Chapter 8

8

DECLAN

I blink at the back corner of the room before placing Vivian Monroe’s evidence box back on the metal shelf I grabbed it from and walking over to the furthest metal shelving unit. As expected, nothing is there, not a box out of place, but in my years on the force, I’ve learned to trust my gut, even when it seems fruitless.

Grabbing the box again, I flip the light switch off and head back to my desk. I don’t even know what I’m doing here this late. Bas went home hours ago, and I know exactly what’s in this box, but here I am, rifling through the contents again, searching for anything that might spark a new line of questioning.

I pick up the plastic evidence bag with Camila Castillo’s necklace and study it closely. Turning it over in my hand and running my thumb over the scripted lettering, I wonder again why this necklace had ended up in Vivian Monroe’s belongings.

It seemed too obvious to be a real clue, but my colleagues seemed to disagree.

I know that in most cases, the obvious suspect is usually the answer, but you can’t fake a reaction like the one Camila had to seeing her necklace on my desk. The way her face contorted into equal parts sadness and confusion. Whoever put the necklace in that house must have done it to send us to the Castillos.

Abandoning the Monroe box, I turn to my computer and open the file created for the Castillo sisters. I’ve studied this file to exhaustion.

I could probably draw their pictures from memory. I knew the curve of Carolina’s lips and the placement of the dark freckle just above the right side of her mouth. The exact shade of brown that made up her eyes was permanently etched in my mind.

I’ve combed through the reports of the fire that killed their parents 20 years ago, because my interest in them had turned obsessive. They had been at their family’s cabin in the woods up near Tully Lake when the fire broke out.

According to the reports, their father, Jeremiah Mason, got the girls out and went back in for their mother, Sonia Castillo, when the cabin collapsed. They never made it out.

Volunteer firefighters from the nearby town showed up to put out the flames after a neighboring cabin called it in. The firefighters found a nine-year-old Carolina and seven-year-old Camila alone in their pajamas, staring at the burning building. The girls moved in with their grandparents, and the fire was ruled an accident caused by faulty wiring.

Almost three years ago, they lost both their grandparents to old age and some health complications. Nothing unusual there.

On paper, they were ordinary town residents with a particularly somber past, and the only thing that seemingly connected them to this case was Camila’s necklace.

By the time I was done reading their file again, I couldn’t help but feel sad for them. They’d lost everything except each other and the shop, and the town had a vendetta against them for seemingly no reason.

Or maybe there was a reason, and it just wasn’t documented in these files.

“Carolina Castillo is the reason I’m divorced,” a woman tells me the next day.

My pen hovers over my notepad before I flip it closed. I’ve been interviewing the town for the last two hours about the Castillo sisters, and so far, I’ve gotten reports of stolen high school boyfriends, strange cases of unusual illnesses, and food poisoning from a town event they didn’t even go to, but divorce is a new one.

“She brainwashed my husband into sleeping with her,” she says confidently.

“Any proof of that?” I ask, pocketing my notepad on the inside of my jacket.

“He told me so.”

“Right. Thank you for your time.”

It was obvious I was wasting my time talking to these people, and I was growing more frustrated by the second. I move to the empty park bench two over from the woman and stare out at the pond in front of me.

A sharp breeze hits my cheeks and sends a shiver down my spine. It makes me realize just how cold it is outside. There aren’t that many people out—only a few runners loop around the frog pond, and a small group of moms push strollers on the walkway. It seemed my town interviews would have to wait.

There’s a prickling of the hairs on the back of my neck. “I didn’t, you know,” says a voice from behind me. “Brainwash her husband,” Carolina clarifies, sitting down beside me.

She’s a sight for my sore, tired eyes. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, and her nose is tinged pink from the cold. The shadows under her eyes are not unlike my own.

“Just a regular affair, then,” I assume, turning my body toward hers.

Carolina wrinkles her nose and pulls her jacket tighter around her. “Definitely not. She was married to Zachary Carstenson, and he was sleeping with several women. None of them me, but I’m an easy scapegoat,” she says with a shrug.

I look at her and wonder what she’s thinking—about me, the town, this whole situation. What must it be like to be constantly accused of every bad thing that happened in this town?

“Something on my face, Detective?” she asks, turning to look at me.

I shake my head. “What brings you out to the park? It’s kind of chilly out.”

She pushes the shorter pieces of hair that escaped her hair tie behind her ear. “Just taking a walk. Trying to clear my mind. Our parents used to bring us here. This time of year is my favorite.”

A laugh escapes me. “The time of year when everything is dying? That’s your favorite?”

I catch a ghost of a smile spread across her face. “Mostly the colors and how still everything feels. Summer feels like everything is always in motion. There’s something about autumn that makes you reflect on things.”

Considering her words, I reply, “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about seasons like that. I don’t think there’s a time of year that feels more thoughtful than others. ”

“It’s my grandparents’ fault, probably. They were very…organic.”

“Organic?” I laugh again.

“‘In tune with the Earth’ feels even more silly to say. They just loved nature but not in the hippie way. In the way that made you really sit with the elements. The changing seasons. The rise and fall of the tides. The phases of the moon. It was their thing.”

“Witchy,” I say. She smirks but doesn’t respond.

Looking back at the pond, Carolina nods and fusses with her hair again.

“I’m sorry about your grandparents…and your parents…and for reading your file.”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “All part of your job, I assume.”

“Yeah, but still.” I ask suddenly, “Who do you think is doing all this?”

She raises her dark brows at me. “Who do I think it is?” I nod. “Isn’t it your job to find the culprit, Detective?”

Fair point . I laugh. “I’ve hit a dead end on new leads.”

She crosses one leg over the other. “Any prime suspects?” she asks casually.

“I’m not sure. After you two, no one else makes sense.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. I shouldn’t be talking to her about this.

We’re both quiet, and I’m searching for something, anything else, to say.

“The banana bread was good” is the only thing that comes to mind. At least it’s the truth. “What’s the secret?”

“Family recipe. I’m sworn to take it with me to the grave,” she tells me.

Carolina’s gaze is on the people who walk past us, staring. When they make eye contact with her, they look away and whisper to each other.

“Did you always want to own a shop with your sister?”

She blinks and looks at me like she only now remembered I was here. “No. Camila and I were always competing with each other when we were younger. We can never really agree on anything, but our grandparents left us the place and…well, we couldn’t just sell it. Camila loves baking, and I love coffee shops, so it seemed like a good compromise.”

How normal. Utterly and completely normal.

“And who owns the cat that wanders around?”

Carolina rolls her eyes, either because she thinks my question is ridiculous (it is) or because she hates cats (me too).

“Silas is Camila’s. We’ve had him since we were kids, but he gravitates toward Cami.”

“I’m not much of a cat person,” I tell her, and she smiles at me.

“Me either,” Carolina says and checks the time on her phone. “Looks like I’ve got to go, Detective, but it was nice chatting with you. Hope you get a lead soon.”

I watch her walk through the park in the direction of her shop and wonder how on earth I’m supposed to find new leads when I’m constantly distracted by Carolina and whatever secret she’s keeping.