out, startled. Alice looked at her strangely—Hannah was so on edge. Hannah stood, letting Stuart’s hand fall by his side, and made her way to the front door.
She looked through the small window. Wyatt.
What did he want? She could refuse to answer, but if it was about the case, her sister, Ellie, Ruby, or Warren, then she wanted to know.
She opened the door, and his face was unreadable. She was still in her nightgown, no bra, and she folded her arms across her chest. Stupidly self-conscious.
“Hannah, are you okay?” he asked, his face the picture of concern. His voice low.
“I’m fine. Why are you here?” Hannah’s voice was sharper than she’d intended.
“I have . . . a development.” He stammered over his words, reaching his arm out to touch her elbow, but she stepped away. “Can I come in?”
She opened the door wide for him, and he brushed past her. He smelled like soap and Wyatt, and she instinctually wanted to hug him. Feel him against her again. She noticed how well his dark button-up shirt fit his frame, tucked into jeans, with a black belt. How long his legs looked. She closed her eyes and tipped her head up to the ceiling.
In the sitting room, she sat on a velvet armchair, letting Wyatt take the love seat alone. Her emotions were too wild, her impulses too unpredictable with Stuart upstairs and Huck radio silent, to trust herself. Physical barriers felt necessary.
“So what’s up?” Hannah finally asked when the silence grew.
“Hannah, you just left. The other day. How are you? Are you okay? Can we talk?” Wyatt leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I’m not sorry it happened. But I am sorry if it upset you.”
“Stuart is dying. Probably today,” she blurted, and his eyes softened, his face slack. “So I’m staying awhile.” She gripped her elbows with the opposite hands, her arms tucked tight against her waist.
“I’m sorry, Han. I really am. It’s a lot for a person to take.” Wyatt motioned around the sitting room. “All of this.”
“Yes. Well. Did you have news?” Hannah clapped her hands, oddly, and Wyatt looked alarmed.
“I do,” he said slowly. “But you don’t seem yourself. You seem like you’re . . . cracking.”
“Just tell me the news. I’m fine. You said there was a case development.” Hannah’s heart picked up speed and slowed down, like Alice had said Stuart’s was doing, and she wondered if she was channeling his death, or maybe she was dying too. Maybe her heart would stop right here in this velvet sitting room, on this green velvet chair, and she could just go to sleep—real sleep, instead of waking up all over the house.
“It’s about Fae.”
Hannah’s head snapped up. Fae? She’d expected Julia or even Ruby. Warren. What could possibly be advancing in Fae’s case?
“We now officially have reason to believe her accident was likely not an accident.”
“What else would it be?” It had been a week since Wyatt had mentioned Aunt Fae’s accident. Hannah had assumed they’d closed the case.
“Well, there was some paint transfer. Which by itself isn’t indicative of anything. Someone could have bumped her in the parking lot of the Fresh N Save. But we looked closer at the scene because of it, and there are no skid marks.”
“What does that mean?” Hannah was tired of asking for the truth. Tired of chasing it. She just wanted something to be simple and easy and plain.
“It means she didn’t brake. If you were losing control of your car, you’d brake. Unless . . .” Wyatt cleared his throat, then reached out and took her hand. “Unless you were surprised. Unless someone clipped you on the left corner of your truck, leaving paint transfer and sending your vehicle into the ravine, right?”
“I mean, maybe?”
“The truck was far into the ravine, indicating a pretty steep trajectory. If she was trying to gain control of her truck for a few seconds because she’d been going too fast or whatever, she would have slowed down quite a bit before breaking into the guardrail.”
Hannah closed her eyes, felt Wyatt’s hand grip hers, and let him. “So someone killed her?”
“It seems possible, yes.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Now
“Now do you believe me?” Hannah demanded, anger finally rising to the surface. For weeks she’d been wandering around, aimless, feeling hollowed out. Now she seemed to be filling up with rage, bubbling over, and she felt helpless to stop it. Wyatt rubbed his jaw like he did when he was thinking, nervous. They both