Gilt Hollow (23 page)

He grinned dreamily. “Good.”

His eyes drifted closed again and his head fell to the side. Willow clicked off the lamp. Unable to tear herself away, she stood waiting for her eyes to adjust. Just enough moonlight filtered through the drapes to illuminate his beautiful face. She'd heard once that some wounds ran so deep they could never heal. When Ashton had first returned, she'd believed
the betrayal and hurt between them was irreversible. But as her eyes traced the familiar freckles scattered across his nose, the stray curl that always hooked behind his left ear, and his thick, dark lashes at rest against his olive cheeks, she knew second chances were possible.

As his breathing deepened, Willow leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on his lips. “Love you.”

She straightened with a start and blinked back hot tears. The words had popped out of her mouth without thought or premeditation, but it was true—had always been true. She loved Ashton Keller with all her heart.

Willow swiped away the moisture on her cheeks and walked to the door. She glanced back at his peacefully sleeping form, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and straightened her spine. She'd almost lost him, this time forever. No way was she going to let that happen. If the police wouldn't help them, then they would help themselves. She was tired of running blind through the woods, something dark and menacing biting at their heels. It was time to fight. Time to turn and look the monster in the face.

T
hough Willow tried to talk some sense into Ashton, he refused to accept a ride to school from Pastor Justin—who'd shown up on their back doorstep that morning as if by magic—and insisted on walking with her. Low gray clouds swept overhead, and a chilled wind whisked the breath from their mouths. Déjà vu hit Willow like a ton of bricks as they headed down Walnut Street. But the feeling shattered when she looked up and met Ashton's vivid gaze, and a fever rushed over her skin. Everything had changed.

To cover her reaction, Willow skipped ahead and walked backward. “Come on, old man. At this rate, we're going to miss first period.”

He shuffled a little faster, and Willow could tell from the set of his jaw that he was in pain. So she strode back to his side and looped her arm through his. “Do you think what Mrs. M told me about Brayden and Colin is true? Or just crazy old lady ramblings?”

“We played war with those two. They always had each other's backs and they could be relentless. But so could Cory. I don't think we can make any assumptions.”

A cold breeze whipped Willow's hair across her face, causing her to shiver. Ashton tugged her closer against his side, and she had to think for a second before she remembered her train of thought. “None of the pieces are fitting together. We need to find evidence. It's one of three people. Or maybe just two. Isaiah seems to want to help you.”

“Either that or he's trying to throw us off his trail. What
better way to divert suspicion than make us think he's on our side?”

“I hadn't thought of it like that.”

“Isaiah's car looked a heck of a lot like the one that mowed me down. When I described it, Chief Kagawa couldn't hide his surprise. After that, he acted like the whole thing was an accident.”

Willow sucked in a quick breath. “What if Isaiah pushed Daniel and his dad knows it? What if they found out Cory knew and—”

Ashton's gaze drilled into hers. “Stop. Right now. This is over for you. Do you hear me?”

“What?” Willow dug in her heels, pulling him to a stop. “But that's what they want! For us to give up.”

Ashton dropped her arm and faced her. “What if it's you next time? I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you.” His finger snagged a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “Please, Wil. Promise me you'll let it go.”

Willow searched his dark gaze. Together again, despite everything that had worked to tear them apart, she was starting to believe there was a reason they'd been reunited—and it wasn't so he could take the bad guy down on his own.

“I can't do that. We're a team.”
And it's your turn to be my sidekick for once
, she thought before grabbing his arm and tugging him down the sidewalk. “Speaking of which . . . Are you going to Colin's party on Friday? We should
totally
coordinate our outfits.”

“Ha, ha.” He was quiet for a moment. “Are you going with Brayden?”

“Yes.”

“Then I'm going.”

■ ■ ■

Techno pop blasted from the patio speakers and reverberated across the pool and out to the lawn, where fifty or so of Willow's classmates milled around the raging bonfire like drunken moths to a flame. Willow sat in a lawn chair, balancing two metal skewers on her knees, while Brayden relived every play of the final football game with his buddies. Oh, and drank. She'd never been to a high school party, but it was way less romantic than portrayed on the CW.

