Last Spring's Stranger: The Last Cold Case

By MJ LaBeff

Secrets can have deadly and life altering consequences.

 

The legend of Verch's Hollow has intrigued the residents of Snug Harbor, Ohio for generations. Myths about the abandoned property abound. When a teenage girl is murdered in the Hollow, her gruesome death threatens to expose a secret from Homicide Detective Rachel Hood's past. A victim of adolescent cyber bullying, messages fill her personal inbox with threatening undertones from years ago. Do keep evidence and share it with an authority. Forced to face the truth of her deception, she reopens a cold case that could jeopardize her career.

 

Enter FBI Agent Nick Draven an occult crimes specialist and Hood's fiancé. As they delve deeper into the sender's motive, Rachel has to confront the harsh reality she left behind over twelve years ago: a murdered friend, Tina; a glimpse of the killer at the scene of the crime, who she can't identify despite her psychic empathy; and her own involvement with the evening's sinister events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJ LaBeff
• Release date: Jul 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201383534

MJ LaBeff

MJ LaBeff is an American author best described as the girl-next-door with a dark side. MJ grew up in northeastern Ohio but traded snow for sunshine and moved to southern Arizona where she lives with her husband and three dogs. She’s drawn to writing suspense novels, featuring complicated characters and twisted plot lines that will keep readers turning page after page. When she’s not writing or plotting her next novel, MJ enjoys reading, running, lifting weights, and volunteering for the American Cancer Society.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

The Murders

Lenny Verch bounced up and down on top of the grinding tractor, plowing the fields of the family’s farmland. The sun stabbed in and out of the heavy clouds. After the brutal winter he had endured, breathing in the fresh spring air invigorated him. He gulped down another deep breath and glanced up at the sky. He couldn’t fool himself. Despite the atmosphere and rays of light poking above him, the tragedy that plagued this land hung eerily in the air.

The soft soil churned beneath the tractor’s blades. He’d have a good crop this year. Maybe he’d even drag out the patio furniture later today.

He sighed. The promise of spring wouldn’t pull Ursula out of a deep depression that had dragged his poor wife into an abyss over the holidays. He wasn’t sure anything would reach her. The psychiatrist had prescribed various pills. Nothing helped. No concoction of pharmaceuticals balanced such a fragile mind.

What the hell?

He yanked on the clutch, and the tractor chugged forward.

Damn, kids.

Local teenagers ignored the no trespassing signs posted on the property. He couldn’t police this many acres alone so he ignored them. Other people’s kids weren’t this man’s responsibility.

The bad blood that ran through this family had been washed clean decades ago, but the legend remained. Curious teens were fascinated with the black magic practiced here. They all came with the same purpose. Resurrect the spirit of Tina Verch.

It’s no wondering why Ursula couldn’t find peace. The woman was nearly as superstitious as the kids sneaking onto the land. Lenny knew Tina wasn’t ever coming back. Painful memories surfaced, reminding him of his daughter.

Something in the distance caught Lenny’s line of vision. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He squinted. Surely his eyes deceived him.  

Lenny stopped the tractor. He climbed down from the familiar perch, fell to both knees and sobbed, dropping his head into the palms of his hands.  

No, no, no, no, no, he said then opened a watery eye and glanced up. He jammed his face between both hands and shook it. I gotta be seeing things. Ursula’s gotta be getting to me.  

The moist ground dampened the knees of faded and well-worn overalls. A few minutes passed before he summoned the courage and forced his wobbly legs to a standing position. He wiped both eyes with the back of a hand. Slowly, he lifted his head. With a shaking hand he touched the girl’s cold skin.  

Lenny hadn’t imagined the human scarecrow staked into the ground before him.

* * * *

Homicide detective Rachel Hood arrived at the Blue Hour drive-in theatre around four o’clock in the morning. Fred Simpson, the theatre owner, was waiting for her in a truck parked under a dim light. The call he placed to 9-1-1 sounded like something out of a horror novel.

The Blue Hour had been a staple in Snug Harbor for as long as Rachel could remember. On the rare occasion her dad, now retired lieutenant detective, wasn’t working a case, he had taken Rachel and her sister, Amy, here to see an animated movie. Dad didn’t approve of the drive-in for dates unless it was a double-date with another couple. Not that Rachel had many dates in high school. After all, there were few boys willing to risk their lives to date a detective’s daughter. 

