They were such a pair, Hicks and Rachel. So similar and yet so different. Hicks could be more like Cora, when he wanted to be. He cared, was the thing. He cared so much that he cut himself open because of it and then was confused when he bled all over the place. On the other hand, Rachel was like Eliza. And Eliza thought Hicks might never understand either of them.
She watched Rachel stretch now and glance at the overfull bag of dead flowers. Hicks would never be out here like this, Eliza knew. Neither would Josiah, for all his talk about doing what was right for the community.
No, it was always Eliza and Rachel. This was their duty, cleaning up for the Church when no one else thought of it.
Next, they would go to visit the older members of the Church, change soiled sheets, wash bedsores, paint toenails that had yellowed with age. Eliza always called dibs on the last one because she was not nearly as righteous in her servitude as Rachel, and that at least she could handle.
Finally, they would stop at the McDonald’s just on the outskirts of town and get small vanilla ice cream cones, a splurge they never told Josiah about.
They’d listen to approximately three songs on the Christian radio station as they’d sit in the truck and not talk. There was something soothing about the ritual. Even now. Even when Eliza was on the edge of a breakdown, Molly missing, possibly dead, a plan in place that was barreling toward its destination without much control on her part, suspicion burrowing into every thought about every person around her.
Another car pulled into the parking lot just as Rachel threw the trash bag into the bed of the truck. She shucked off her gloves and rested her palm on the nape of Eliza’s neck. Eliza fought the shiver that slinked along her skin at the contact, fought the urge to shrug the touch off.
Instead she watched Peggy Anderson climb out of her own passenger seat, tip her head toward them in a civil, if chilly, greeting, and then start off down the rows.
“Why’s she so obsessed with this place? With us?” Eliza asked, mostly just to see what Rachel would say. Eliza knew why Peggy was obsessed, why Hicks was. Why they all were, really. Even for those who had gotten out, the Church wasn’t something you left behind.
Rachel sighed long and deep and then nudged Eliza into moving around toward the passenger seat.
“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?” Rachel quoted. It was Josiah’s go-to passage whenever Peggy—or Hicks or anyone outside the Church really—was mentioned. “Even sinners love those who love them.”
Eliza huddled further into her jacket, her eyes on Peggy’s slow-moving progress toward Cora’s grave.
“I pursue my enemies and catch them,” Eliza countered, her voice velvet-lined steel. Because she knew verse, too. “I strike them down, and they cannot rise.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
LUCY THORNE
Saturday, 2:00 p.m.
“You’re up,” Lucy said as she walked into Zoey Grant’s broom closet of an office.
Zoey had been watching the door, cheeks pale, eyes unfocused, but when Lucy sat down in the chair across from her, she snapped to attention. “What?”
“The ruse is up,” Lucy said. “Hicks has a clear conflict of interest, and he’s off the case.”
Zoey chewed on her bottom lip. “He didn’t tell you he was Eliza’s uncle.”
There was a question lurking beneath that flat statement, as if Zoey had hoped for better but had expected the worst. “No.”
“Shit,” Zoey muttered, scrunching her nose and looking out her office’s small window. “I thought he might not have. With how you were acting.”
Lucy thought about the way Zoey had watched her in the rearview mirror out to the Thomas place. Maybe she really did have an ally here. But Lucy had trusted too quickly with the other member of the Knox Hollow Sheriff’s Department, and she wasn’t eager to make that mistake twice.
“They’re not . . . ,” Zoey started. Stopped. Turned back to Lucy, meeting her gaze straight on. “They’re not close. Rachel Cook, his sister, keeps Eliza and Hicks separated. Hicks doesn’t even really know the girl. But he’s loyal to family, you know?”
“Even when he doesn’t see them?” Lucy asked. She’d just been wondering why he’d stayed in the area. Blood ties could sway even the most logical person.
Zoey smiled, but it was faint. “It’s probably not the best time to make this argument, but Hicks is a good guy. He cares, even if they hate him.”
Lucy raised her brows. “Hate?”
Flushing, Zoey shook her head. “No, no. Sorry. They don’t hate him. It’s complicated.”
“But Eliza?”
“She was so young.” Zoey shrugged.
Lucy waited for a beat, but it didn’t seem like Zoey would follow up with anything actually useful.
“Until this investigation is wrapped, you should limit your interactions with him,” Lucy warned.
“I don’t know if I feel comfortable taking over the case,” Zoey said in a rush.
“It’s either you or no one.” Lucy didn’t even try to keep the impatience out of her voice. “Make a decision—now.”
If Lucy cared, she’d tell Zoey that Hicks would rather she be a part of the team than not have anyone involved in the case, but Lucy didn’t care right now. So she glanced at the plain white clock that hung on the side wall and, in her mind, gave Zoey fifteen more seconds.
Something about Lucy must have given away her impatience because it took only three before Zoey made her decision. “How can I help?”
Lucy didn’t smile, didn’t relax into relief. “Tell me about Molly Thomas’s disappearance and Hicks. Go through the parking lot encounter again.”
Zoey sighed, looked away. “I feel like an asshole. Hicks is a good guy.”
“Good guys make bad calls all the damn time, and you know it,” Lucy said, not bothering to equivocate. A woman who looked like Zoey Grant had no misconceptions about “good guys.”
Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Zoey settled back in her chair with an aggrieved sigh. “When Molly approached me . . . she just mentioned Hicks, that’s it. Seemed real scared, like she wasn’t supposed to be saying anything.”
When Lucy stared, Zoey lifted her hands palms out. “Then she ran off before I could ask anything else.”
“And when was this?”
Zoey looked like she had to think about it for a second. “Right around when she disappeared. Not long after the shield law hearing that everyone went out of town for.”
After a couple of beats of silence, Zoey made a sound like an aborted question that stuck in her throat.
Lucy narrowed her eyes, glancing over. “What?”
“Just . . .” Zoey deflated, her chest going concave, her chin dipping. When she looked up, there was something in her expression Lucy couldn’t read. “What does any of this have to do with Noah Dawson?”
“Nothing, probably.” But there was that itch again. Lucy scratched the back of her hand, knowing it would do nothing to alleviate the unpleasant sensation. This was dangerous, taking her focus off Noah, getting distracted. If she went into it with any assumptions, the evidence would bend to support it. That’s how brains worked. Random happenstance fell prey to confirmation bias.