Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I mentally crossed my fingers.
Darcie didn’t say much as she led me out of the living room and down the endless hallway to the left of the staircase. I busied myself taking in the surroundings, snapping the odd pic. More mounted animal heads, a preserved fish or two that seemed to be from her grandfather’s time, a yellowed cross-stitch that was the most wholesome thing on the walls so far.
After that came a painted family portrait that I knew at once was of Blake and Clara Shepherd and their children. He was all clean lines and thick blond mustache, his hair cut sharp and neat, and his suit fitted to his athletic frame.
Blake Shepherd had been handsome.
Clara, however, was painted nowhere near as well as Blake; the only reason I recognized it as her was the dress she wore—the same one as from the portrait of her by the entrance to the house. Three of her children’s faces, too, were smudged blurs. The sole child with a defined face was a teenage girl with blond hair and blue eyes. She stared at me with a faint smirk on her face.
Wondering if the artist had suffered a stroke midpainting to have done such a divided piece of work, I took another, closer look. My eyes widened. The faces of Clara and the three children had been smudged on purpose, extra paint used to wipe out their features.
Blake Shepherd destroying their images as he’d ended their existence?
Shivering, I turned away from the eerie painting that generations of Shepherds had left hanging, and caught up to Darcie. We were thankfully long past the portrait when she spoke. “Sorry about screaming at you.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “I know you didn’t do it. You were always the nicest of the group.”
“Nope, that’s definitely Aaron.”
Snorting out a laugh that then made us both giggle, she dropped her hands to her sides. “I meant of us girls. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a mean thing in my life.”
I said plenty of bitchy things, but usually only to Vansi. Darcie and I weren’t close enough that I’d ever vent to her. I’d never vented to Bea, either. That wasn’t how our relationship had worked. I’d been content to just be near her, listen to her. If anyone else had realized how I felt about her, there was a good chance they’d have thought I wanted more, that she was leading me on.
Those people would’ve been wrong.
Bea’s joy had been mine. Nothing had made me happier than seeing her shine and laugh and live a life glorious. I’d loved her beyond breath itself, but it wasn’t the kind of love most people understood. It had no need for the physical, and no desire to possess.
All I’d ever needed was for her to see me, trust me . . . and never leave me behind.
“I should’ve hidden the doll better,” I said now, to the sister of the girl who’d broken me when she broke herself. “I honestly didn’t think anyone would go into the closet to grab her. I’m sorry about that.”
“I’ve been racking my brain to figure out who it could’ve been.” Darcie stared into nothingness. “Kaea used to play stupid pranks back when we were at uni.”
“No, he wouldn’t do this.” Kaea’s worst pranks had still only been about mischief. “He told us how bad it was with your break-in. He feels awful about it, would’ve never tried to ruin your week here.”
Darcie’s expression softened. “He was amazing that night, stayed with us until after the cops had come, even booked us into a suite at a nice hotel for a couple of days. You’re right. He wouldn’t try to hurt me.”
Her chest rose and fell on deep, conscious breaths. “Whoever it was, I think I have to let it go. Someone probably thought they were being funny and setting up a jump scare, had no idea how I’d react.”
Since she’d brought up the subject, I said, “Why does it affect you that way? You loved Bea.”
A whispered darkness passed over Darcie’s face. “The authorities don’t make you identify bodies like they do in the TV shows,” she said, her voice distant. “They knew who she was by the time I arrived, had identified her by dental records. But I wanted to say goodbye.” Pressing her lips together when they trembled, she swallowed hard as she hugged her arms around her rib cage.
I didn’t interrupt, didn’t comfort. I needed to understand what had happened that long-ago midwinter when Darcie had vanished for a weekend and come back to tell us that Bea was gone, dead and cremated, her ashes scattered in the ocean.
“I should’ve listened to the undertaker when he told me it would be better if I didn’t look at my sister, that they hadn’t been able to do much. I’d asked the ho—” She swallowed again, the movement convulsive. “I’d asked that her body be transferred directly to the funeral home, and I went there to say my goodbyes.