She zipped the front of the jacket, exited the SUV and walked over to the driver’s side of the truck. It took Fred a few minutes before he put down the window. He looked visibly shaken. Fred’s flushed pudgy round face beaded with sweat. He swiped his forehead with a red and black handkerchief fisted in one thick hand. Fred didn’t look well. He wiped at the spittle foaming in the corner of his mouth. Rachel stepped back. Sure enough Fred flung open the truck’s door, leaned forward and vomited.  

After a few minutes, Rachel said, Fred, why don’t you get out of the truck and tell me what happened.

He dragged the handkerchief across his forehead again and slowly climbed down from the vehicle. He wore denim overalls, a white T-shirt and tan Carhartt coat that he probably couldn’t close around an ever bulging belly. A man of average height, with short limbs and small features set in a heavy face with round brown eyes watered.  

I’ve never seen anything like it before, he said, lower lip quivering. He looked behind him then back at her. Do you think whoever killed them is still here? he said in a hushed tone.

Probably not, Rachel said, but scanned the area to reassure him. She hadn’t had a case yet where the murderer hung around and waited for the police to arrive. Considering there weren’t any other spectators to conceal him, it was unlikely he was here now. Can you tell me what happened?

I don’t know what happened. I came by to check on things. He paused and swallowed.

Wouldn’t you do that after the last feature?  

I’m old. I don’t get out of bed to come back here. I’ve got good people running the concessions. They lock it up and go. The kids have never been a problem before.

She couldn’t argue with him. Kids didn’t come here to drink or do drugs or cause mischief. They partied at some of the known hideouts along the beaches and other secluded places deep in the woods of Kill Buck Wildlife Area. They came to the Blue Hour to make out.

If they come out after the show is over, they’re just looking for a place to park in lovers’ lane.

Lovers’ lane was the name for the parking spaces located at the very back of the parking lot. The name hadn’t changed forever. Even when she was in high school kids came out to the Blue Hour to park in lovers’ lane and make out. Rachel didn’t want the reputation of being skanky—not that the opportunity had ever presented itself. The few boys she dated in high school wouldn’t dare go to lovers’ lane, no way, not with her detective dad possibly lurking. She couldn’t believe a milestone ten-year class reunion was approaching.  

You didn’t notice anyone suspicious when you drove in?  

He shook his head. I saw the car parked back there and went to check on it. I figured some kids fell asleep. He put the handkerchief to his mouth. It’s awful. Just awful.

She nodded. Okay, Fred, are there security cameras anywhere?  

He shook his head again. For what, nothing to steal, and I’ve never had a problem with vandalism. Kids like this place.

His flushed face had turned a ghostly white. Why don’t you get back in your truck and wait for me to take a look.

He nodded and turned away from her.  

Pitted gravel crunched beneath her boots. The parking lot had seen better days. It needed resurfacing badly. She grabbed the flashlight in the jacket’s side pocket and flipped it on. The car was parked in the last row. She neared it with careful steps, looking for possible shoe prints. She had expected to find many considering it was a drive-in theatre with kids getting in and out of cars. Her upper right lip curled in frustration. There were dozens of smudgy prints everywhere, going off in various directions.

Rachel stood about a foot away from the older model Honda then leaned forward and scrutinized the blood stains on the windshield. Next, she walked around to the driver’s side, stepping around the fresh vomit Fred had left behind. A smear of blood inside the corner of the window caught her eye. Maybe a possible print was left behind.  

She shined the light into the vehicle, trying to picture what had happened. A male and female were slain inside. Rigor had set in. The young girl’s face had contorted into a grimace from the contraction of her facial muscles. She could only see the side of the boy’s face but noticed the same tell-tale signs of death. Rachel shined the light around the interior. A couple of ticket stubs and a wallet sat on the dashboard. It didn’t take a detective to surmise the young couple had been more interested in privacy and making out than they were in seeing a movie.  

Spring fever stirred the residents of Snug Harbor spirits. The drive-in opened earlier than its usual May date this year. The harsh winter had cooped up people, and the warmer days had them longing for the outdoors. It would be a balmy fifty degrees today. Compared to the below zero temps a month ago, a day in the fifties sent residents out in flip-flops and shorts.  

