eyesore, especially compared to the infills going up in the area.”

Some of which my construction company built.

“Maybe she hired the woman to clear the house out. From what I’d heard, the place was also a mess inside. If the Carstairs are serious about selling the house, they would need to deal with that first.”

And if that’s the case, I still have a chance to buy the property and flip it. I still have a chance to earn some extra money to help Olivia and Nova. Still have a chance to honor the pact I made with Colton. The pact where I promised to be there for Olivia should something happen to him. Because even though Colton is no longer with us, Olivia and I are still the Three Musketeers. We’re still the same friends we were twenty-five years ago.

I make a mental note to call Anne tonight to get things rolling with my plan.

3

JESSICA

March, Present Day

Maple Ridge

I siton the bed in my new bedroom. The window is open, letting in the cold air and driving out the dusty smell.

Mybedroom. A room I’m not forced to share. And a comfy queen-sized bed.

I lie back, arms to the side, a wide grin on my face. Averycomfy queen-sized bed.

I stay like that for a minute, then sit up and glance around. The room is similar to downstairs with an eclectic mix of furniture. The floral wallpaper still clings to the walls. It’s peeling and faded, but it’s obvious the wallpaper in here, with the white background and the delicate yellow flowers, was once pretty.

“Okay, Jessica.” My voice is louder than necessary, and relief cartwheels through me that for once no one is shouting obscenities at me for using it. No one is tearing me down for whatever I said. “You can’t stay in here all day.”

I need to bike to the grocery store. I can’t hide in this house forever, even if part of me wishes I could.

For the past ten years, I’ve been bumped from one prison to another, first with my husband, followed by the correctional institution. Beckley State Correctional Institution. For eight of those years, someone else decided when I could go outside and where I could go.

Someone else decided who I could talk to and who could be my friend.

But here I am, finally free to make my own choices, and I can’t pry myself off the bed and walk out the front door.

I sigh, rally my battered self-confidence, and push to my feet.Baby steps.I’ve come so far in the past few days. Ever since new evidence turned up while I was recovering in the hospital. Evidence that proved I didn’t kill my husband. That someone else pulled the trigger and framed me.

The tightness in my muscles loosens and I release a long breath, my new reality fully sinking in. Ever since I learned I was being released from prison, I’d been positive it was just a dream.

I run my hand over the comforter, proving once again that it isn’t a dream. I really am free.

---