your sister. To this day, there are people who believe Fae had something to do with it.” Alice shook her head, her mouth set in a line. “This town is a cancer. Everyone has too much time on their hands, their lives too miserable.”
“Do you think that?”
“Of course not.” Alice’s reply was quick, too quick.
Hannah looked out the window, to the courtyard: the blooming flowers, the climbing morning glories taking over a small trellis in the center, their vines curling and wild. “What do you believe happened?”
“Well, it was before my time here. I guess I assumed she ran away. I don’t know. There were rumors of abuse . . . at home.” Meaning in Plymouth, Hannah thought. “I stay out of Rockwell. Too much gossip. I live a few towns away.”
“There was no abuse,” Hannah offered, but it felt thin. There was Wes. Had he come into Julia’s room at night? She’d never said. Then again, Hannah hadn’t asked. There was neglect. That was the same thing, wasn’t it? The memory surfaced, unbidden: Julia tucking them in at night, an empty box of chocolate chip cookies lying on the floor, their mouths grainy, coated with sugar. Their mother had been at work. Wes asleep—or what Hannah later figured was passed out—on the couch. It hadn’t been an unusual memory. That was what struck her, that it had been so ordinary. Julia, eleven, telling Hannah that it was ten o’clock and too late to be awake if they had school tomorrow. Children parenting children.
A change in subject. Hannah said, “So what do I do now?”
Alice paused. Then, “Well, you’re next of kin. When Stuart dies, you’d just have to come back.”
“When will that be?” Hannah asked, her voice growing urgent. She touched her forehead. “I just have to . . . I think Brackenhill is making me batty. It’s so isolated up here. I’m not used to it. I haven’t had a bout of sleepwalking in years.”
“You sleepwalk?” Alice looked up, her eyes wide.
“I used to as a child. I haven’t in a long time. Until now.”
“And you think this is because of Brackenhill?” Alice’s voice was skeptical. Hannah felt a rise of defensiveness.
“I assume it’s stress related. The house, the bones, Uncle Stuart, my sister . . .” Her voice trailing.
“Ah yes. Any progress on that front?”
“Some. Maybe? Detective McCarran keeps me informed. The bones were not . . . Julia. My sister.”
Alice looked thoughtful, studied her hands. “What do you think?”
What did she think? She had no idea. She had snippets, gut instincts, moments that felt like real discovery, then . . . nothing. The vision of Julia at Jinny’s, bloodied and helpless. Ellie running away, and now, according to Wyatt, possibly buried on the grounds, pregnant? She had a scrying ring. A deed to a house that might or might not be hers. She had a whole host of memories that haunted her at night. A longing for a man who was not her fiancé that was keeping her awake, her nerve endings electric. She had pieces; that was all. Tiny little pieces of a mystery that wasn’t hers to begin with.
“I think I have to leave, Alice. I have to go back to my life. This is not my life. This is . . . an interruption.” She’d been at Brackenhill for fourteen days, and she was no closer to finding out what had happened to Julia. Aunt Fae’s accident investigation had been quiet. Even the remains in the woods could be identified without her help. Uncle Stuart was still alive, if barely; Aunt Fae was not. She was sleep deprived, growing more isolated and delirious by the day. Alice felt like a refuge, a friend.
“Then why don’t you?” Alice questioned, not unkindly.
“I’ve been avoiding Brackenhill for so long. I feel like I have one chance to get to the truth. One chance to get closure, and justice for Julia. And I’m squandering it because I’m tired and falling apart.” It was the truth, and the frustration of it felt like a basketball in her gut. The coffee mug slipped from Hannah’s hands, shattered on the slate kitchen floor. Hannah jumped, let out a little scream, and then felt ridiculous. Alice immediately bent down to clean up the mess.
Hannah bent to help her, sighing.
“You know, there is always more than one chance. Always,” Alice said softly, slices of porcelain cupped in her hands. She held Hannah’s gaze, steady and intense, and Hannah had no idea if