a deadly storm, an unsolved disappearance, and a small town brimming with secrecy;
an outcast girl, a boy who only knows how to hide, and the world against them;
what could go wrong?
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Early the following morning, Boo and Harry had driven to Harrisford to try and convince Ashton that now was the time to move on Nathaniel; that they were certain his guilt could be proven. It had been an exhausting conversation, lasting hours down at the Harrisford station, but Ashton wasn't having any of it, citing lack of evidence as his excuse. Again. It had been three days since her and Harry's encounter with Warren at the graveyard, and they were still spinning their wheels in the mud.
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"What more could you possibly need?" Boo cries into the phone. She'd given Ashton another phone call, trying once more—unsuccessfully—to convince him to do something; anything.
"We've been over this, Miss Taylor," Ashton counters, attempting to use his business voice to get through to her. Boo isn't having any of it.
"Ashton, I'm certain this man killed my grandmother and Damien Burkwell, and likely had a hand in Hazel Commons' death too, and you wanna sit here with your thumb up your ass?"
He sighs heavily into the phone. Harry sinks further into his spot on Boo's couch, listening with a heavy heart as he hides his face in his hands.
"I wish I could give you more, I really do," Ashton begins, "but if you knew what was happening right now—"
"Ashton, please," Boo begs, cutting him off. "You're putting me in a hard spot."
"I'm sorry, Boo, you'll just have to wait a little longer," Ashton replies, sounding truly remorseful. "We're so close to having the DNA results back for the hammer. I'm talking days, Boo, maybe even twenty-four hours. I've got eyes on Nathaniel so you don't have to worry about him either. Please, please, just hang in there for me."
Boo clenches her jaw. "I'm tired of waiting," she says, her voice hard. Then she hangs up before Ashton can say anything else.
Frustration rattles her bones as she slumps into the couch cushions, wrestling with the choice of what to do next.
"What now?" she gripes.
Harry sighs in defeat. "I . . . I really don't know."
Boo looks down at her hands, rolling her lips together in thought. Anger courses hot and heavy through her veins, and if she isn't careful then Harry may become an unsuspecting victim to it. "I think I need some alone time, if you don't mind."
She sees him look over at her from her peripherals, but she can't bring herself to face him. He concedes after a moment, stooping to kiss her gently on the forehead before he makes his exit. In his absence, Boo resorts to finish reading Martha's diary, hoping to find some comfort in the words her grandmother wrote.
The 1969 journal is almost complete. Boo tucks herself into bed with the book and flips open the weathered pages, turning to the second-to-last entry. To her surprise, the page is dated a mere two days before Damien's death.
