“Do you?”

She put a hand to her chest when her words stalled.

“I went to his house once, on a domestic disturbance call. It was before I met you. But the bracelet . . .” He slid it back and forth between his hands. “It couldn’t have gotten there unless you’d been there, in his boat. And that could only mean you’d been with him. You’d been with him.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned to hide her cheeks that flamed.

“Violet,” he pressed, his tone one of need, plain and simple. Need and love, even still. “Did you love him? Was he why you left me? After all these years, you could at least tell me the truth.”

The truth. It was what she’d been hiding for so long. She’d built her life around hiding it, and now the tidal wave in her chest—the overwhelming urge to let it all go—crashed down hard on her.

“I didn’t love Jay Malone,” she said, her back still to him. “I didn’t love him; I killed him.”

There was a sound of movement at the door. Trudy, Maya, and Tyler were crowded into the doorway, their faces painted with shock and alarm.

As the weight of a thousand pounds slid down her arms and to the floor, Violet exhaled. It’s time, she thought. These are my people and they deserve to know. Come what may.

Behind them came another voice. “Uncle Frank?” The police officer, Justin, stuck his head through the open doorway. “Everything okay in here?”

“You may as well come on in too.” Violet motioned with her hand. “Sit down, all of you. I have a story to tell.”

When everyone was settled, she perched on a chair by the register and clasped her hands together over her knees. She exhaled a long, thin stream of years, then began.

“A long time ago Jay Malone was known as the friendliest guy in town.” Violet swallowed a lump of disgust that crept up the back of her throat. “But he wasn’t who everyone thought he was.”

Seventeen

It took forty years, but Trudy Figg finally woke up. It had something to do with hearing her sister tell the story of that night—their story—and something to do with the whirl of wind that snaked through the partially open front door. It was blue and pulsing and alive. When it sensed Trudy, it headed straight for her, curled around her back, and gave her a push. And it wasn’t a soft push, either. It was a persuasive shove. It’s time, the wind said.

Violet had tried so hard to rescue Trudy from Jay’s clutches, but he had a vise grip on Trudy’s hand and heart, and as hard as Violet tried to break it, he just held tighter. Trudy had never been the strong one—that was always Violet, everyone knew that—so she resigned herself to life with Jay and whatever would come of it.

But one night Violet showed up with a steely determination in her eyes—“You’re coming with me, Trudy”—but her determination only fueled Jay’s anger.