Page 127 of Wicked Promises

It’s not as neat as the monotone room we just left. This one is… lived-in. Papers on the desk, a pile of dirty clothes in a hamper in the corner. One of the dresser drawers is cracked open, denim sticking out.

Spooked, I back out into the hallway.

“What is it?” Riley asks.

I shake my head and go to the last bedroom, shoving the door open.

Blues and purples. An unmade bed. More clothes.

“Do they have a kid?”

I go to the desk. It’s white, not inexpensive, with a blue chair on wheels tucked in. A laptop sits on top, plugged into a power strip.

Fuzzy pens in a cup.

A mouse pad with the picture of a dog.

The desk itself is pushed up against a window. To the left of it is a bulletin board. I stand in front of it, putting my finger on the one of the pins.

Newspaper clippings.

Cut-out articles.

Fatal Two-Car Accident on Elm StreetandDrunk Driver Kills Teenage BoyandRose Hill Child Fatally Struck.

“What is this?” Riley asks, just behind me.

I can’t breathe.

The board is filled with them. So many car accidents, dating back at least four years, all over Hillshire County.

“Margo,” Riley snaps. She grabs my shoulder and drags me around. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Because my stomach is a roiling mess.

“I didn’t know they were?—”

The front door slams, and both of us duck.

“Shit,” Riley whispers. She runs to the door and closes it most of the way.

“I’m home!” a familiar voice yells. “Matt gave me a ride since you were sick.”

Hanna.

“We’re standing in Claire’s room,” I say in a low voice.

Riley slowly pivots back to me. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know this was where they?—”

Footsteps on the stairs interrupt me.

“Claire?” Hanna calls.

Sweet, beautiful Hanna.

I only pray her sister left heroutof this mess.