By the time she reached the garage, her sneakers were soaked. The overhead door rattled up on its tracks. Inside, she grabbed work gloves, then hauled the aluminum ladder down from its hook and dragged it across the lawn. Heaving one end up to the side of the house, she wished for the billionth time in her life that she was bigger than the average ten-year-old. At the top she curled her arm into the gutter and rooted for the blockage. Her fingers encountered a blob of slimy muck. She swept it clear, scattering decaying leaves and twigs on the grass below. Something slippery hit her cheek. She wiped it off with a forearm as rain rushed unimpeded through the cleared gutter.

She climbed down just as the mail truck was pulling up to the curb. Raindrops echoed in her nylon hood. She pulled off her gloves and headed down the walk, stopping to pluck a few weeds from between the bricks. Mandy stared down at the street. Large old homes occupied stately lots, their lawns greening with spring rains, early bulbs poking out of the flower beds. For visitors, Huntsville was lovely, quaint, and quintessentially New England. For Mandy, her hometown was a pretty prison. She’d lived in the old inn all her life, and it was likely she’d die in it as well.

The mailbox opened with a creak. She shuffled through the mail on the front porch. Bill, bill, bill, junk, credit card offer. Her fingers paused on the last envelope. Her breath dammed in her lungs.

Her name was neatly typed in the center. No return address. No postmark.

Just like the one she’d found resting on her pillow back in December.

She slid her finger beneath the flap and ripped it open. A photo of her brother, Bill, sitting on the front porch swing, slid out. A red line slashed across his neck. Her hand trembled, blurring the letters stenciled onto Bill’s chest in crimson ink.

SECRETS SAVE LIVES. DON’T FORGET IT.

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Danny sat behind the wheel in the parking lot. Through the kitchen window, Mandy finished her bread with jerky movements that belied her natural grace and broadcast her distress. A moment later, she pulled on a jacket and walked out onto the back porch. She flipped a hood over her shining brown ponytail. Halfway down the steps, she saw him. And froze. Her eyes stood out vivid blue against a sky of unrelenting gray, and the sadness welling from them was clear from across the parking area and strip of lawn.