The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,60

I knew a woman had died from a gunshot wound in the house next door. Now I could hear the echo of crime scene tape fluttering in the place it used to be.

A cold dread seeped into my bones. I shivered, deciding whether to ask about the investigation—nervous about where that conversation could lead. But I had to get information. It was the only way to keep on top of the story, not let it take you over and consume you. I looked back toward the main road. “Did they find his car?” I asked.

He shifted his jaw slightly, mulling over either the question or me. “On a different road nearby. The police have it now.”

So he’d driven here. Not dumped here, like Elyse had thought. He’d driven, and kept his car hidden, and walked . . .

“You’re scared,” he said.

I nodded, because it was the truth. But also because I didn’t know what had happened out here. Worried that it could’ve happened to me just as easily. That anyone could’ve gotten into my home.

He took in the scene once more, gaze moving from the spot in the yard, to Rick’s house, to my own. “I won’t take any more of your time, Olivia. Thank you for this.”

We walked back toward his car in my driveway. He lingered in the spot between his car and my front porch, like he wanted to say something more.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked on impulse. Because, despite my misgivings, I was always trying to undo someone else’s damage. Or maybe it was something baser than that. Maybe because, like he said, I was scared. “I could get you something to drink. Or eat. Before you head back.” I wasn’t sure which hotel he was staying at, but none of the hotels in the area was particularly inviting.

He looked at my front door for a long moment. It seemed like he very much wanted to come in. But he shook his head. “I should be getting back, get some sleep, get my head on straight.”

“Right. Okay. Me, too.”

He took out his wallet and slipped a card from a pocket. “My cell is on the back. In case you want to talk. I’ll be in town at least a few more days.”

I was standing on my porch while he backed out of my drive. When he was out of sight, I saw, through the trees, Rick’s porch light switch on.

MY PHONE WAS RINGING when I stepped inside—and my stomach dropped, my mind always flashing back to the body in the yard. Then I was overwhelmed with the hope that it was Elyse, finally returning my calls. But instead it was a video call from Jonah.

Better to be done with this once and for all than have him calling weekly until he got the message. I answered with a curt “Yes?”

Jonah didn’t seem to get the tone. He smiled widely, sitting in his favorite chair in the living room. I could picture the crystal tumbler just out of frame. “Finally caught you,” he said. “Is now a better time, Liv?”

“Not really,” I said. “Jonah, listen, I shouldn’t have texted you back. I don’t want to go back to the way things were—”

“Neither do I. I was a fool, Liv, can you give me a second for an apology?”

I closed my eyes. A year too late, a year smarter, and Jonah just one more thing that was best left in the past. God, why was everything resurfacing all at once? How could you become someone new when everyone kept pulling you back to the person you once were? How could you fight that sort of gravity?

“I accept any and all apologies, Jonah. But I’ve moved on, and it’s absolute chaos here. So, no, this is not actually a better time.”

“Is it the hospital?” he asked, sitting upright. “Did something happen?” Because that was his project, a way he could claw his way back to essential.

“No. There’s a literal crime scene outside my house, okay? Someone died.”

Jonah’s face was a blank sheet. He was not good at the unexpected, never was. Liked to be in control, in the classroom and out. He’d seen this conversation going one way, but it had suddenly veered, and he was slow to recover.

The phone wobbled as he switched hands, brought himself too close to the frame, his features losing proportion. “Who? Who died?”

I lifted one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “No one you know. No one who worked at the