Chapter 21

The next morning, before I’ve even brushed my hair or changed into clothes, I race down the stairs and swing open the door. It’s starting to feel like Christmas with gifts I don’t want, but I also can’t resist.

When I spot the welcome mat, my heart sinks. There’s nothing there. No letter, no security camera box, which was supposed to also have been delivered last night.

That’s when I remember—the gate code.

Shoot.My heart plummets. I changed the code yesterday but forgot to update it in the delivery app. When I look ahead, I can vaguely see a hint of something brown attached to the iron gate—the letter is there waiting for me.

Without hesitation, I slip on my shoes and rush down the driveway as fast as my legs will carry me. When I reach the gate, my heart is racing in my chest, both from exertion and adrenaline.

The letter has been taped to the front of the gate—the sender couldn’t get inside. I pass by the motion sensor, causing the gate to slowly start opening, and squeeze through the small crack before it can swing open the rest of the way.

Quickly, I tear the letter from the gate and rip open the brown envelope, reading the words waiting for me.

Bridget,

By now, I hope you trust that I am trying to help you. I’ve been honest with you about almost everything. There are, however, a few lies I need to correct, and I hope you’ll understand why I had to tell them.

The first is merely a lie of omission. You see, while I promised you just one more letter after this one, I’m sure you have several questions for me that can’t be answered with just these two letters. Therefore, in addition to the next letter, I will give you something that I hope will answer more questions than I could.

I thought you should hear the truth from Vera herself. Check the panel in the back of her top dresser drawer.

I will tell you the second lie, and the final secret, very soon.

Signed,

A friend

I read the letter again, skimming to the important parts, then look around. What could the letter mean? How on earth will I get to hear this from Vera herself?

My mind goes instantly to the tapes in the basement. Will there be a recording of her somehow? A home movie? Was Vera the type of serial killer who recorded her crimes? Does that sort of killer even exist?

If it is a videotape, I won’t have a way to watch whatever I’m meant to see until I find a way to play it, which is proving challenging. I spent a few hours last night scrolling through online listings for VHS players, but I found very few to choose from.

On the ground near the edge of the driveway, propped up against the brick pillars framing the gate, I spot a brown box that tells me exactly what I expected. Without the correct code to get inside, the delivery driver who was dropping off the security camera was left with no choice but to put the package here.

I scoop up the box and hurry back toward the house.

Inside, I place the camera package on the table so I don’t forget to install it soon, before the next letter has a chance to arrive. I want to set it up this morning, just in case we receive the last letter this afternoon, two in one day like we did yesterday. Unless they eventually reveal themself, we only have one more chance to catch the sender in the act. We’ll have to figure out where to place the camera so we can see the gate, rather than the front door now, and with the long driveway, that could be a challenge. Before I can do anything else, though, I have to find out what this current letter is talking about. What secret is lurking in the back of Vera’s dresser?

It feels weird to be searching for answers without Cole, but I don’t want to bother him. After the way we left things last night, the air is buzzing with awkwardness and tension.

Besides, I’m independent, and I can do this. If there’s one thing Vera taught me, it’s that I don’t need a man to be powerful. To be in control. To be safe.

Back in her room, I shove the letter into my back pocket and head for the closet. She has two dressers in here—a long one with two sets of three drawers, and a tall one with five drawers. The letter didn’t specify which one, but since it said top drawer and only one has a single top drawer, I go for the tall dresser first.

I pull open the drawer to find several silk bras and reach toward the back. My hand stops halfway, and I realize this drawer is much shallower than it should be. Upon closer inspection, I realize that—yes!—the drawer is half as deep as the dresser. I push on the panel gently, moving my fingers around the edges as I try to peer in the drawer, head tilted to the side and one eye closed.

When I press on the upper-left corner, the panel pushes in, then rebounds and jerks back toward me with a click as if it’s on a spring, similar to the hidden panel in the wall behind me. Carefully, I nudge it again, and as the panel drops down, I reach my hand farther back until my palm connects with something soft and cold. I know what it is instantly: a book.

I pull it out to confirm that I’m right, turning it over in my hand. The cover is red and nondescript. Simple. Genuine leather with intricate patterns.

I open to the first page, smoothing my fingers over her writing—the familiar look of the large loops and swirls of her letters.

This journal belongs to:

Vera Bitter