Willow pulled one of the hot dogs out of the fire for inspection, decided it wasn't crispy enough, and stuck it back in the flames. Lisa had hitched a ride with her and Brayden but was currently flirting with a linebacker named Reggie. Searching for another familiar face, Willow met Ashton's stare across the fire. He'd managed to get another one of his granddad's old bikes running and had zoomed off to pick up Penelope, just moments before Brayden arrived. Their ruse was beginning to wear thin, in more ways than one.

Ashton's lips quirked up on one side and he winked. She shot him a playful grin but looked away before it melted. Even though she knew his relationship with Penelope was part of the master plan, it was hard to see their fingers laced together. And harder not to wish it was her by his side.

The wind shifted and the heat of the fire pushed hot against her skin. Deciding the dogs were crisp enough, she pulled them out and went to the condiment table for plates and buns. After assembling the hot dogs, she tentatively breached the mass of football players but didn't see Brayden among them. After asking, she learned he'd gone inside to “take a leak,” so she handed the plates off to two eager boys and grabbed a Solo cup. She glanced over her shoulder and, when she found Ashton's back turned, knew it was time to put her plan into action.

As she approached the house, she took a sip of the dark yellow liquid, just to make it believable, but almost gagged. How did people drink that swill? Pasting a loopy smile on her face, she tripped over a deck chair and then laughed too loud as she stumbled into a nearby classmate and sloshed half her beer at his feet. “Whoops!”

“Take it easy there, Willow.”

She giggled and wove her way around the sparkling pool and through a sliding door, which led her into a finished basement. Pulling the door closed behind her, she stepped into the warmth of the house. Soft music played from the huge flat screen, the perfect backdrop for the couples paired up all over the room. Keeping up her drunken act, she half shouted, “Where's the bathroom?”

Without raising his head from the girl in his arms, one of the guys pointed past the television. Willow strode across the room and into the darkened corridor. The first door had a light shining underneath, but when she tried the handle, it was locked. The next two doors revealed a weight room and a laundry area—which was occupied with more than dirty clothes. She quickly shut that door and headed toward the stairs. At the top, she found a handwritten sign:

T
HE
P
ARTY
S
TOPS
H
ERE
!

Willow pressed her ear to the wood and listened. Nothing. After silencing her phone, she cracked the door and saw a dim kitchen but heard no footsteps or voices. She pushed on the door and stepped through, shutting it with a soft click. The kitchen opened to dining and family rooms and an office behind glass french doors. The space smelled of pine and the lingering scent of fresh-baked cookies. Hardly the lair of a killer.

There were two corridors branching from the main living area—one angled off the family room and the closer of the two just beyond the kitchen. If Colin had any secrets to hide, they would probably be in his bedroom. She glanced around cautiously and then rushed across the kitchen and into the closest hallway. Met with four closed doors, she hesitated. Should she start with the first door or the last? The closest was likely a bathroom.

A creak somewhere in the house propelled Willow down the hall. She heard footsteps and the murmur of voices in the kitchen before she slipped through the farthest door on the left and shut it behind her. Breathing hard, she leaned against it and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

She blinked a few times and saw a twin bed, neatly made with a navy blue comforter, a dresser topped with a TV and gaming console, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. She took a few cautious steps inside. The room smelled stale, like a guest room rarely used. And somehow, she didn't picture Colin being so tidy. She crossed to the window, set her Solo cup on the dresser, and cracked open the miniblinds. As she turned, moonlight glinted on something in the corner. Willow gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. A saxophone. This had been Cory's room.

Willow was so focused on Colin that she'd nearly forgotten about his brother. The room was untouched, from the notebooks and pens on his desk to the stacks of books on his nightstand waiting to be read.

Feeling like an intruder on the Martin family's grief, she tugged the blinds closed and crossed the room, trying to control her shaking limbs. Her heart pounding in her ears, she rushed into the hallway and stopped. How could she even consider the possibility that Colin could have killed his
own brother? She eyed the room across the hall. She had to be sure.

Willow slipped inside and knew immediately by the strong scent of Axe body spray and sweat that she'd found Colin's room. A low-wattage lamp on the bedside table illuminated the space, confirming her assumption—clothes strewn over every surface, the covers on the bed twisted in disarray, and a football uniform spilling out of a hamper in the open closet. She'd found it. Now what? It wasn't as if she expected him to have a confession typed out and waiting for her, but she had to start somewhere. So she crossed to his desk and tapped on the spacebar of his open laptop. A box appeared asking for a password.

