Page 29 of Sinister Secrets

That last one’s why my grandfather lost his life—because someone Gordon was working with intended to capitalize on the resources his property held. Checking over my shoulder, I bag the book as evidence, making a note to order a personal copy to read later.

I pull each book from the shelf one by one, checking the pages, the space behind and beneath. Feel a pang of regret as I remove our yearbook from ninth grade and flip through it to the Ks. My fourteen-year-old self stares back at me, eyes sparkling with mischief, a wide grin slashed across my face and a defiant tilt to my chin. And there, in the picture beside mine, is Matt Kingston.

There’s nothing in the photograph that betrays that the guy smiling at the camera has a dark side. A controlling side.

Taken at face value, he was simply a good-looking, popular boy whose father was the town’s sheriff. The kind of boy an orphan raised in the swamp would be lucky to date. And she was, at first, until the façade fell away, revealing the rot that hid beneath.

I’m no longer that girl. There’s no use mourning the me that once was. But is Matt still that boy?

Thinking about the initials on the cooler outside, I continue my perusal of the yearbook, checking the other class years for a student with the initials MK, but there isn’t one. Reaching the end, I move to close the cover, when my own handwriting catches my eye. But while I might have been the one to write See you next year! before scrawling my name, I certainly wasn’t the one to surround my end of year message to Gordon in hearts.

Had it been him? There’d been a couple of times that I’d suspected he had a bit of a crush on me, but it never had the chance to grow awkward because I’d started dating Matt early the next year—and never managed to get free of him until I escaped the entire town when I left for college. No wonder Gordon and Matt had hated each other so much.

Though I’m not sure why, I slip the yearbook into an evidence bag and pull the next one out to check for any other MKs. Feel a chill race violently down my spine as I reach the page with my sophomore class photo and discover the paper well-worn from being handled, the margins around my picture adorned with hearts and proclamations of love—and Matt’s eyes gouged out.

I yank our junior yearbook from the shelf, the feeling of unease growing as I discover that this one mirrors the previous year, though it’s not until I find my senior class photo that the tightness that’s grown in my chest makes it nearly impossible to breathe, because in this one? I’m the one who’s had their face scribbled over so violently that there are holes in the paper.

His sharp, pointed handwriting fills page after page with enraged rants. Threats. Promises.

A sickening sensation takes me in a grasp so hard I feel bruised. I’d thought that Gordon had been involved with trying to take Butch’s land for profit, but what if I was wrong? What if his reason had been more personal?

Twenty years is a long time to hold a grudge, but don’t I still harbor ill will toward the sheriff and Matt? And doesn’t Matt still have some kind of strange obsession with me?

Did Matt and Gordon develop a friendship based on their shared fixation? My legs go weak, pulse trembling as I’m struck by a darker thought. Or did they still hate each other, and Matt thought Gordon was a threat after I moved back?

What if the message I thought was being sent was different than I assumed—but no less dangerous? What if Sheriff Kingston wanted me to investigate this case with him as a means to control what I found out?

CHAPTER 17

For years I blamed myself. Every time I longed to come home and spend the holidays with Butch, I didn’t because it was too dangerous. I’d made a bad decision. Dated the wrong boy. Angered him and his sheriff father. It was too risky.

When a handsome man would make eye contact with me across a crowded room, I’d look away. If he offered to buy me a drink at a bar, I’d decline. If he asked me out, I’d avoid ever being in the same room with him again after saying no.

I shamed myself all through college and most of grad school until my roommate, Maggie, pointed out that’s what I was doing. As a criminal justice major, how was I supposed to respond to those who had been wronged with sympathy and understanding when I didn’t even have any for myself? What’s even worse is that when I did finally start dating again, it was only because I had a badge and a gun.

I’m so cynical and suspicious that I’ve even suspected Jake of the worst time and again. I’d thought—knew—that I was being ridiculous, only now I’m not so sure. Maybe there’s something about me that brings out the worst in people, men in particular.

Gordon had been one of my closest friends. How did things go so wrong between us? How did I not even suspect? Is it my fault that Butch is dead?

Blinking away tears, I blame them on the onion I’m chopping. Sometimes a good cry will reset the emotional turmoil inside myself that I’ve never properly learned to deal with, but this isn’t one of those times. I have to stay sharp. On guard. Figure out how I’m going to negotiate working an investigation with a sheriff whose son may somehow be involved with the crime.

But do I really think that Matt, what? Murdered Gordon in cold blood and dumped him in my pond? He’d been a bully when we were together, but also a coward, relying on his father’s clout to fight his battles for him.

A series of beeps has me grabbing for a paper towel. I’ve just finished drying my eyes as the front door opens.

“Cassie?”

“In here.”

Drawing a deep breath, I push a smile on my face and turn to greet Jake, grateful that the moment I’ve waited for all day is finally here. But all my plans fade into the background as my gaze lands on the blonde woman beside him.

She’s pretty, with a wide, friendly smile and the type of slim, athletic frame that I used to kill myself in the gym trying to achieve until I learned to embrace the build I have instead of the one I wanted. She stands watching me with a clear blue gaze full of excitement.

“Hi,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice steady and light.

“This is Chelsea,” Jake says. “The vet student who’ll be staying in the trailer. Chelsea, this is Cassidy.”

“Oh.” I can’t help feeling stunned. I’d thought this was a decision we’d make together. But maybe he thought he was doing me a favor by taking one more thing off my plate. Doing my best to be friendly, I say, “It’s nice to meet you, Chelsea.”