Till Death(23)

My lungs were burning.

Coming back here was almost like starting over. Doing what I’d intended to do. I was going to help Mom with the inn and then eventually I would take over, like I always planned. I was reopening that chapter of my life.

Tiny bright spots were dotting my vision.

My life before the Groom had included Cole. I had no idea where our relationship had been heading, but something was there, something amazing. Maybe we would’ve stayed together, finding our very own happily ever after. Maybe we would’ve drifted apart and found someone else. And maybe none of that mattered now, and if I picked up that card and called him, we would have dinner and never speak again. But if I did call him, I would finally be reopening that chapter of my life.

And maybe if I did that, I wouldn’t see the Groom in harmless shadows on the grounds or the veranda. Maybe I wouldn’t feel bodiless eyes on me. Maybe the nightmares would stop. Maybe I would finally start living.

Opening my mouth, I exhaled deeply, letting the cool air soothe the burn in my throat and lungs. I dropped my arms and turned back to the nightstand.

Maybe it was time to reopen that chapter.



“Is there anything else I can do before I head out?” Angela asked as she bounced into the kitchen.

I looked up from the leather-bound old-school accounting books Mom had kept. I’d been spending the bulk of the afternoon bringing the Scarlet Wench’s business side into the twenty-first century and my poor little fingers were aching. I also wanted to stab myself in the eyeballs, because committing numbers and receipts into a spreadsheet was about as fun as scraping off wallpaper with a nail. A lukewarm coffee cup sat next to my laptop.

“We’re good,” I told her, reaching around and rubbing at the kink forming in the back of my neck. “You have an exam tonight, don’t you?”

“A paper,” she said, smiling as she smoothed a blond curl back behind her ear. “I finished it last night, but I should probably look over it again.”

Right now I’d prefer to do a paper than what I was doing. I picked up the highlighter. I’d gone with baby blue. “Well, good luck. Not that you need it.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” Angela hesitated at the door and then popped back around. She bit down on her lip as she eyed me.

I waited. “Is there something you need, Angela?”

“Not really,” she said, shoving her hands into the center pocket of her pink sweater. “I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

I wanted to pretend like I didn’t know what she was referencing, but I wasn’t a fan of making myself look like an idiot. By earlier this afternoon, the discovery of the woman’s body had really hit the public. It had been splashed across the morning paper. Mom had turned the TV off during the local news-at-noon broadcast when I’d walked into the kitchen to get started. She turned it off even though I told her it was okay.

It had to be okay.

I couldn’t spend my entire life hiding from random violence. Though I was sure there were a billion other people who wished they could.

“It’s all a little freaky,” I admitted finally, rolling the fat highlighter between my palms. “But I’m okay.”

“It is really freaky.” She glanced down at her sneakers for a moment. “When I heard the news, I thought of you.”

“Don’t think about me. I’m fine. Think of that woman and her family,” I said, placing the highlighter down. “But I do appreciate where you’re going with it.”

Her gaze lifted. “I know. It’s just that . . . it has to be hard considering everything you went through. I know it’s a huge coincidence, but still. There’s just . . . something wrong about it.”

My brows knitted. “I can think of a lot of things wrong about it.”

“Me too,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “But for someone to use the same place that . . .” She swallowed hard as she opened her purse. “There’s just something epically messed up about that.”

The laptop screen flickered and started to fade into hibernation mode. “Maybe the person responsible didn’t know about that place’s history. It is possible.”

“True.” She reached into her bag. “It could’ve been someone who didn’t know the area, but . . . you know how they always say it’s someone the victim knows?”

Saying nothing, I nodded.

“I heard on the news this afternoon that she and her husband’s family are from the tristate area. They had to know what that area was,” she explained.

The screen on my laptop went black. “Maybe it was an acquaintance of hers who isn’t from this area.”

She raised a shoulder. “They haven’t said how she died.”

Acids in my stomach churned. “They won’t for a while. Or they may never say how.” It had taken weeks before the news had said how the first victim of the Groom had died. “I guess the police release that kind of info when they’re sure it won’t hurt their case.”

“Makes sense.” She shook her head and then forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about this and—”

“It’s okay.” I wished I hadn’t reacted the way I had the first time with her. “It’s human nature to want to talk about these kinds of things.” I paused, taking a sip of my now-cold coffee. Yum. “Back then, everyone talked about what was happening, even before people realized the cases were related. I talked about it. It’s normal. Don’t apologize for it.”