Page 10 of The Sleeping Girls

“I ran inside and… saw Jean crying and frantically running through the house looking for Kelsey.”

“And then?” Ellie coaxed.

“Then I ran outside and started searching while Jean called Kelsey’s friends.” He took a breath. “I’m sorry, Jean. I should have been here and then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Yes, you should have been here,” she said coldly. “When we find her, I want a divorce.”

“That’s rich,” Mr. Tiller snapped. “When I brought it up before, you refused and said we would make the marriage work.”

Ellie sucked in a breath, thinking. “If you two discussed a divorce, is it possible Kelsey overheard you and was upset about it?”

The couple traded horrified looks of denial. But now she’d planted that seed, doubt and fear darkened their expressions.

NINE

SOMEWHERE ON THE AT

Digger had been out of prison four weeks now. He’d bought a junker car with the little bit of money he’d made in prison and had driven straight toward the mountains. The sharp peaks and ridges stretched ahead, pines, aspens, oaks and cypresses that were both beautiful and ominous at the same time. As a kid, he and his brother had explored the woods, waded in the creek and fished, all things he’d been robbed of while in the pen.

Inhaling fresh air after all this time was a gift he’d never take for granted again. Which meant he had to follow the rules. Be on his best behavior. Stay away from trouble.

His car hit a pothole, tires skidding toward the embankment. He quickly righted it and barely avoided hitting the mountain wall.

He had to report to his parole officer regularly and couldn’t leave the state without permission, but after what he’d tolerated in prison, that was nothing. Caitlin was trying to arrange a job for him, another requirement of his release.

He didn’t mind what that job was, but almost preferred manual labor. Anything was better than the monotony of sitting on his ass in a cell.

I won’t stop until I prove your innocence and clear your name, Caitlin had promised.

He didn’t hold out much hope for that, but at least he could close his eyes at night without bracing himself for an attack.

He knew that he shouldn’t go home, but for some morbid reason he couldn’t not go back. The place was like a magnet drawing him there. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment.

Or maybe he thought being on Red Clay Mountain would trigger details of the night Anna Marie died, details that would help him understand why he killed his sister.

But looking at the endless miles of forest and ramshackle houses along the highway brought the demons knocking at the door to Digger’s mind. Tap, tap, tap. They’d stormed him while he tried to sleep just as the thunder clouds and lightning stormed the mountain. They’d sent him running, hiding, lost in the shadows of the woods until dawn. The early morning sunlight had burned his eyeballs, dragging him from hell to the real world.

One he hadn’t been part of for a long time. One where he didn’t belong.

He gripped the steering wheel with sweaty hands as he drove around the switchbacks. He’d craved the taste of freedom ever since those cell bars had slammed shut on him.

Although he’d occasionally imagined being exonerated and learning he hadn’t actually killed his sister, a sense of hopelessness weighed him down.

Even if he was innocent, it wouldn’t bring Anna Marie back. He’d lost years of his life, but she’d lost hers entirely.

He tried to imagine what she’d look like now. As a teen, she’d been gangly and awkward, freckles still dotting her nose, and braces straightening her teeth. She’d been obsessed with basketball and cooking shows and had dreams of becoming a chef.

Then her life was snuffed out, dreams stolen.

He deserved to rot away. Every night when he closed his damn eyes, that first year he’d been caged, he saw himself with that pillow in his hands and knew he deserved to be there.

His lungs tightened, straining for air as he made a sharp turn onto a gravel road. The shackles and chains might be off now, but in his mind he could still hear them clanking as he parked at the cheap motel. The neon sign Last Chance Motel mocked him.

As he went inside to rent a room, he struggled to act normal, not like a felon. Hard to do when he felt as if the wordGuiltywas permanently tattooed on his forehead.

TEN

WHISPERING PINES

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