She could almost forget that Lindsay was dead.

Her eyes closed, and her friend’s warm smile took over her thoughts.

That FBI agent—McLane—had been gentle and tactful with her questions that morning, and Madison had respected the keen look in her eyes. The woman was determined to find out who’d killed Lindsay and Sean. Madison had answered her questions the best she could, letting the tears flow.

Tears were a good shield. They hid her eyes from exposing her thoughts and gave her time to consider each question. They also made other people tread carefully, not wanting to make the crying jag worse.

It’d been an effective tool for McLane’s interview.

Madison had nothing to hide from the agent, but she didn’t allow people to peek into her brain and explore what made her tick. The questions and answers were about Lindsay, but she knew the agent was studying and forming opinions about Madison as they talked.

She was a good actress. Skilled at deflecting and masking.

Keeping people away was her specialty.

McLane had asked when Madison saw Lindsay last. An easy question. They’d worked together the day before. Lindsay had been the opening solo waitress, sufficient for the off-season breakfast crowd. Madison came on for lunch, and the two of them had easily covered the mild rush.

The agent’s questions about Lindsay’s recent attitude and state of mind had been harder to answer. Madison had thought back, realizing that lately she’d barely spent time with Lindsay outside of work. That was unusual. But Lindsay had broken their plans a few times—meeting for drinks or heading to Astoria to shop. Even a trip to Portland.

Lindsay had been quiet. Less laughter, less lightheartedness. Fewer texts.

Madison hadn’t seen it until McLane asked.

“Did she mention any problems with her husband?” Special Agent McLane had asked her. “Was she worried about anything at home?”

Madison had no answers. But in hindsight, she had subconsciously known something was wrong. Something else had been taking up Lindsay’s time and depressing her.

Had she been a horrible friend to not see it?

Had Lindsay and Sean been having trouble?

She took a deep breath of the salty air, savoring the western sky as it grew pinker and more intense. The sun was close to setting—maybe another five minutes. Her cell phone stayed in her pocket. The colors could never be captured. Instead she simply enjoyed each sunset as it came, confident that there would always be another to see.

No more sunsets for Lindsay.

Her eyes burned.

Why Lindsay? Why Sean? And why was he hanged?

The last question disturbed her acutely because of the similarity to her father’s death. But she refused to let others see the depth of her feelings.

Madison liked walls. Protective barriers around her thoughts and fears.

Walls kept her heart safe.

If she didn’t feel anything for anyone, then she couldn’t be hurt if they were taken away.

Lindsay had sneaked under her usual barriers. Madison had thought getting to know the outgoing young waitress was safe. Now Lindsay had been forcefully removed from Madison’s life, leaving her insides in shreds.

She couldn’t let anyone in again.

She pulled up her legs, braced her boot heels against the bench, and wrapped her arms around her legs, enjoying the show. The sky’s colors now spread to the east, where they met the day’s dark-gray clouds. Gentle waves rippled through the colors reflected by the ocean.

Flames of yellow and orange hovered near the sun as it seemed to touch the water. She set her chin on her knees, willing the sun to slow.

Flames. Madison woke as her bedroom window flashed with light, and she blinked at the odd glow. Emily’s bed was empty, and patterns flickered across the bed and up their bedroom walls. Madison stood, balancing on the foot of her bed to see out the window. Fear froze her in place, her fingers gripping the windowsill. The bushes against the house were on fire. Through the smoke and flames, she spotted Emily in her nightgown, but she faced away from the house, looking toward the woods. Her sister took several steps, picked up something from the grass, and clutched it to her chest, her profile now clear to Madison. Emily stared across the yard, and Madison followed her gaze.

Her mother ran among the firs at the far edge of the yard, the light from the fire catching her long, blonde hair. Suddenly the flames flared below Madison’s window, nearly reaching the roof. Madison lost her balance and fell backward onto her mattress, losing her breath. And then Emily was inside, tugging at her arm. “Wake up! Fire! We’ve got to get out of the house!”

