living traced into Cora’s own face now?
“Sir, do you want us to go with you?” Thomas asked.
“It’s too late and too far to go for the chief. I’ll need help get-
ting her body down. Not right to leave her until morning.”
“I’ll take Cora home,” Arthur said, and Cora saw the way the
other two men startled, looking to the corner of the bottom step
where Arthur was. Cora never forgot he was near, but everyone
else seemed to. Except Minnie, who always dragged him out of the
shadows.
“No, I want to come. She needs —” She squeezed her eyes
shut against the vision of the witch — Mary — swaying at the
end of her life. “She needs something over her slip before any more
people see her. I should do that.”
The walk back to the hill took far less time than it ought to have.
Before Cora could steel herself for the task ahead, they were bathed
in the falsely warm light of the window. Arthur let out a sharp hiss of
a breath. Cora snapped her eyes up and looked through the window.
There was no one there.
“Where is she?” Thomas cried, pressing his hands to the glass.
There was no body, no rope. The ladder stood against the wall,
apparently innocent of its role as accomplice.
Daniel’s voice had a wary edge to it now. “You said she hanged
herself in this room?”
“She did! We saw it! She was right there!” Thomas jabbed his
finger against the glass. “Someone must have moved the body.”
Without another word, Daniel strode past them. Cora didn’t
know whether to follow or stay put; either way, her feet wouldn’t
move. She and Thomas and Arthur had taken twenty minutes at
most to return. Mary wasn’t just gone — the entire scene had been
cleared, rewritten.