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  Without him to hold me up I fell to the floor, black rising up to meet me. I could hear her voice again, the sweet familiarity, but there was fear there too and I didn’t want her to be scared. Not anymore.

  I took a second to breathe through it all, and heaved myself up from the floor, a sick, molten swoop of pain charging directly from my shoulder to my chest and stomach, and then my pelvis right down to my legs. My legs shook with the effort of moving, and despite everything, despite never wanting to cry in front of this man again, a sob broke through my body as every part of me filled up with pain.

  I pulled the door open, cold air sweeping over me, the white snow almost blinding me, just as another shot rang out, and another. I waited for the rush of bloody pain to greet me again, but it never came, the bullets missing their mark—me—and hitting the open door instead, which acted as a shield as I stumbled and ran.

  I could still hear her calling my name again, this time louder, so close.

  But when I looked up it wasn’t Nora I saw but Ange running towards me, her face just a blur beyond my tears. She grabbed both my arms as I fell on her, my legs buckling, my knees almost hitting the ground before she managed to pull me up.

  She was saying my name over and over, but I could barely hear it, barely react to the fact that she was there at all. Why was she here? How? My gaze was drawn to the lake, frozen, still, and although my tongue felt fat, hot, and strange inside my mouth I said: “She’s in there.”

  “What?”

  “She’s in there,” I repeated, my voice a flat line.

  Several other vehicles started arriving then, pulling up into the little snow-filled clearing. Lundgren slammed the door of her car behind her and ran towards us, her right hand resting on her hip, hovering over her gun. An EMT truck followed and she waved them over towards me and Ange, who was still staring resolutely at the cabin at my back.

  “Maddie,” Lundgren said when she reached us, alarm tracing through her voice. “What the hell’s happened?”

  “She’s hurt,” Ange said before I could answer. “I think she’s been shot in the shoulder.”

  But all I could say was: “She’s in there.”

  “Who’s in there, Mads?” Ange asked, “Nora? Nora’s in there?”

  I nodded, mute, still staring at the lake.

  “Oh my God,” Ange said under her breath. “She’s in there.” But she was looking in the wrong direction, and her voice sounded strange, almost hopeful.

  I finally pulled my gaze from the lake and looked at Ange, Lundgren, even at the EMTs. They were all looking the wrong way, looking at where I’d come from.

  “No. Not in there,” I said, meaning the cabin. “In there,” and I pointed at the lake. “She’s in there.” The frosted sheet of ice glimmered opaque and treacherous at us, the perfect round circle at the center of the lake put there for ice fishing a perfect bullseye, winking quietly in the milky light of a grey, pearlescent afternoon. There was a small hut next to the hole, painted a cracked, peeling navy that my eyes were drawn to.

  I closed my eyes against it, this picture of wild domesticity, and leaned into Ange as she kind of collapsed onto me so that we were holding one another up.

  My shoulder pulsed and burned, something beyond pain, and I could feel my brain tripping over itself as it tried, desperately, to get everything in order.

  There was absolutely nothing I could do when a pair of strong hands gently prized the two of us apart and lowered me onto a stretcher. I kept my eyes closed, squeezing them tighter and tighter, as tight as they could go, but I could still see the lake, even as they turned me away from it, even as it became little more than a memory.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Madison Journal

  Local Cop Arrested in Murder of Two Sisters

  By Angela Cairney

  January 27, 2018

  Nathan Altman has been released from custody and all charges have been dropped against him in the murder and suspected murder of his two sisters: Nora and Noelle Altman.

  In a recent chain of events that have left the small town of Forest View reeling, local policeman and friend of Nathan Altman, Leo Moody, has been arrested after attacking and attempting to take hostage Madeline Fielder. Fielder is a longtime friend of the Altman family and was particularly close with Nora. Reports say that the 27-year-old had no idea Moody was involved in the murders, but came across something suspicious while at his secluded lakeside home that lies between Forest View and Stokely.

  Moody confessed to both murders to her, although not before breaking Fielder’s right wrist, and shooting her in the arm with his police issue Glock 22.

  Working from information provided by Miss Fielder, the lake outside Officer Moody’s house was searched using sonar and the remains of a young woman, who has since been identified as the missing Nora Altman, was found.

  The medical examiner has yet to release a statement regarding the teenager’s cause of death, but she is believed to have been strangled.

  The discovery of Nora Altman’s body ends a ten-year mystery that has haunted this town and its citizens. That she has finally been found must bring some relief to her family and loved ones, but the fact that she was eventually found so close by to where she originally went missing calls into question the way this case was handled from the beginning.

  That she was apparently killed by a serving police officer calls into question the integrity of the police force and begs the question of who, exactly, they serve.

