"That's a little surprising."
"He seemed calmer than he had in years. Maybe the truth set him free, even though it was a terrible truth."
"Did you tell him about the pregnancy?"
"Yes, and you know what? He already knew. He saw the pregnancy test in the trash, and he talked to Melanie about it. He told her that he'd support her in whatever she wanted to do."
"Wow. That shocks me. He was always so worried about her doing the right thing and instead of blowing up at her, he actually supports her?"
"He really did love her. He's a complicated man."
"What did your mom say? Had he told her about the pregnancy?"
"No, and she was stunned. She was angry that he'd kept that information from her. He said he had promised Melanie to stay silent until she could tell my mom herself. After she disappeared, he didn't want to add to my mom's grief. He didn't want her to feel guilty that she hadn't known what her daughter was doing or sad that she'd also lost a grandchild."
"That makes sense. Your dad must have thought that the father of Melanie's baby killed her."
"That's exactly what he thought, but he didn't know who it was. All of Melanie's girlfriends, including you, her best friend, said you weren't aware that she had a boyfriend. He didn't know if you were all trying to protect her, but he couldn't get any information."
"Did he tell the sheriff about the pregnancy?"
"Yes, but Tom didn't put it in the police file. My father also told me that Tom started turning things around every time he pressed about the secret boyfriend. Tom suggested that my father was trying to cover up his own involvement."
I shook my head in disgust. "Tom did everything he could to protect Gage."
"Yes, he did."
"I have to say, I never would have guessed Melanie was with Gage. But you always had suspicions about him."
"Not because I thought they'd slept together. I didn't understand his lie, but I couldn't quite get to a motive."
"If I'd known Melanie was pregnant when she disappeared, I probably would have guessed Carter or even Dillon," I said. "Well, I'm glad your father was there for Melanie when she needed him. Is he still worried you might write a book about Melanie's death?"
Drake shook his head. "I told him I wouldn't. But he said that if I felt it was important to tell my sister's story one day, I had his blessing. He'd been worried about a story without an ending. That was what bothered him the most. He didn't want me to make something up. But now that the truth is out there, he trusts me to know what to do with it."
"Your parents had to have been shocked to know it was Eileen who killed Melanie."
"They had trouble believing it."
"I don't blame them. I heard her confess, and I still have trouble believing she did it. You were right when you told me that everyone had a secret—even Melanie."
"Some of those secrets were worse than others. How is Kelsey feeling?"
"Grateful. She had an epiphany about herself, the shallowness of her life up until now, the mistakes she's made. She wants to change. Everyone in my family got a brutal wake-up call when she disappeared. But I think this entire experience might end up being good for us. Our lives got stripped down to the bare bones. The stories we told ourselves, the pretenses we lived under, the secrets we held, all stopped us from living meaningful lives. And with that gone, we saw each other for the first time in a long time."
"They saw a different you, I'm sure. No more hiding in the shadows, Willow."
"Nope. I found the light, just like Melanie always told me I would. She said when something was important to me, I'd step up. I really miss her, Drake."
"Me, too."
He held out his right hand to me and I wrapped my fingers around his. We stayed that way until we got to the cabin.
When we arrived, the place was deserted. There was no crime scene tape, but the door was locked.
"How did you get in before?" Drake asked.
"Through the bathroom window, but surely that would be locked now, too."
"Let's find out."
They walked around the small cabin and sure enough, the window was still open and the bucket I'd moved over yesterday was under the window. "I guess no one cared to close the window."
"It's Hawk Island," he said with a shrug. "And there's no one around." He turned back toward the small window. "I think I can fit."
I eyed the narrow opening and his muscular body and shook my head. "I'll do it."
"You sure?"
"Yes. There's no more danger inside this cabin."
I jumped onto the bucket and then pulled myself through the window once more. Despite my confident words, it felt surreal to land in that bathroom again, and the silence in the cabin was eerie. I pushed past the uneasy feeling as I walked down the hall and into the living room. I tried not to look at the bloody stain on the wood floor as I opened the front door and let Drake in.
"It feels weird to be back here," I said. Someone had done a little cleanup. The food wrappers from the table were gone. So were the chain and the handcuff that had kept Kelsey in the house. They had probably taken that into evidence. "Who owns this cabin?"
"Dillon does. I asked Ben about it this morning. He said when Dillon's uncle died, he left him a little money, which was surprising since his uncle had been abusive to him for years. But I guess there was no one else to leave his money to, so, Dillon bought this place. He preferred living far away from everyone. He could do his own thing, and no one would bother him."
"No one suspected him of taking Kelsey. He joined the search parties for her. He was talking to Ben at the station. He wasn't acting like someone who had anything to hide," I said.
"He wanted to be visible so he wouldn't look suspicious," Drake agreed.
"But he also wanted to find out what was happening with the search so he could make sure no one was getting close to him." I shook my head in bemusement. "I don't know what to think about Dillon. On one hand, he did it all to protect Kelsey, but he put us through hell and, ultimately, he put her in danger. Is he a villain or is he a hero?"
"Maybe he's a little of both."
"I guess none of us are just one thing. Where do you think he would have kept the diary all these years, if he even kept it?" There weren't a lot of hiding places. The furniture was minimal: a couch, an armchair, two guitars, a keyboard, and an old bookcase filled with what appeared to be music books. I walked over to the bookcase. "This is too obvious."
"I don't see a red spine," Drake said. "But let's take a look."
We stripped the bookshelf in record time. At the end, we just had a pile of books and no diary. I let out a groan of disappointment. "It's not here."
"Let's keep looking," Drake said with his usual stubborn determination. He pulled the cushions off the couch while I moved into the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards.
We made our way into the bedroom, which was a total mess, clothes all over the floor, as well as dozens of cigarette butts, a collection of bongs, and the distinct smell of weed.