Page 168 of Trust No One

“Do you know when?”

“Not exactly. But there are a few warehouses nearby. Still collecting camera footage. Had the car towed to the forensic bay.”

“Find anything?”

“Mostly trashed by the fire. But we’re working on it.”

Fire destroyed a lot, but not all the evidence. Something always survived. “Did you see the car on the Hale House camera footage?”

“No.”

I shifted gears. “What about the bones we found in the attic?”

“Canine. Mixed breed. The bones were brittle and dry. The archaeologist at the university thinks it’s been dead between fifteen to twenty years.”

About the time Mrs. Hale died. “How did the animal die?”

“No markers of violence on the skeleton. So she scraped the inside of the femur and dug out a molar.”

“Out with it, Meg.”

A pause. “The animal was poisoned.”

“Cyanide?”

“That’s right.”

Testing the dose, building nerve. This meant someone tied to Hale House had been dabbling in poison for decades.

Any doubts about exhuming Mrs. Hale were gone.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Raine

Friday, October 23, 2026, 12:30 p.m.

Molly was screaming.

She stood rigid in the center of the living room, fists balled, shouting No! over and over. I’d been on the phone all morning, making funeral arrangements and speaking with the trust attorney. I’d let the television babysit her too long. Never again.

“You’ve had enough TV,” I said.

She snatched the remote and turned the television back on.

I yanked it back. “We aren’t doing this,” I said. “TV stays off.”

“No!”

“Time to get outside,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Fresh air. People. You’ll like it.”

But her volume only rose. She was exhausted, grieving, cornered by emotions too big for her small body.

I grabbed my purse and our coats and then hustled her outside. Shocked by the sudden shift, she didn’t resist until we got to my car. When I opened the back door, she stiffened. I didn’t back down. One way or another, we needed normal.

Once strapped in, she kicked the seat, but the fight was fading. Bright sunshine streamed into the car, cutting through the shadows that clung to me like smoke.

What Molly didn’t know was that we had an appointment with a social worker, thanks to Judson. I’d talked to the counselor, Rebecca, briefly on the phone this morning. She was working us in. She sounded patient. She’d mentioned a playground by the doctor’s office. I hoped playing would intrigue Molly.