The Edge

Chapter 19

I'd called Annelise later in the evening. She had been understandably reticent to speak to me, but in the end she'd opened up a bit and it's nice to know I'm not the only person who still doubts Luke's guilt. Also understandably, she told me there was no way in hell she'd lead me to the crew's old pot stash. Nevertheless, she was able to provide a clearer set of directions.

"There's a small rock formation a ways out from the lake," she'd said. "Off the beaten trail near the first mile marker. You ought to follow Yellow Creek, the one that seeps into the lake. Follow it east and up the hill until you see the place." By the end of the conversation, I'd drawn up a rough sketch of the route. I'm reasonably sure I could trudge my way out there with some accuracy.

On to the next problem: acquiring a cohort. I'll need someone to tag along as backup, but sadly, I don't seem to be wallowing in friends at the moment. Tom is the closest I've come to capturing one, but his participation seems out of the question. Sloan and Riley, the only other people with benevolent feelings towards me, are certainly not options.

That basically leaves Wes, and he's going to be a hard sell. I know he's already heard about my jaunt to the police station, because he bypasses all forms of greeting and goes straight to gaming when he arrives home. This wouldn't be unusual but for the fact that he plays silently for a change, though he punches the buttons of his controller with a touch more violence than necessary. I leave him to it for a time, hoping he'll soften up.

I settle next to him on the couch and tactfully avoid chiding him about the weird smell emanating from the cushions. I clear my throat. "Brother Dearest? Might I steal a moment of your precious recreation time?"

Something in my tone or expression must betray my intentions. Wes immediately ceases his assault on the controller and warily sets it aside. "Whatever you're thinking about doing, I forbid it." His voice assumes a hint of sarcasm as he adds, "Unless you've decided on the abortion. Then I'm gung ho. No need to give birth to the Antichrist." Gossip spreads fast around here, but I didn't realize I'd face the consequences so soon.

"Hey, I didn't have much choice. They'd never have let me see him if I hadn't come up with a decent story."

"And now you're the town ho, pregnant by the town's enemy number one. Brava and congratulations."

"I couldn't leave it til the weekend, Wes. I needed him to confirm some things."

"That your boyfriend isn't the next Jack the Ripper?"

"He isn't my – whatever. Yeah. The answer to that is kind of important to me, if you hadn't noticed."

"And you still think he's innocent, despite that spiel he was giving you before?"

I give a helpless shrug.

"You can't ever let things go, can you?" He chews his lip, distaste warring with resignation, then throws up his hands. "Fine. Tell me the plan, Sherlock."

When I do, his shoulders slump and he shakes his head sadly. "We're gonna be run out of town, aren't we?" He's right. Even if my suspicions do pan out, no one will take kindly to our dragging the Hathaway and Willoughby names through the mud. Two of the town's most prominent families, embroiled in scandal? A community like Edgewater can't abide such goings on, nor will it tolerate the instigators of the brouhaha. The Wilders and now the Sullivans will be personas non grata.

It hurts to accept the truth, but I play it off. "I don't think we fit in here anyway."

"You know, I actually enjoy my work now. I like what I do. The people I work with." Oooh, he's really laying on the guilt trip. I'll make it up to him, though. Someday.