Spitefully, I didn’t tell her about the seeds. I was so disappointed. My head was spinning. Leaving Carson in his chair, I went to David’s office and knocked loudly on the door. When there was no answer I tried the handle and found it unlocked. I hadn’t seen inside his office for weeks, and the lack of cleaning was evident. A bin overflowing with Coke cans, fast-food wrappers, even cigarette butts, and the stale smell of the room confirmed that he’d been smoking in there. The desk was ringed in drink marks and covered in a layer of dust and crumbs. The computer was also dusty, as if it hadn’t been used in weeks. Screenplays were piled everywhere, held together by little metal clips, alongside reams of paperwork, contracts. What was going on? How did his company not have enough money to pay for an option? I’d read enough movie news to know that this wasn’t usually all that much, not until a project got the green light. I stepped forward slightly, seeing that one of his desk drawers was open. In it two things – an almost empty bottle of whisky. And a gun. David had a gun. I would later find out it was a 9mm Glock, but at the time I had no idea what type it was, just that it was there, and it was terrifying. I stood in the doorway feeling the fear grow inside me, blooming like some dark desert flower.

Rachel

Rachel

So I’d learned something from Don Samson, although not what I’d expected. I had to think of a way to ask Alex why he’d dropped Sam off with Anna on the night before she was murdered, assuming I ever saw him again. He hadn’t answered my last two messages and I was trying not to send a third, but really I knew my pride was leaking from me, along with everything else.

I was back in town now, and I stopped in the quiet evening street, the shops around me shuttered, rain moving in over the lake, and mulled it over. I’d sent Facebook messages to all the Alison Harpers I could find, but it was starting to feel like a bit of a long shot. However, as I was trudging home, rain all down my back and into my boots, I checked my phone and was surprised to find a message from one of the Alisons, the one with a professional profile pic of her smiling, arms folded, as if in a brochure. Yes, it was me who met with Anna Devine, but I’m not a massage client. Can I ask what this is regarding? Are you with the police?