  Chief of Police Patrick Moody, father of the suspect, today released a statement tendering his resignation. He expressed his “overwhelming sadness” at having not apprehended the killer sooner, and although he denied knowing anything of his son’s involvement in the murders, he claimed “full responsibility for these senseless and heinous crimes that have horrified and haunted our town.” The Chief went onto say that he regarded this the “greatest oversight and tragedy not just of my career, but of my life. My thoughts are with the Altmans and those two girls, as they have been for the past ten years, and will be for the rest of my days.”

  Speaking outside the police station in Waterstone, Jonathan Altman, father of Nora and Noelle, appeared almost too overwhelmed for words. “We have waited years to find Nora and know what happened to her, and we are grateful that we can finally put her to rest. In the face of losing Noelle, all this feels like very cold comfort, but we know that one day we will be able to mourn them both properly, as they deserve. With regards to Leo Moody, I have no words. In my mind, he is beyond forgiveness. As a lawyer, I know that justice will ultimately be served. As a father, I know that is impossible.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  There was one more memorial, one more funeral where we finally buried the both of them; more calla lilies and black dresses, inappropriate footwear sinking in the snow, sliding on ice. More tired faces, drawn mouths, sallow skinned and hollow eyed.

  There were people missing of course, Leo’s absence the most glaring of all. I couldn’t think of a single vigil or memorial for Nora—and later for Elle—that he hadn’t been present at, and that thought sent more than a shiver down my spine. It sent a wave of nausea and roiling fear so real I thought for a second I was back there, in that haunted cabin.

  But the reassuring crush of bodies, the stale air, and crunch of food reminded me of where I was, pulling me back. I thought that away from the cabin, with Leo in custody, without the threat of violence, the feel of a gun against my ribs, the hot crush of fear, and the excruciating scream of pain to obscure and obfuscate, I’d be able to finally put Nora and Elle to rest. That’s what we were all gathered there to do, after all, but I couldn’t think of everything that had happened in that cabin; to me, to Nora, to Noelle without wanting to turn it all off.

  I’d fought so long and hard to get to that place, and now I had nothing left in my arsenal, which had been so barren to begin with, with which to drown out those particular screams. They’d be with me for the rest of my life.


  I’d have to testify of course. Be forced to stand up in court and live it all again, repeating the unrepeatable to a crowd full of faces. The stabbing twist of fear that met me as I thought of it grew bigger the closer the day got, coiling through me. I wondered how I’d feel when I saw his face again, and I had to stop myself from retching.

  But even if I didn’t have to testify, to bear witness, I knew that it wasn’t over just because I’d stumbled out of that cabin and into the light. I was beginning to realize that even though we’d finally found her, finally buried her, I’d be saying goodbye to Nora for the rest of my life.

  It turned out that Leo had lied about his alibi along with Bright and Louden that night, and then, ever since, he hadn’t stopped lying. On the night of Nora’s memorial, Elle, no longer able to contain what she was beginning to suspect, had driven over to Leo’s cabin instead of to Jenna’s and confronted him.

  Leo later explained that the hunting knife had been a decoy, that after suffocating Elle with one of his couch cushions, he’d gone over to the Altmans’ lake house, just minutes away, and grabbed what he knew was Nate’s hunting knife in order to frame him. Then, he’d stabbed Elle’s body, making sure not to leave any of his own fingerprints on it, and left it close to where he’d abandoned her, ensuring it would be found by the crime scene team.

  All this he’d managed to do while appearing to grieve Nora, and then Elle, to support Nate and his family; the cold horror of the cover-up shocked me as much as the murders.

  I didn’t believe in turning men into monsters, but I didn’t have the words needed to describe just how inhumane his actions were.

  On the other side of the room I spotted Sheriff Lundgren, and beside her, Regina from the bar in Stokely. When they’d searched the lake, I’d thought they might find Annalise down there too, finally answering a question Regina and Lundgren had been asking for five years, but she wasn’t there, and Leo was categorically denying having anything to do with her disappearance. That hadn’t stopped Regina from sending flowers to my hospital bedside though, the card reading: “I’m glad you finally found her.” I’d wondered where she found the strength, the grace, for such a thoughtful act, when all she wanted was to know what had happened to Annalise.

  There was a part of me, maybe the darkest, sickest, most twisted part, but still a part, that hoped when they finally dredged Pine Grove Lake that they’d find Annalise down there too. At least Regina would have the same relief we had when they pulled what was left of Nora out of the ice. Maybe the darkest part of Regina had hope for that too, I don’t know.

  What I did know, was that she was still living in that cold, unforgiving place where hope and desperation exist side by side, the same one I’d lived in for so long, and was now, thankfully, free of. Looking at Regina, I hoped for her sake—for Annalise’s sake—that Annalise had simply done what everyone had originally thought she’d done: up and left.

