so much, where the answers aren’t black-and-white. There are all kinds of gray areas, questions that are still unresolved, and I don’t know what to do.”
I begin to whisper the details of Joanna’s murder. I tell her about the Martins, Ravenwood’s staff, Michael, and Colleen, and the web of lies they’ve spun. I don’t hold back.
“We had it all, didn’t we?” Plucking a handful of grass, I rub the blades around in my palm. “We didn’t need a million-dollar home or an expensive car to be happy. It was always me and you. Us against the world.”
And we lost.
I hang my head in defeat, overcome with pain.
“Give me a sign,” I beg. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
I wait for an answer, and then laugh bitterly because I realize it’ll never come. The temperature seems to have dropped a few degrees suddenly. I brace myself against the wind as I say a silent prayer. Brushing grass off my pants, I rise unsteadily. Clouds have moved in, covering the moon, drenching the cemetery in darkness. The coughing call of a raven splits the night air. I look up. I think I’m alone until I see the figure of a woman standing close to a headstone under the nearest oak.
I hadn’t even heard her approach.
She too is speaking to her deceased loved one. I don’t want to disturb the woman, but I’m going to have to pass by to get back to the car.
Bowing my head, I stride through the grass, giving her a wide berth.
The raven calls again, mockingly. I glance up at the sound. The bird has perched on top of the tombstone the woman is facing.
And etched on the stone is the name Joanna Harris.
Shock throttles me—Joanna’s not in the ground yet. I freeze, adjusting my eyes to the letters shadowed in the dark. Michael’s name is beside Joanna’s. There are no dates. The Harrises must’ve reserved their plot and purchased the headstone already. But when, exactly? Had Michael bought it last summer, around the time he claims she left him? That action alone would scream guilt.
If I could only remember if the Harrises’ headstone had been there when Karen was buried. But I’d been so consumed by my grief, there’s no chance I would’ve noticed anything else.
“Excuse me, who—” I stop. “Samara. What are you doing here?”
It’s all I can muster under the circumstances. I hadn’t expected to run into anyone here, and I get the feeling Samara Graves feels the same way.
“Detective Shaw.” She turns toward me slightly, the forced smile on her face betraying her lack of desire to speak with me. “I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”
“Seeking clarity.” My gaze skips to Karen’s headstone. “But I’m not sure I’ll ever find it.” I want to ask what she’s doing here, since Joanna isn’t in the ground yet, but at the last second, I think better of it. Grief defies reason. If this is where she feels closest to Joanna, so be it. It’s not the time or the place for questioning. “Have a good night.”
As I walk away, Samara calls, “Are you close to figuring out who killed my friend?”
I turn. “We’re taking our time,” I say. “We need to make sure we’re arresting the right person. Murder cases are serious. We have to be sure.”
“You’re taking too long.” She rubs her hands together briskly. “If you still have questions for me, Detective, fire away. I’m an open book.”
I look at the tombstone, searching for the raven that had first called my attention to Joanna’s grave, but it must’ve flown away. “I’m assuming this is where Joanna will be buried?”
“It’s a beautiful spot, don’t you think?” Her eyes glitter at me.
“It is.” That’s why I’d chosen it for Karen. “Do you know when the Harrises purchased this plot?”
“Years ago.” Her gaze flickers to