Bitterroot Lake

“I wanted”—Vonda’s voice became a thread to the past. “I miss him so much. All the things he never got to do because of Lucas Erickson.”

Sarah’s senses snapped back to life. “Stay right there,” she said, and marched to the counter where she ordered two double-shot lattes. Pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted Leo. I’m in the grocery store having coffee with the killer. Studied her screen as the espresso machine buzzed, watching Vonda Brown Garrett out of the corner of her eye.

On my way, he replied. Stay safe and keep him talking.

So Leo didn’t know, either. Who did he think the killer was?

After minutes that seemed like hours and years, the lattes were ready and she carried them to the table, hoping, praying that her fear didn’t show.

How could this petite, grieving woman be a killer?

You never knew. And like they said of the Old West, a gun was a great equalizer.

“Tell me everything,” she said. To her astonishment, Vonda drew the hot coffee toward her, gripping it like the proverbial lifeline, and began speaking.

She’d been pregnant at the time, not due for weeks but having trouble. Afraid that the shock of Michael’s death would trigger premature labor, the elder Browns had opted to stay in San Diego with their daughter rather than travel to Montana. What could they do anyway? They’d visited a few times to see their son play, had just been here for his college graduation, but had never wanted to come back and see where he’d died. To make the pilgrimage, as she called it.

“They wanted to remember him alive,” Sarah said.

But Vonda’s own desire finally compelled her to act. She’d flown into Missoula last week, walked the campus, found his face in the team photos lining the halls of Dahlberg Arena. “I asked around, talked to people who knew him. That’s when I heard that Jeremy had died, and I realized if I was ever going to find out the truth, it had to be now.”

That’s why the letter had been addressed to her, not to them both.

“I didn’t know I was going to come up to Deer Park yet,” Vonda continued. “I went to the library and wrote you and your sister. And Lucas.”

“And Janine.”

“Later, after I found out her married name.” Vonda sipped her coffee, her plum lipstick leaving traces of color on the paper cup.

That answered Nic’s question about how the letter to Sarah had arrived before she left Seattle on Sunday, when Janine didn’t get hers until Monday.

“Why leave Nic out? I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt us, but what did you think would happen? What did you think we’d do?”

“I hoped …” She lifted her gaze to Sarah. “The whole thing never sounded right. We had the highway patrol report—that’s where we got your sister’s name and Janine’s. Of course, we knew yours and Jeremy’s. Michael had told Mom and Dad that he was going up to the lake with Lucas and another guy, to see some girls. What was your other question? Nick? I don’t know who he is.”

Sarah had never seen the crash report. In her mind, they’d all been there together, the four girls, but that wasn’t true, was it? She and Jeremy had been out riding. Holly had been sunbathing, and Michael and Nic had just come in from canoeing on the lake when Janine managed her escape. When they heard the crash, Nic had stayed at the lodge, near the phone. Her name wasn’t in the report, even though she’d made the call, because she hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t been up on the highway with the rest of them.

“What happened? Why did the three boys race away in the sports car? Mich

ael’s things were still in the cabin. The sheriff packed them up and sent them to my parents. What didn’t they tell us?”

Vonda didn’t know. How could she? They’d kept quiet about the attack, about Michael and Jeremy trying to stop Lucas from leaving, afraid that he’d hurt himself or someone else. But she wanted to hear what Vonda had to say before getting tangled up in all that.

“Why did you come up here, to Deer Park?”

“To confront him. Lucas.” Vonda’s hands tightened around the cup. “I needed to know the truth. Why my baby brother died. He owed me that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Leo walk in. Though his manner was as casual as his jeans and fleece pullover, he quickly scanned the area, sizing up the situation. He was alone, but she was sure backup waited outside. She couldn’t see his gun, but he always carried one. He pulled a chair from the table next to theirs and sat.

“What did Lucas say to you?” Sarah asked the woman across from her.

The hurt on Vonda Garrett’s face deepened. “He sneered. He had no intention of telling me a thing.”

“And you shot him?”

“Oh, God, no. No.” Vonda’s eyes darted from Sarah to Leo, as if just noticing him and his interest. “No. I would never …” Her mouth formed the perfect O of a choir singer.

And though two minutes ago, she’d been convinced the woman was guilty, Sarah believed her.