Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(78)

Blood trickled from his nose. He was still alive. How was that possible?

A minute passed before his head and upper body fell forward onto the hood of her car. When she backed up, his body sank to the ground. Breathless, she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. She pulled her cell from her purse and called the chief. “It’s Sawyer.”

“I’m at your parents’ house with your sisters,” the chief said. “Where are you?”

“You need to come to Aspen’s house.” Her voice was hoarse as she said, “He’s responsible for the murder of Peggy Myers, Avery James, Gramma Sally, and Isabella Estrada. Aspen is dead.”

The car engine sputtered and spit, then died.

Sawyer disconnected the call. Didn’t move. Just sat there behind the wheel, her eyes on Aspen. Although she’d told the chief he was dead, she wasn’t 100 percent sure. And she wasn’t going to check. Her ears were pounding, her brain scrambling for something to hold on to as images of pushing Rebecca on the swings came to her. The sound of Rebecca’s laughter made the corners of Sawyer’s mouth turn upward. “Higher,” Rebecca said. “I want to go higher.”

It was less than ten minutes later when Chief Schneider pulled up in a police vehicle with Aria and Harper right behind him.

The chief went straight to Aspen, placed his fingers on his neck. A minute later he headed inside the house.

Aria and Harper knocked on Sawyer’s car window and had to convince her that it was okay to come out. Aspen was dead, they told her. She could unlock the door.

When Sawyer climbed out, Aria’s gaze fixated on her hair where Aspen had cut it. “He was going to kill you,” she said in disbelief.

Sawyer nodded. Her body was still weak, so she used her car to keep herself propped up. “He said he killed Peggy, and later Avery, because Mom convinced him they needed to be punished for humiliating him.”

“She didn’t want anyone to know he was a sexual predator,” Harper said.

“What about Isabella and Rebecca?” Aria asked.

“Aspen said he killed Isabella in hopes of keeping me in River Rock. If he’s to be believed, Rebecca was Mom’s doing. He also killed Gramma Sally.”

“I always thought he was weird,” Aria said. “But I never pegged him as a killer.”

Sawyer’s head still wasn’t right, but she was finally able to move her right arm. “For all those years, the people I trusted to keep me safe were the ones I needed to be wary of. What sort of world are we living in? How am I supposed to make sense of any of this?”

“You won’t ever make sense of what happened,” Harper said. “None of us will.”

They were all exhausted by the time Chief Schneider was done interviewing the three of them. Sawyer’s interview took an hour. Aspen’s body had been taken away in an ambulance. According to the chief, Aspen’s trophy room was the same one Sawyer had tried to look into but couldn’t because the door was locked. For years Aspen had been collecting mementos: hair clippings, newspaper articles, and pictures and drawings of the victims and the murder scenes.

Sawyer wondered how long it would be before she’d stop seeing the dark, empty look on Aspen’s face when he’d cut her hair. For some reason, that one particular act had scared her the most. The thought of it made her stomach churn.

“Are we done here?” Aria asked the chief.

“I’m going to let the three of you go for now. I’ve got your numbers and your address in Sacramento if something pops up.”

They all nodded.

“Take care,” he said before he walked back toward the house.

Sawyer frowned. “My car is dead, like everything else in this town,” she told Aria. “Mind giving me a lift?”

“Not a problem,” Aria said.

The three of them walked across the street, arm in arm, a human wall of sisterhood.

The Brooks sisters, Sawyer thought.

As horrible as their childhoods had been, as shockingly evil as Mom and Dad turned out to be, Aria and Harper were the greatest gifts life had given her. Having them here at her side filled her with hope.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Sawyer and her sisters had returned from River Rock two days ago. For the second day in a row, Sawyer found a quiet table inside the Sacramento Public Library on I Street where she could work.

She hadn’t asked for time off, but Sean Palmer had insisted. Today was Friday. She would return to work on Monday.

The story about Isabella and River Rock was turning out much differently than she’d originally planned. When she first sat down to write it, she’d thought her fury over everything that had come to light would be her muse. But that wasn’t the case.

There was a lot to process.

So many feelings.

Forget about Uncle Theo—Mom was a killer, and Dad was a rapist. And they were all dead. She needed to double up on her therapy appointments.

Yesterday, she’d written five pages, a condensed version about growing up in River Rock. This morning, she’d deleted most of it. How do you tell the story without telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

She couldn’t handle the truth, let alone wrap her head around it.

It was that simple.

She was still in shock. It swam through her veins like blood.