The remnants of the blood spill in the kitchen they found during the forensic investigation was a point of contention—too fresh to belong to Billy, but still possible proof that Ken had hurt someone there. The blood type was O positive, the same as Billy’s, and also Ken’s. It’s the most common blood type in the world and could have belonged to almost anyone. Even so, the jury seemed to think it meant Ken was guilty as charged.

He went to prison still insisting that he never buried Billy Peak. He claimed he thought I’d hidden the body in my storage unit and left the boy’s clothes by the water so everyone would think he had drowned. He said he thought I’d done it to protect him.

Only one of those three statements was true.

In the apartment I share with my son, we toasted the news of Ken’s conviction with sparkling water. Eli’s thriving in his new school. He belongs to several clubs. He has friends. He even has a girlfriend. Here in this new town, this new life, Eli and I are trying our best to be happy, and for the first time, maybe ever, I am.

When the bell jingles overhead, I look up from where I was shutting down my computer. I recognize the young woman right away from her pictures on her blog, but I pretend I don’t. She makes a show of looking at the collection of Merry Mushroom kitchenware I have set up near the front of the store.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Jewelann Jordan?”

“Kahan,” I tell her smoothly.

“Right. I was wondering if you’d be willing to talk to me for my podcast?” She hands me her card.

I knew it was only a matter of time.

I stand and walk around my desk, taking her gently by the elbow to lead her toward the door. “I don’t discuss what happened. I’m sure you can understand.”

She’s outside on the pavement before I think she knows it, and I lock the door before she can try to get back in. I smile and wave at her, though. No hard feelings. She’ll be back anyway, or someone like her, digging around for an inside scoop. That’s all right.

I’m very good at keeping secrets.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

WRITING IS A solitary adventure, but nevertheless, books don’t get published without the help of a team. I want to thank the entire Crooked Lane Books crew, especially Melissa Rechter for her eyes on the page. She guided me toward a much better book than I wrote on my own. Thanks also to Nicole Lecht for a cover as off-kilter and subtly detailed as I hope the book turned out to be.

Thanks to my agent, Lynnette Novak, for her unflagging enthusiasm. It’s a lot easier to be excited about writing something when someone else tells you how wonderful your ideas are!

Gratitude to my writing friends: Lauren Dane, Jaci Burton, Shannon Stacey, HelenKay Dimon (aka Darby Kane), Sarah Wendell, Vivian Arend, Misty Simon, Dorothy F. Shaw, and Brenda Murphy … nobody knows a writer’s pains like another writer. Thank you for listening to me vent, offering suggestions, pushing me to get the words out.