I am Mrs. Monroe, closing up the house for the night.

Slowly, I climb the steps and pad down the hall, look in on Maggie, sleeping peacefully, then join Will in our room.

“I brought you a glass of brandy to help you sleep,” he says.

I thank him and dutifully sip it down as I get ready for bed.

“It’s getting too cold for your night wanderings,” he tells me.

I’ve been unsettled at night. I toss and turn and have such strange dreams. Sometimes Will wakes up, and I’m not in bed beside him. He comes down to find me in the kitchen with a cup of tea, or out by the pool or in the rose garden.

I make a noncommittal noise, a sort of grunt in response. I’m not agreeing or disagreeing. Only acknowledging that I heard him.

Tonight, despite the calming effects of the brandy, I lay awake listening to the wind against the house. Will is sound asleep, has been since he put his head on the pillow. There it is: the sound of the front door opening.

I slip out of bed, gently, so as not to wake Will. I go down the hall to check on Maggie—sleeping soundly in her crib.

Could have been the wind that blew it open. That’s what Will would say. What any sensible person would say.

But I know it wasn’t.

chapter thirty-one

June 22, 2019

There was a hand on my arm, rubbing gently.

You’ve gotta stop thinking so hard about what’s real and what isn’t, Jax.

I was afraid to open my eyes. Afraid that she’d disappear. Surely, I was dreaming again.

I opened my eyes and found my father looking down at me. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he said. “You planning to get up today?”

I blinked at him. “What time is it?”

“Nearly two in the afternoon.”

Pig was curled up at the foot of the bed.

I sat up, reached for my phone on the bedside table. He was right, though I had trouble believing it. I never slept in.

“Your aunt sent me up to make sure you hadn’t escaped out the window or anything. You slept through breakfast.” My father smiled. “I brought you coffee.”

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for the cup, taking a sip. Cream and four sugars—just how Lexie liked it. I preferred mine black. I sipped gratefully anyway.

My father took a seat on the edge of my bed. “Listen,” he said. “I’m sorry about last night. Sorry for throwing you under the bus, not believing you.”

“It’s okay. I know how crazy it sounds.”

“No crazier than cooking for your dead daughter,” he said. “Maybe Diane’s right. Being here isn’t good for either one of us right now. The house… the pool. They mess with you. It’s good that we’re both out of here tomorrow.”

I nodded, sipped at my overly sweet coffee.

“We’ve got sandwich stuff downstairs. Or I could make you some eggs if you want.”

“A sandwich sounds great. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

I went down and had lunch. Diane had a Scrabble board set up at the table. “I thought maybe we could play a game.”

I smiled. “Sounds great.”

We spent the afternoon playing Scrabble and drinking tea, my aunt watching me like a hawk the whole time. I felt like I was under house arrest.

“What would you like for dinner?” Diane asked, getting up to check the fridge. “We’ve got ground beef, some vegetables, stuff for salad.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said, flashing another agreeable smile. “Anything’s fine with me.” I stood up, stretched. “I think I’ll go start packing. And maybe take a shower.”

“Sounds good,” Diane said. “Your father and I will figure out dinner.”

Ted jumped up and started looking in the cabinets. “How about spaghetti? I make a terrific Bolognese sauce.”

Upstairs, I looked at the boxes full of my sister’s things. I felt unsettled. I couldn’t just leave Sparrow Crest without knowing the truth.

I grabbed my purse and my phone from the bedside table. My phone was dead. No time to charge it now.

I went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast, then snuck out of the bathroom, leaving the door closed and the shower running. Pig sat in the hall, washing his chest and giving me a what are you up to now? look. I crept down the stairs slowly, avoiding the ones that creaked. I could hear Diane and my father in the kitchen, talking, Ted asking for a grater.

“Some people chop the carrot, celery, and onion,” he was saying. “But the key to a really fine sauce is to use a grater.”

I slipped right past them and grabbed the keys to Lexie’s car from the hook in the front hall. I opened the door as quietly as I could, then ran for the car, started the engine, and took off without looking in my rearview mirror to see if they’d heard me.

Nice getaway, Jax!

“Thanks,” I said, turning to look at the passenger seat, but of course there was no one there.

I drove straight to the nursing home. I checked in at the front desk and told them who I was there to visit.

If Ryan wasn’t going to confess, I’d try Shirley. How hard could it be to get her to tell me the truth?

“Oh, she’s been waiting for you,” the woman in scrubs said cheerfully.

“Has she?” My throat went dry. I nearly turned and ran back out to the parking lot.

“Yes, she skipped going down to dinner because she was afraid she might miss you.”

I walked down the corridor to Shirley’s room feeling like I was moving in slow motion. I had the terrible sense that I was walking right into a trap. But what harm could an old woman in a nursing home possibly do?

The door to her room was open and she was there, waiting at the little table, playing solitaire.

“What took you so long?” she asked when she saw me. She set the cards aside. “Don’t just stand there, Jackie. Come in. Come in. Shut the door behind you.”

Shirley had the table in her room laid out with cookies and juice, like we were two little girls about to have a tea party. “Sit down,” she said.

I remained standing, arms crossed. “I know who you are,” I said.

“Oh?” She reached for a sugar cookie and took a bite.

“You’re the daughter of Benson Harding and Eliza Flemming.” Shirley said nothing. She just kept chewing her cookie. “Your family believes the springs and the land belong to you. That your father hadn’t been in his right mind when he lost it to my great-grandfather.”