Natalie couldn’t stop thinking that she had failed them. It disturbed and vexed her. She understood that even if she’d managed to rescue Grace that night, she couldn’t have saved her. Grace had carried a monstrous deformity inside her for years, and Natalie doubted she would ever come to terms with it. Grace had been an anchor in her life, the one person she could always depend on. Now that was completely torn away.
Lindsey and Bunny faced no official day of reckoning for what they’d done. Grace’s confession was not admissible in a court of law. Bunny was declared incompetant to stand trial. Lindsey had friends in high places. She denied everything. Grace, Daisy, Lindsey, and Bunny were all minors at the time. Ultimately, the prosecutor declined to press charges.
Riley Skinner miraculously came out of his coma. There was no lasting damage, except for being held back a grade in school.
At the arbitration hearing, Brandon got to tell his side of the story, and the union stood firmly behind him. Brandon was disciplined and put on unpaid leave as punishment for his alcohol level being over the legal limit. It was determined, however, that the complaints filed against him were unfounded. After a slap on the wrist, he was given his old job back through arbitration. He was reinstated as detective, second grade. Some folks saw this as an injustice. In the end, Brandon was a free man—but a marked man. Dominic knew how to nurse a grudge.
Justin Fowler’s attorney began compiling new evidence to present to the Board of Pardons and Paroles, convinced his client would be a free man by next year.
India Cochran and Berkley Auberdine were tried as juveniles and convicted of aggravated assault, since causing serious bodily harm was not enough to prove attempted murder. With credit for time served and good behavior, they could be out before their twenty-first birthdays.
Now the healing process was supposed to begin.
The parents of Burning Lake shook their heads and said, “I never thought it could happen here.” Some blamed satanic cults, others blamed drugs and Hollywood violence. They gave their children curfews and drove them everywhere after school. They snooped around in their social media accounts and interrogated them about their friends.
Oddly enough, dogs still barked. The mail somehow got delivered. Kids still played in their front yards. Farmers went out to plow their fields. The shops were open for business. But nobody would ever forget the day when tragedy struck and normalcy was shattered. Somehow the town felt ruined.
As August gave way to September, the frost came early. Sooner than expected, the leaves turned and blazed. Flocks of migrating Canadian geese flew overhead, casting their trails of echoes.
By mid-September, the fiery trees ignited the lake, and the hills erupted with an unearthly array of crimson, orange, and gold. Wood smoke unraveled from the chimneys like gray yarn in skilled old hands. One day, Ellie and her father, Burke Guzman, came up from Manhattan and, together with Natalie, they rented a boat.
Burke was a diminutive, overgroomed man with exquisitely coifed hair and a rich baritone voice. Ellie adored him. She stood in the prow of the boat with Natalie, while the leading edge parted the water, creating ever-widening ripples in its wake. It was a beautiful morning without any wind. The sun was about to rise over Devil’s Point.
Natalie loved this time of day, when the landscape took on a special glow, sunlight reflecting off the hills and triggering memories of her nostalgia-soaked childhood. But an emotional disconnect kept her from remembering too hard.
The boat came to a slow stop in the middle of the lake, and the unexpected stillness made Natalie shiver. As the sun burned off the morning fog, steam rose from the lake, which reflected the flaming red woods all around them. This was the moment.
“Ready?” Natalie asked Ellie, who was silhouetted by the golden sun.
Ellie sang Grace’s favorite song, “Beautiful Day” by U2. After she hit the final, quavering note, they opened the urn together and scooped out a handful of ashes, gritty as sand.
They released fistfuls into the lake. Down they went, into the murky depths.
Ellie reached into the urn again to scoop out more ashes, and a puff of wind blew some into her face, a fine dusting settling on her skin.
“Oh no,” Natalie said, tears welling in her eyes, but Ellie brushed her concerns away.
“A kiss good-bye,” she said with a sad smile.
Natalie wanted to hold on to this moment. She wanted to say something wise. Her eyes were full of dust and regret. Maybe silence was better. Forget the balloons. Forget the prayers and pictures. She couldn’t outrun her memories, even though she was quick and strong. She couldn’t outrun the shadows in the woods. Her recent journey had increased her craving for answers that were beyond her grasp.
One day, a long time ago, Natalie, Grace, and Willow had twirled wildly around to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” singing at the top of their lungs.
What should they know?
What did any of us know?
Death was like a secret. You could bury it deep underground, but it wouldn’t stay buried for long. Eventually, our secrets—like old bones—had a way of knuckling out of the earth and into the sunlight. You had to make your peace with fate.
Ellie had brought fresh flowers with her, and now she dropped the destemmed white roses one by one into the water and said her final farewell.
White roses floated on the blazing red surface of the lake, as gentle waves lapped them away from the boat.
“You’re free,” Ellie whispered. “Like the wind and the water…”
Natalie joined in. “By air and earth and fire and rain, we will remember you.”
These words were like tiny scarlet letters stitched onto Natalie’s heart.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to:
My agent, Jill Marr, for her wise counsel, unwavering belief, and fearless guidance.
My brilliant editor, Alexandra Sehulster, for her razor-sharp perceptions, impassioned enthusiasm, and invigorating inspirations.
My rights manager, Andrea Cavallaro, for her drive and determination.
The impressive team at Minotaur Books, headed by publisher Andy Martin and associate publisher Kelley Ragland, including marketing manager Joe Brosnan, publicists Sarah Melnyk and Kayla Janas, team leader of marketing and publicity Paul Hochman, production editor John Morrone, cover designer David Rotstein, copy editor Sabrina Soares Roberts, and editorial assistant Mara Delgado-Sanchez.
The great Sandra Dijkstra, and the formidable crew at Sandra Dijkstra Literary Agency.
All my readers—without your support I wouldn’t be able to do this.
My brother, Carter, for his profound advice and heartfelt encouragement.
My gifted husband, Doug, who has my back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALICE BLANCHARD is an award-winning author whose work has been published in seventeen countries. She has received a PEN award, a New Letters Literary Award, a Centrum Artists-in-Residence Fellowship, and a Katherine Anne Porter Prize for Fiction. Her debut novel, Darkness Peering, was a New York Times Notable Book and a Barnes & Noble Best Mystery book. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
TRACE OF EVIL. Copyright © 2019 by Alice Blanchard. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover photographs: woman © Mark Owen / Arcangel; trees © Valentino Sani / Arcangel; building © Debra Millet / Alamy Stock Photo
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA IS AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST.
ISBN 978-1-250-20571-1 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-20572-8 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250205728
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First Edition: December 2019
Trace of Evil Page 37