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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here. Well, partly. What do you think he wants?”

She thought about it, shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.” Heat blew through me, and my skin prickled. Would he come back to my house tonight? She motioned for her friend’s cigarette. He passed it, and she inhaled, offering no further thoughts on her fuck-buddy’s motivation.

“That’s a pretty ring,” I said. “Where’d you get it?”

She gave me a weird look, like who cares? “My pops gave it to me ages ago. When I was in high school, when I fantasized about being a witch.” Softening, she said, “It was my mom’s.”

“My mom had one just like it.” I pictured Mom in her leopard print robe, elbows on the counter, breasts leveraged against her forearms, wrinkled cleavage popping. Ragged fingernails. Cataract-purple crystal held by claws on her ringed middle finger. Her coffee mug of vodka and peach crystal light.

Desiree sucked on the cigarette again, exhaled, and handed it back to her friend. “I guess I’m not too surprised. They had a bunch Wicca shops in Yellow Valley when I was a kid. Beautiful jewelry. Most went out of business, but there’s still one there. The Red Butterfly.”

Desiree’s mom was probably ten years younger than my mom, but they existed during the same grunge fashion of the nineties. Mood rings, slip dresses under flannel shirts, and fringe coats. “I guess,” I said. “The reason I stopped by. I really need to ask your dad about the Dawn Young case.”

“Hea-ther,” she said, pausing between syllables, as if I were her baby sister. “Drop it. Seriously. It’s just town gossip, but the thing is, people in this town, they need to hold on to their version of history.” To her friend, she said, “Break’s over. Let’s roll.”

He held his cigarette like he was playing darts, tossed it as far as he could, and walked away.

She followed him, but stopped. “Heather. We’re off work in an hour. We’re going to the river, under the bridge. You should come.”

“I can’t. And I can’t drop it,” I said. “And how hard could it be for me to find out where he lives?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “The intersection of Route 34 and Salisbury. Red house with a cow out front.”

38

38

I was looking for a cow statue by the mailbox.

Nope. Asher Moss had a real fucking cow. It stood out front, near the road, chewing the tall grass Asher hadn’t mowed. It looked like a peaceful cow. A storybook Holstein dairy cow, white with black spots, but I wasn’t familiar with bovine behavior. If it charged, I wanted to be up on that porch.