Page 19 of Trust No One

Weeks later, I saw Raine in town. She was cleaned up. White shorts, tank top, and sandals. I joked I didn’t recognize her. Threw a Hail Mary and asked her out on a date. She said yes. I was shocked.

She was nothing like I’d expected. Funny, smart, quick to joke about private school attitudes. Her self-deprecating way made me laugh.

The hormones were raging, and we weren’t shy about taking full advantage. The first time we had sex? On a blanket in her family’s barn. We were excited, nervous, and into each other.

Half naked, our limbs intertwined, I’d asked her why she’d left boarding school. She’d blamed it on family finances. It didn’t ring true, but I didn’t press. I was just glad she was here.

Sighing, I pushed aside the memory. I shoved my hands into PPE gloves and slipped on shoe covers. The front hallway was narrow, the walls beige, the furniture worn. A big collection of family photos lined the walls. Lots of smiles. Most of the pictures were of Molly. One included Maria and Gabe. They looked like a happy family.

Agent Meg Pollard was working the scene. She’d been with the state police’s western division since she’d graduated college. Short brown hair framed a lean face. “Where would you like me to start?”

“The warrant is limited—for now. Just the kitchen, the medicine cabinets, anything you see in the open. The judge will grant more access if we find any evidence.”

“And the vehicles?”

“Search them both. Hers is in the driveway—spare keys should be here somewhere. And when we find Gabe’s truck, search all compartments.”

“Got it.” Meg checked her digital camera’s settings.

In the kitchen, she raised the lens. The shutter clicked.

Dinner was still set out: rumpled place mats and napkins, half-eaten Italian bread, wilting salad, shattered plate shards, and noodles all over the floor. The plates were stacked beside the sink.

Blood speckled the counter and the floor. Maria had collapsed here, hitting her head on the way down.

Meg placed yellow, tented numbers beside each droplet and snapped more pictures.

On the counter, two drinking glasses—one nearly full and the other empty, its rim smudged with lipstick.

“Log in the glasses,” I said.

“On it.” She slipped them into individual paper bags.

The kitchen window overlooked fields of tall uncut grass. Just over the hill was Hale House and more outbuildings. Raine had let the Durants live rent-free in the cottage until Gabe got back on his feet. That was four years ago.

As Meg worked, I moved toward the first bedroom. Painted pink. A big M hung on the wall over a small bed tangled with sheets. Stuffed animals were scattered on the floor. I pictured Gabe knocking toys aside last night as he scooped up Molly.

The primary bedroom told a different story. The bed had smooth, neat covers on the right and rumpled sheets on the left.

In the corner, dirty work jeans, socks, and nursing scrubs piled beside an overflowing laundry basket. Pink slippers rested side by side on the floor.

On the right side was a nightstand with two medicine bottles. The scripts were made out to Gabe. One for an anxiety medication, the other a tranquilizer.

The bathroom was in disarray. Wet towels lay on the floor, the bathtub ringed with dirt, and the trash can overflowing. More dirty laundry on the hallway floor and a bound trash bag ready for the bin.

The medicine cabinet held nothing unusual—over-the-counter painkillers, vitamins, and basic first aid supplies. Nothing indicating heart issues.

The house I remembered from our dinner had worn the mask of a perfect family home. Molly slurping pasta. Gabe tossing a salad. Maria pouring wine.

But I saw the warning signs of that moment now. The laughter was too sharp. The smiles held a beat too long.

I used to believe . . .

Good things come to those who wait.

But here’s the truth.

What’s waiting for good people . . .