The victims wore jeans and T-shirts now stained in blood. Their coats were tossed on the floor behind the front seats and the female’s bra was on the edge of the back seat behind the passenger’s side. The items had cast off from the monster’s blade.  

She would have expected to find the kids in the backseat. Since they weren’t, it told her that whoever did this had approached them long after the movie ended and just before the two were getting ready to leave. Had someone been watching them?  

Maybe the monster peeped into the windows while the two kids took advantage of one more chance to fool around. Then once they were trapped inside the front seats he took the opportunity to strike. It would have been much more difficult to take them by surprise and commit such a violent crime if they were in the back seat. 

After walking around the car, searching for clues, she went back to Fred’s truck and took his official statement and advised him he could go home. Fred Simpson didn’t murder these two kids.

Alone in the vast parking lot, a strange chill prickled her spine. Probably the fear Fred left scattered around the place. The crime scene technicians would be there soon. She took a deep breath. For chrissakes, pull yourself together, you’re a detective, get to work.  

She walked back to the car, stopping at the driver’s side window and looked at the smudge of blood grazing the upper right corner again.  

The sound of another vehicle’s tires grinding across the gravel meant the crime scene techs had arrived. She glanced over one shoulder relieved to see Nadia Kuzinski climb out of the car. Rachel turned back to the Honda and the massacre inside.

Nadia approached and Rachel glanced her way.

Detective, what did you find?  

Nadia was covered from head to toe in white protective clothing, a pair of large goggles covered wire-rimmed glasses and each hand was covered in gloves.

This doesn’t get any easier, especially when kids are involved. She exhaled heavy. They had their whole lives ahead of them.

Whether they’re young or old...murder is never easy, Nadia said, empathizing with her.

Let’s get started, possible print, Rachel said and pointed to the driver’s side window.  

She pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Make sure to check for prints under the door handles.

Nadia nodded and started to photograph the scene.

Once the exterior photos were finished, Rachel opened the driver’s side door. The male’s body was slumped over the female. The kid’s blood had poured across part of the poor girl’s face and slit throat. Head hung off the backrest. The young girl was nearly decapitated. Rachel took a step back, looking away from the girl’s slack face and open throat. She shuddered at the two young lives taken.  

Nadia zoomed in with the camera and photographed the interior.  

No matter how many homicide scenes Rachel had processed, she would never get used to the brutality one human could lob onto another. When kids were involved—she exhaled the breath dying to escape. Emotions flipped from sadness for the dead teenagers to rage toward the killer who had sliced their throats. Her lips twitched in anger. Rachel rocked back and forth on both heels, knocking angry fists together in front of her. It felt good to expel some of the boiling rage. What kind of monster savagely murders two innocent teenagers?  

Her mind drifted back to the Organ Snatcher case last fall. More teenagers’ lives had been lost.  

Another vehicle arrived. The tech stepped out and donned the same protective gear Nadia had worn. Footsteps echoed across the crunchy parking lot.  

Brian Bentley, reporting for duty, Detective Hood.  

Hi, Brian. Nadia’s here, she’ll be lead, Rachel said.

He nodded and went over to Nadia. The two began working in tandem. Brian took over the camera while Nadia collected evidence. 

Rachel walked over to the passenger side door, reached beneath the handle and lifted it. The door was locked. Again she considered the possibility the killer had watched and waited until the parking lot was nearly empty, imagining the grisly night. The two teenagers had exited the back seat, climbed into the front seats, and then the monster took them by surprise, locking the doors so the female couldn’t escape while her friend was brutally murdered, knowing she would be next. 

Rachel looked down at the dead teenagers. The male’s head was turned sideways and rested against the female’s shoulder. The boy’s wide hand covered the girl’s exposed right breast. Something wasn’t right. Why wouldn’t she have put the bra on? Something about the position of the bodies wasn’t right either. They seemed stage. The monster who did this had wanted to humiliate them. Could this be a teenage love triangle gone wrong?

The crime scene tech approached with a camera in hand. They walked around the car together. Rachel gave instructions as to what shots were needed, and then asked him to zoom in on the interior.  

She pulled her cell phone from a jacket pocket and snapped some photos for quick reference.

She noticed a burn mark on the girl’s arm and took a close-up of it.  

