Page 34 of The House on Forgotten Hill

Estelle tightened her grip around the steering wheel. “One day after?”

“Maybe the night my father died he was driving to the police station to tell them what he’d seen. He may have stashed the roll of film inside the box to hide it, planning on giving it to them later and Preston killed him before he got the chance. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Something just came back to me,” Estelle said. “After your father’s funeral, you and your mother stayed with your aunt for a few weeks. When she returned home, someone had broken into the house. It makes me wonder if Preston was the one who did it, searching for the photographs your father had taken.”

I looked back down at the pictures resting in my lap.

The blood on Melinda’s face.

Preston standing over her.

The final image of him staring directly into the camera.

“Preston didn’t just assault Melinda,” I said. “I think he murdered her. And if he killed her …”

“There’s a good chance he killed my daughter too.”

I folded the newspaper clipping and slipped it and the photos back into my handbag. “We need to be smart about this and proceed with caution. Look at everything we already know. Three women vanished, my father died, and somehow Preston walked away from all of it. He’s spent his entire life escaping the consequences of his actions because of his family’s money and connections. He got away with it then, and he’ll do everything in his power to get away with it now.”

Estelle stared through the windshield. “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to make sure he doesn’t get away with it this time.”

Her jaw tightened. “For a man like Preston, death is the only justice.”

Her words startled me, though part of me understood why she’d said them.

For twenty years, she’d lived with unanswered questions, left to imagine what happened to her daughter and why.

We pulled into my driveway, and Estelle put the car in park. “If we’re going to sit on this tonight, I need you to do something for me. Lock every door and window in your house.”

“I will.” I picked up my handbag and reached for the door handle, pausing to glance out the window at Preston’s house. There were no lights on, no signs that he was home.

“I’ll come up with a plan tonight, and in the morning, we’ll figure out our next move,” I said.

Estelle squeezed my hand. “I’m sure it won’t be easy but try and get some sleep tonight. And if you need me for anything, no matter what the hour, call me, and I’ll be right over.”

I stepped out into the cool night air and stood in the driveway, watching her taillights disappear down the street.

Then I looked at Preston’s house again.

Although every light inside was off, as I walked toward my front door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

And for the first time since moving back home, I wasn’t afraid of what happened twenty years ago. I was afraid of what might happen next.

17

Sleep never came.

I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the evening for what felt like the hundredth time.

Somewhere in the darkness next door, the man from those photographs may have been sleeping while I lay awake, trying to figure out how to bring him down.

Every plan I came up with unraveled the moment I thought it through.

Take the photographs to the police.

Preston’s family would bury them.