  I hadn’t really been aware of much while I was in hospital, coming in and out of consciousness, pain rearing its ugly head only to subside again when the drugs kicked in. At least I was able to produce a legitimate doctors’ note from it, if nothing else, and I’d been reliably informed that my boss was going to grudgingly accept it when I finally returned to my desk the next week.

  Nate had come to see me on the last day I was there, arriving with Serena and Cordy who packed up all my things before Serena discreetly led Cordy away, leaving us alone.

  “I’m sorry about the alibi,” he said, his voice almost drowned out by the beeps and whirs of the hospital machines.

  I shook my head, grimacing in pain. “It doesn’t matter, Nate,” I croaked, “not now.”

  And I’d meant it. He’d lied to the police, telling them he’d been with me on the night Leo killed Elle, desperate to put some distance between him and a crime he was sure he was about to take the fall for. None of that mattered, though, not now we finally knew the truth and I was able to maybe, finally, face a few truths of my own.

  The sheriff nodded at me then, offering me a tight smile. She’d been the one to arrest Leo, to charge him, to take my statement, to order the search of the lake. I wasn’t sure if I believed Chief Moody’s assurances that he had no idea his son had been responsible for Nora’s and Elle’s deaths, but at the very least he’d proven himself inadequate for the task of protecting even our small town. There were accusations of corruption, a cover-up, and I wondered how much further, how much deeper all of it might go, and whether or not I had the energy to deal with it.

  The press showed no sign of leaving us alone, and I knew enough to expect the flash of cameras when I left the relative comfort of the room. To everyone else it was just another story, and a good one at that, but to the people in that room it was the thing we closed our eyes against at night, hoping against hope that we’d be allowed to sleep, to forget, even if just for a little while.

  Because even all those weeks later, I could still feel the frozen lake against my back, pressing in, and I knew it would always be there. I didn’t even have to look at it to see it, I could just close my eyes. And underneath all that frozen water, there I was. Even with Nora finally found, there was still a part of me down there, and maybe there always would be.

  That precious pane of glass I’d been dreaming about and carrying around since Nora disappeared had finally slipped and shattered and I was trying to slide all the pieces back into place to make it fit. It was like a jigsaw puzzle except that every time I reached for a piece of the puzzle, tried to put it back together again, I drew blood. I was sick of bleeding all over everything, the throbbing in my strapped-up shoulder worsening as if just to prove a point.

  I shifted my arm in the sling, but it made no difference. The pain built a little, minute by minute, and it would continue to do so until it stopped. I had no idea when it would stop.

  “You okay?” someone said from behind me. Nate was staring down at me when I turned around. “Is it hurting?”

  “It always hurts,” I said. “All the time. Everywhere.”

  He nodded, his face a pale mask. “I know,” he said.

  He slipped his hand into my free one, and it was coarse and cold, the rough skin of his palms pressing against mine. It was enough, I thought, for now at least. Enough just to hold someone else’s hand, to feel their life pressing against mine, and to not let go.

  Acknowledgements

  Biggest and best thanks to my parents and sister for being the most supportive family possible, not to mention major book nerds who love books and reading almost as much as I do.

  This is my first book so on some level I basically want to thank every person I’ve ever known but for the time being I’ll keep it to: Katie Reeves, Ciara Halpin, Beth Adamson, Fiona Fultigan, and Emily Marsh for still being the coolest people I’ve ever met, even all these years later; Alicia Field, Zoe Jubert, Isabel Colbourn, Alice Dean, and James Baker for being the best group of friends to come out of randomly allocated university housing; Corinne Jones and Sophie Meyrick for being constant sources of kindness, support, encouragement, and entertainment (Soph – I promise you’ll get your dedication one day, but you know what Ruthie’s like); Caroline Crew for endless Buffy chats over countless rounds of pilsner, introducing me to the Winchesters, and basically finding friendship in a hopeless place (yep, that’s a RiRi ref); and Derica Shields for over half a lifetime’s worth of friendship and punctuality.

  Thank you to my agent, Suzie Townsend for making this book the best it could possibly be, and likewise to my editor Kathryn Cheshire for doing the same before ushering it out into the world. I’d also like to thank Peter Knapp for holding that query competition all those years ago, for being the first person to really get Maddie and her story, and for welcoming me to the New Leaf family.

  Finally, many thanks to the women of the Agented Authors on Sub Facebook group for being consummate virtual comrades while wading through the trenches.

  About the Author

  A. M. Taylor
lives and writes in London. When not making up stories, she writes copy for a living and can most often be found drinking coffee, watching Netflix, and trying to keep up with a never ending TBR pile. She’s been obsessed with mysteries ever since Nancy Drew first walked into her life and would probably have attempted to become a private detective at some point, if only it didn’t involve actually having to talk to people. She has a cat called Domino, ambitions of owning a dog one day, and is as obsessed with My Favorite Murder as you probably are.

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