Whoever did this knew these kids would be here. She would need to question the kids’ parents, friends, and mutual acquaintances. Swallowing past the lump, and pushing away the swell of tears building behind critical eyes, didn’t help squash the memory of the day Amy went missing and every day that passed after. They questioned everyone close to her sister, turning over every detail and invading the privacy of her life and anyone associated with it. The hurt in their dad’s eyes forced water to bubble in Rachel’s eyes. Don’t cry. You found Amy. You will find this monster. Focus on the case. Fingerprints found on the interior and exterior of the car would need to be eliminated. 

Another vehicle approached. Tires crackled beneath the rocky gravel. The medical examiner had arrived.  

Thomas Klinger had been the M.E. since her dad, retired Lieutenant Detective Joe Hood, served on the Metro County Sheriff’s Department. Even with age he hadn’t changed much. The doctor’s thick black hair had gradually turned white over the years and the tiny lines around those scrutinizing brown eyes had deepened. His face held this perpetual squint probably from peering through a microscope and analyzing other minute evidence recovered from a dead body. He wore a jacket and black pants and clutched a black medical bag filled with staples of a death investigation kit. Never veering from this self-imposed standard issue style.

Detective, he said, and nodded at her. Next he walked over to Nadia and the other crime scene tech and introduced himself. Rachel smiled at the good doctor’s strong ethics. Klinger followed proper protocol to the letter. They all knew each other and had worked numerous crime scenes together.

Any other victims? he asked, and leaned into the car. He checked each for a pulse.

Rachel hated the word victim and refused to use it. Period. Even when called into court. These were people who suffered unexpected and tragic deaths. They were not victims. They fought back, they struggled, they did not want to die; they were not victims. Klinger examined the bodies, documented injuries, and declared them officially dead.

No others, Rachel said. She couldn’t wait to find out their names. It connected her to a case on a deeper level by using their names.

Excuse me, Rachel said, and reached for the wallet on the dash board then flipped the bi-fold open and read the driver’s license. Patrick Shea. His name is Patrick Shea.

She pressed the power lock button and walked over to the passenger side, lifting the handle. The girl’s purse was covered in blood on the floor in front of her. Carefully, Rachel reached for it and then opened the small cross-body bag. Behind a slot of clear plastic was the girl’s driver’s license. Kyla Orton. Her name is Kyla Orton.

Rachel worked closely enough with Nadia and Thomas for them to understand how much she disliked the word victim. 

Touchdown, Browns! A gruff male voice jolted Rachel’s thought process followed by the sound of barking dogs.  

She turned to Klinger and said, One of them has a cell, and I’m guessing it’s his. Rachel slid the phone from the back of Patrick’s pocket. The display read mom and dad. It’s his parents. I’ve got to go.

Chapter 2

Thirty minutes later, Rachel stood in front of the Shea’s front door with an index finger poised to ring the bell. She paused. Beyond the door people argued.  

What would you like me to do? a woman said. Stick a cork in her?

Oh, that’s nice, Marcia, a man said. Our son is going to college. Being a dad is not part of the plan.

Eric, calm down, another man’s voice joined the heated discussion. Don’t you think we want the same thing for Kyla? She’s a straight A-student. She has potential to do something great.

The other man snorted. Patrick is destined for the NFL. He’s going to be the next Tom Brady.

Well, that oughta solve world peace or find a cure for cancer, the woman said.

Honey, I think we all just need to calm down, the man said. Eric, this isn’t the first time the kids have stayed out all night. I’m sure they’re scared about this happening again. They’ll show up.

Rachel pressed the door bell.  

A tall man, late forties, possibly early fifties, stood on the other side. His chiseled features and lopsided mouth held disapproval. She had interrupted the erupting feud. He was dressed casually in khakis and a long sleeve Polo dress shirt the top button was open and revealed the white T-shirt beneath. His physique appeared muscular. The leather shoes he wore looked expensive and freshly buffed.

Mr. Shea? Rachel asked.

Yes, he said with questioning eyes.

I’m Detective Hood from the Metro County Sheriff’s department. May I come in? She held up the official city issued badge and handed off a business card.

Oh my God, the kids, a woman said, and ran to the door, then wrapped both arms around the man’s waist. 

