Beverly led me over to the center of the room, where there was a long gray couch and a few chairs. All the furniture in her house was modern and a bit artistic, but arranged in a way that made everything feel comfortable and inviting.

She gestured toward the couch and I sat down on the edge of it, not wanting to look too relaxed. Beverly took the chair opposite me and laced her fingers in her lap. She looked at me expectantly.

I wasn’t really sure where to start. “Someone is trying to ruin your grandfather’s exhibit,” I began. “And I don’t think it’s you.”

“So you’ve said,” said Beverly. She still seemed guarded, and she was looking at me like she was unsure of what to think. I thought that I could understand why. Everyone in Shady Oaks had assumed so many bad things about Beverly; why would she think that I was any different?

I decided to start from the beginning. I told Beverly about being sent the newspaper article, about deciding to come to Shady Oaks and trying to figure out what had happened to Grace Rogers. I told her about Jacob going missing and his girlfriend Emily’s story about Terry Lawrence and his ability to curse people. I told her what I knew about Christopher DeSantos and Terry Lawrence, which admittedly wasn’t much.

I decided to leave out the part about how many Shady Oak locals thought Beverly might be behind these kidnappings, or how many of them believed she might harm them if they helped me. It didn’t feel like information Beverly needed to know. Unfortunately, she seemed to figure this part out anyway.

“Let me guess,” she said, when I had finished speaking. “Everyone thinks it’s me?”

I nodded slowly. “Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

Beverly shrugged like this was just something she was used to. “You must have thought it was me at one point,” she said. “I overheard you and your friends discussing the case, at the diner. Your redheaded friend in particular seemed quite certain I had something to do with everything that’s been happening.”

“That was Riley,” I said, cringing a bit. “I had to consider all the possibilities. I hope you understand. Though I no longer believe you had anything to do with the missing people.”

Beverly looked down at her lap and sat in silence for a minute, as though she was deciding whether or not to say something. “I have a confession as well,” she said at last. I sat up a bit straighter. What could Beverly possibly have to confess? “I was the one who sent you that newspaper clipping.”

“You were? Why?”

Beverly looked up at me and then said, “I knew someone was sabotaging the exhibit, and I needed a detective to figure out who. I didn’t write you a letter or sign my name because I didn’t want anyone to know you were working with me. If they did, no one would have trusted you. I considered contacting you once you got into town….”