Hacking not being one of her gifts, she typed in a few halfhearted guesses before moving on to search the desk drawers. When that produced nothing unusual, she went to the closet. On the top shelf tucked behind an assortment of beanies and folded clothes, she spied the edge of a box. Standing on her toes, she lifted a pile of sweaters and set them on the floor, then slid the wooden box off the shelf. The lid was engraved with Colin's name and held tight by a rusted lock with an old-fashioned keyhole. A perfect place to keep secrets.

She put the box on the desk and then turned in a slow circle. If she were hiding a key, where would it be? A door slammed somewhere in the house and she jumped, panic tingling down her arms. What if someone caught her in Colin's room rummaging through his private things? What if
he
found her? She took two strides toward the door and stopped. An image of Ashton's bruised ribs and torn flesh after his accident made her pause. She had to find out who was after him and why. Ashton couldn't do this himself. If he
were caught snooping in the Martins' house, he'd get more than chastised or embarrassed; he'd be arrested and hauled into the police station—which is exactly what the real killer wanted.

Fisting her hands in determination, she turned back to search for the key. She rummaged through the nightstand drawer and then moved to the dresser. When that turned up nothing, she stared at the old chest of drawers again, something niggling at the back of her mind. It was dark cherry wood and built almost exactly like hers, with three small drawers across the top and two rows of larger drawers underneath. She snapped her fingers and pulled the small middle drawer all the way out.

Sure enough, in between the two drawers on the second row was a narrow, rectangular space. A hidey-hole just like the one she'd used for her diary. She reached in and felt around, her fingers touching cool metal. She pulled out an ancient-looking key and raced over to the box. Realizing Brayden or Ashton would start looking for her soon, her hands shook as she hurried to insert the key, but she had to try three times before she got it.

Glancing over her shoulder to ensure the door was still tightly closed, she turned back and lifted the lid, almost afraid of what she'd find—and Ashton's face stared back at her. The old newspaper clipping read: “Local Boy Confesses to Killing Classmate” and showed Ashton's eighth-grade class picture beneath.

The box was full of newspaper clippings. She riffled through, skimming headlines.

“Distinguished Keller Family Tainted By Scandal.” Pictured were Ashton's parents rushing away, heads down. His mom covering her face with her purse.

“Three Young Heroes' Testimonies Key to Keller Conviction” showed Colin, Isaiah, and Brayden smiling into the camera.

Her stomach clenched. They were actually smiling like they'd done some great deed. Willow didn't remember seeing that one and realized it must have been published after she began to boycott the
Gilt Hollow Gazette
. She moved on to the next one.

“Winston Keller on Suicide Watch.” Ashton's dad was shown in a business suit, his head low.

Willow's heart gave a squeeze and she paused to read.

Sources close to the Keller family say the real estate mogul had seemed increasingly depressed since his only son, Ashton Keller's, incarceration for manslaughter in August. Appearing in public unshaven and haggard, and then disappearing for weeks at a time . . .

Willow skimmed to the end of the short article.

It is unknown if Mr. Keller made an attempt on his own life, but it's believed he is now recovering in a treatment center in Arizona. His wife of nineteen years, Catherine Arnett-Keller, was unavailable for comment.

Willow shook her head and wondered if Ashton knew. Her time slipping away, she continued to shuffle through the box and, at the bottom, came across a single article about Cory's tragic death. But what did this mean? That Colin had a sentimental streak?

A loud scrape followed by voices made Willow start. She shoved the articles back in the box and turned the key, then realized the voices were coming from outside the house. She tiptoed over and lifted the edge of the blinds.

“. . . can't do this anymore. I'm out!”

One shadow grabbed the other and yanked him forward. “You're out when I say you're out.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

That was Brayden's voice! Willow changed her angle to get a better view and could just make out Colin's face as he released Brayden's shirt. They stepped away, and Colin's next words were muffled, “You're . . . as guilty . . . the rest . . .”

A noise sounded from the hallway, and Willow spun around, dropping the blinds with a clang. Her pulse ratcheted out of control as she grabbed the box and raced to the closet. She shoved it back onto the shelf, just remembering to return the stack of sweaters. Deciding at the last second not to return the key, she slid the dresser drawer back into place and spun around as the handle began to turn. Why had she kept the stupid key? What if Colin found it missing?