Rachel glanced at Mrs. Shea’s distraught face. She was a pretty woman approximately the same age as her husband with blonde hair flipped in waves and just the right amount of makeup to accentuate delicate facial features. She wore jeans, a green sweater that enhanced the color of her eyes and a pair of black boots. 

Are you Eric and Quinn Shea? Patrick’s parents? Rachel asked.

Yes, they replied in unison.

Is he in some kind of trouble? Eric Shea asked.

No.  

Another couple huddled behind the Sheas. Rachel looked past Mrs. Shea’s shoulder and glanced at the woman standing next to the man at her side. Are you the Orton’s? Kyla’s parents?

Yes, the man replied. David and Marcia.  

I need to speak with all of you, Rachel said. It’s about Patrick and Kyla.  

They took a collective step back and allowed the detective to enter.

The modest entry had creamy beige walls that looked like coffee creamer. The room would have felt cheery and inviting but considering the circumstances dread ran through her veins. Rachel hated delivering this kind of news to parents. To the left was a small table with a vase filled with an arrangement of flowers; above it hung a simple rack with hooks for keys. A coat rack and a mat for wet shoes and boots was opposite the table.

What’s this about? Mr. Shea demanded.

There’s no easy way for me to tell you this.

Oh my God. Mrs. Shea leaned against her husband and placed both hands against his chest. Mr. Shea rested a hand over his wife’s.  

Rachel glanced from them to the Ortons. Mrs. Orton had taken a similar stance next to her husband. It was apparent they had rolled out of bed and rushed over to the Sheas. They each wore workout clothes and tennis shoes. Rachel doubted they had come from the gym. Anxious but concerned expressions filled their faces.  

Are the kids all right? Mrs. Orton asked, and leaned closer to her husband.  

No, I’m sorry. Patrick and Kyla were murdered last night.

Quinn Shea’s and Marcia Orton’s sobs ripped across her being. Both women had collapsed into their husband’s arms. The men tried hard to remain strong, but tears rimmed their eyes and eventually streamed down their faces. Rachel’s heart broke for all of them. She gave them another minute.

Is there somewhere we can sit so I can take your statements? As much as she knew this wasn’t the right time badgering them with questions while they grieved, there was an urgency to find answers and locate the killer.

Eric led them to the kitchen. He helped lower Quinn into a chair. David did the same for Marcia. Once the men took a seat, Rachel pulled out a chair and sat down.  

The faint smell of this morning’s coffee drifted. A cup beneath a fancy coffee maker had been left untouched. A pan of scrambled eggs coagulated on the stove and two pieces of toast remained in the toaster. The room had the same creamy beige walls accented in red trim. A chef theme complimented the designer colors. Rachel hadn’t noticed anything unusual from the entrance to the kitchen. She cast a glance around the kitchen one more time.  

She removed the tablet from an inside jacket pocket and tapped the screen. The machine buzzed to life, and the note taking page opened.  

Did you know Patrick and Kyla were going out last night?

The four nodded.

To the drive-in, Eric Shea said.  

Rachel picked up on Shea’s need to control the situation from the moment they met. He was a man who liked to be in charge.  

She looked at the other three who didn’t dispute the comment. So, you all knew they would be at the drive-in.

More head nods.

Mr. Shea, were Patrick and Kyla dating?

It’s Eric, and yes.

For how long?

What does this have to do with anything? Quinn Shea snapped. My son is dead. Dead! She broke down and cried again. Eric leaned in next to her, but a forceful arm pushed him away. Oh, Patrick, my precious boy.

The chain reaction of inconsolable tears started. Marcia sobbed next to Quinn. The two clung to each other for support. A distraught Eric glanced at David.  

I know this is hard, Rachel said, looking at the two men. The questions I’m asking are important so we can find out who hurt them.

Hurt them? Quinn’s head popped up. The woman shook free of Marcia and twisted in the chair, glaring at Rachel. Hurt is when someone hit Patrick on the football field. He’s dead. My son is dead. He’s not hurt!