The sky around the sinking sun turned the deep orange of hot coals.

Madison hated fire with a passion.

Emily had shoved Madison out of the house and then gone to find their mother. Tara was at a friend’s. The three of them had clutched each other, watching the house burn.

Later she learned how her father had died, and her child’s heart broke in half, crushed by the loss and cruelty.

And a few days later, Tara left, and Madison blamed herself, convinced she had driven her away with her sisterly inquisitiveness.

Her mother might as well have vanished that fateful day. She became a brittle shell, a whisper of the woman she’d been, a shadow of herself.

Then she too was gone.

A third blow to her ten-year-old psyche.

Madison pushed away the deluge of old hidden emotions that threatened as she sat at the ocean’s edge.

She had learned she should never share her heart with another. People left. People died. It hurt. It was best not to become attached.

The aunts tried their best to fill the empty family-shaped holes around Madison, and she loved them for it. But their presence was not the same.

“Is that you, Madison?”

Madison lowered her legs and swung around to face the woman, her elbows and feet ready to strike. She’d instantly recognized the voice but couldn’t stop her reaction.

The old woman in the long, padded coat stumbled backward. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. I don’t like to scare people.” She covered her face with her hands.

Madison’s spine relaxed, and her heartbeat slowed. “It’s okay, Alice. I was just startled.”

It was another Bartonville loner.

Over her thick knit scarf, Alice Penn gave a toothy smile—more of a grimace that flashed her teeth without projecting warmth. Alice was harmless.

Alice had wandered Bartonville for as long as Madison could remember, living in a tiny house near the abandoned seafood processing plant. Rumor had it that her lover had died in a fishing boat accident, and that she’d walked the docks since then, waiting for him to return. Madison knew the story was false. She’d talked frequently with Alice, and even though Alice wasn’t mentally all there, she was fully aware he was dead.

The woman’s mind skipped and jumped around between decades. Sometimes she believed she was in high school, her parents still living. Other times she believed she was late for her cleaning job at a hotel that had closed a decade ago. Some days she knew Madison’s name; other days Alice called her a name from some shadow of her past.

Around Alice, Madison didn’t feel compelled to hide.

She could be herself.

Alice’s bent, shuffling form was a familiar sight on the streets of Bartonville and surrounding towns. Alice walked every day, no matter the weather, and often ended up on the bench that Madison loved. Sometimes Alice would talk the entire time they sat; other times she was silent.

Alice’s family was gone, but the people of Bartonville looked after her. Madison brought her leftover food from the restaurant, and Leo, the diner’s cook, made sure her house was stable and secure.

Tonight appeared to be a silent night instead of a talkative one. Alice sat quietly on the far end of the bench, with as much room as possible between herself and Madison. Alice mumbled about being late and missing the best part of the sunset, but her eyes locked on the vibrant slivers of its remains, barely blinking. Several minutes later the light was nearly gone, leaving a dark-lavender sky that steadily grew darker.

Alice sighed and pushed to her feet. “A good day. A very good day today. I hope your day was as blessed as mine, Madison.”

She had the voice of a young woman.

“It wasn’t too bad,” Madison replied.

Alice tilted her head, her eyes nearly invisible in the dimming light. “I don’t hear joy in your words, Madison. How can you watch the heavens outdo every sunset of their past and say your day wasn’t too bad?”

Because my closest friend was murdered. And I think I may have let her down before she died. Why didn’t Lindsay tell me what was going on with her?

Why didn’t I ask?

“You’re right. It was amazing.”

“Good. Good. Good. That’s better. Now. We had both best be going. I don’t want to be late for the meeting at the church.” She steadied herself with one hand on the back of the bench.

Madison jumped to her feet, ready to grab Alice if she toppled. “What’s happening at the church tonight?”

Like a curious puppy, Alice tilted her head again. This time her gaze solidly collided with Madison’s. “Why, there’s a meeting about the murders, of course. We’ve got a killer in our town.”

15

“He’s gone?” Zander was fuming.