I gave her a ‘whatever’ look and dumped the leaking bag into a stray cart. Salt rained through the plastic grill as she continued skimming the scene for gawkers. “Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll get bored eventually.”

She glared at me for a long moment. “Why haven’t you returned my calls? I’ve left you six messages.”

More like eight. She’d had my phone on blast all week. “Maybe ‘cause I didn’t want to talk to you.”

She opened her mouth, but a trio of blue-haired old ladies ambled by in a flurry of whispers. Her voice held a cautious undertone when she spoke. “I didn’t write the letter, Trace.”

So she’d said eight times ago. I grabbed one of the three remaining bags and positioned the thing in her open trunk.

She tossed a hand. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

“Naw,” I said in a bored voice. “I’m also gonna finish loadin’ up your car.”

Dark amusement warmed me at her look of outrage. Tiny as she was, she still managed to block my way. “You accuse me of destroying your family,” she spat, eyes flashing, “but you won’t let me defend myself? How fair is that?”

My nostrils flared as the smoky-sweet scent of her teasing perfume snuck up on me. Annoyed, I stepped around her to grab the next bag. “Life ain’t fair, Miz Bradford.”

“Oh, grow up. Someone impersonated me. I have a legal right—no, a duty to dig into this. Darien’s even helping.”

I froze. “So lover boy’s in on this now?”

“‘Lover boy’ isn’t ‘in’ on anything.” She jammed her hands into her pockets as a breeze carried her scent past me again. “He’s an ex-prosecutor, so he can plow through the bureaucratic mire a lot faster than I can. What did the letter say?”

I rolled my eyes. As if she didn’t know. “Beats me. It came with a confidentiality request. So they wouldn’t let me see it, which is laughable since somebody mailed a copy to my mama.” I threw the second bag into the trunk and shot her a look packed with blame. “Must’ve been a doozy considering the fallout.”

Bitter satisfaction filled me once her face fell and she looked away. Outfreakingstanding.

Gossip had almost faded when the Dawson double suicides dropped Temptation, West Virginia back on the map last year. My mother had died with a plastic bag over her head, crucifix in hand, and a bellyful of pills washed down with half a pint of good old Jim Beam.

But my crazy ass daddy had gone out with a bang. Blew his brains out with a shotgun. Bev claimed some of the buckshot was still embedded in the basement wall. Soon afterward, my baby brother Coltrane (Cole for short) ended up at Saint Mary’s Asylum. The boy slashed his wrists with a Ginsu knife and smeared his chest with his own blood after finding the bodies. To this day, he still swears ‘voices’ told him to cut himself.

News accounts glossed over everything with the usual tactless comments from judgmental neighbors:

What else would you expect? The whole family was nothin’ but trash.

Yet I knew the truth.

So did Shannon Bradford.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped. “Just think about this, okay? If I sent the letter, why didn’t I send another one to keep you from getting out again?”

I dug the last bag from the cart and hauled it to her car. “How the hell should I know? You’re the one with amnesia. Maybe you forgot.”

Shannon stared hard at me. “Really?”

I lifted a brow in answer.

She scowled. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and once I do, you’ll have no more excuses.”

I laughed at her and dumped the bag in.

“We’re both injured parties here,” she insisted.

Yeah, right. I made a ‘bitch, please’ face, slammed the trunk and shoved the cart aside. Tipping an invisible hat brim, I said, “You have a good day.”

But she caught my wrist when I turned to leave and it felt like some kind of heat ray zapped the spot she touched. The sensation coursed through my blood, melted into my bones.

Her hand wasn’t much bigger than a child’s, but it had the weight of someone three times her size. I stared at where we were joined, then lifted my eyes to her face. She looked as stunned as me. Lips parted, she’d had the same confused expression when we’d stood outside the hospital. Then and now, the world and the last twelve years seemed to fall away.

I blinked to clear my head. “You got somethin’ else to say to me?”

Our gazes held as the wind tore into her hair. She released my wrist to absently tuck an errant lock behind her ear. “You may not believe this,” she said, her bottom lip trembling, “but the fact that you’re hurting makes me hurt too.”

My shoulders inched down a notch. She actually looked sincere. The moment stretched on while I examined her face, searching for something beyond my reach. Silence ballooned into awkwardness and she backed away, her skin pale, her chocolate-brown eyes dulled over in bewilderment.

She wasted no time hightailing it to her car, and after climbing behind the wheel, she pulled off without looking back. An icy breeze tugged at my peacoat as I absently rubbed my wrist and watched her Volvo melt into the endless chain of traffic.

When she’d completely vanished minutes later, I turned to find Amber leaning against the SUV, waiting, her eyes fixed on me.

SHANNON

____________________________

I was crouched on the wraparound porch of an old house, trying to open the front door. Ten minutes I’d been at this, and I hadn’t gotten anywhere. Thanksgiving and Snowmageddon had come and gone a week ago, but everything was still iced-over—hinges, locks, the whole shebang. At this rate, I’d need a blowtorch.

Situated in the heart of New Dyer’s historic district, this house, a romantic Queen Anne Victorian, had languished on the market for a year. The leaky roof, warped parquet floors, termite damage, and peeling wallpaper hadn’t endeared it to many, but anyone with imagination could see the swan within this ugly duckling.

A wind gust rocked the porch just as my 9 a.m. appointment rolled into the carport thirty minutes early. Musty air greeted me once the lock finally relented, but another gale licked from behind and ripped the handle from my grasp. My purse went next. Its contents skipped across the parquet floor like jacks.

I stared down in horror: ChapStick, wallet, mints, Midol, change, and two tampons.

“Just lovely,” I muttered.

Without thinking, I dropped to the floor in a frantic grab, but had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Pain roared down my leg when the scab on my knee split. The weathervane on the carport whirled as Ian Lovejoy, a marine with sleepy brown eyes and a buzz cut, rounded his car to help Kimmy, his very pregnant wife.

A minute later, Kimmy gave a buoyant wave. “Hi, Shannon.”

“Hey, lady.” I shoved the last tampon into my purse. “Be careful. One of the neighborhood boys put rock salt out for me, but there’s still some ice patches.”

“We’re early, but I was kinda anxious,” Ian said. He curled an arm around Kimmy as they made their way up the steps. “Yeah, the place needs work. Termite damage, a warped porch…a leaky roof, but we want it anyway.”

I struggled to my feet, brushing myself off. Though I was all smiles, I felt numb. The Victorian had really grown on me. “Well, now,” I said, pumping a ton of sunshine into my voice. “Looks like we’ve got an offer to write. Shall we go back to the office?”

Ian beamed. “Mind if we take another look?”

“Take all the time you need.”

Lovejoy didn’t waste any.

He scooped Kimmy up and whirled her around. They rushed into the house like children hearing a recess bell. After Kimmy slid down his body, he delivered a kiss that bordered on pornographic. With one hand cupping his wife’s behind, Lovejoy palmed the door shut.