Quinn was on the verge of hysterics. Rachel recognized the symptoms. Quinn’s eyes looked crazy. Rachel couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult the death of a child was for a parent. Except for the screams and sobs from the moms and dads of previous cases, the names Meredith McKinney and Sue Carmucci reminded her of the Summer Time Slayer, and not only of the dead women but the years that yawned on before the missing women were found. The sorrow and tears she’d witnessed in those family members eyes. An unexpected twist in the pit of Rachel’s stomach took the detective by surprise, recalling a terrible blunder. Brittany Fulton’s parents had been called to make a positive ID of their daughter last fall. The blood curdling cry ripping from deep within Gail Fulton, My baby, oh, no, God, my baby... echoed along with Rachel’s own words, I’m sorry for your loss. Benjamin Fulton’s anguished face haunted her. The detective forced the imagined sounds and unpleasant images away not wanting to remember the fatal mistake she’d made.

Sweetheart. Eric rubbed Quinn’s back. She slumped over the table, head shaking. Loud sobs racked the fragile woman’s body. The harder she cried, the faster Eric’s hand went up and down his inconsolable wife’s back.  

Marcia’s red-rimmed eyes looked upon them with sympathy. Tears streamed down both cheeks. She scooted the chair closer to David, rested her head against his chest and cried into the tissue.  

Had either of them been dating other people? Rachel directed the question to David.

His head shook and eyes lowered.

What can you tell me about them? Rachel prodded him.

They were two young kids in love. As parents we worried. We wanted them to go to college.

Rachel wondered if Kyla was pregnant remembering overhearing what Eric had said before ringing the doorbell. Our son is going to college. Being a dad is not part of the plan.

You worried about? Rachel let the question hang in the air.

David sighed. Kyla had come to Marcia and asked about going on the pill. The kids were... He stopped, massaged his forehead, then exhaled a heavy sigh. Naturally, Marcia had told me. I went through the roof. I mean, at the time, it seemed outrageous, she’s my little girl.  

I’m sorry, but I have to ask...was Kyla pregnant?

Yes, David replied.  

She wanted to give the parents time to grieve but had a job to do. Not only were they mourning the loss of their kids but also grieving their unborn grandchild.

I have to ask all of you, where were you last night?

This is preposterous, Eric said and looked up. You think one of us would hurt our kids?

Quinn sobbed and mumbled, We all had dinner together. She sniffed. I made Patrick’s favorite and then he left to pick up Kyla for the movie.

After dinner we sat by the fire and had a bottle of wine, Eric said, and pulled his wife closer to him. Quinn’s face blushed. Rachel surmised the couple were looking forward to an evening at home alone.  

You and Mr. Shea were home all evening then?

Yes, neither of us left the house.

She turned the attention on to the Ortons. We had dinner. Patrick picked up Kyla and then I went out for a run.

How long were you out for?

About thirty minutes.

Did you see anyone?

David shifted, making the chair creak. He looked irritated at her. Jason Werner, our neighbor saw me. I waved to him while he was taking out the trash.

Did you leave the house at all Mrs. Orton?

No. I cleaned up the kitchen and then cut up some fresh fruit for us.

Okay, that’s all for now. If you could each make a list of their friends, we’ll want to talk with them. We’ll need you to come down to the Sheriff’s department. We found a driver’s license for each of them, but we’ll need you to identify them. I’m sorry for your loss. She started to rise from the chair.

Hey, wait a minute, Eric demanded.

Do you have any idea who did this?

Our investigation is just getting started.  

Rachel’s cell rang. She pulled it out from a jacket pocket. It was Captain Thane. I’m sorry, I need to take this. Rachel pushed back the chair and walked out to the entry way.

It’s Hood. I’ll be right there.

Her heart dropped and stomach flipped. The Sheriff out at Verch’s Hollow. Another teenager was found dead.

* * * *

Rachel parked the SUV in an alcove just beyond the covered bridge. The recess had been made by curious residents interested in the legend surrounding the land. The detective hadn’t stepped foot on the property since that horrible night over twelve years ago. Her mouth went dry and throat constricted. She swallowed hard.  

Sheriff Trevor Mitchel’s department issued car was parked on one side of her, and Deputy Jimmy Sneaky Snakes Raines car on the other. No wonder she was called out to the Blue Hour. Deputies Dennis Greene and Paul Joslin were also on the scene. Rachel shuddered to think of the potential bloodshed that might have occurred at the Hollow. She inhaled and exhaled. Thankful they hadn’t waited for the homicide detective to arrive. It took about a minute to pull herself together.

Eventually, the past would catch up with her. That much was true. What she didn’t know was that the truth would come out