Page 98 of Is Anyone Listening?
I pulled the paint cans apart and grabbed the box, pulling it over to me. It wasn't taped like some of the others, and I squatted down to take a look inside. There was a colorful pink scarf on the top, but it had dark red spots on it, which reminded me of the carpet I'd seen taken out of Anna's room. I took it out and saw more odd items underneath, including a sparkly silver chain with a heart-shaped locket.
As I picked it up and turned it over, my hand began to shake. There were initials carved on the back: NAW. My breath caught in my throat. Oh, my God!
Was this Natalie's locket? The one Dorothy had described, the one I'd seen around Natalie's neck in some of the photos I'd found. It seemed impossible to believe that it was here. But those were her initials, standing for Natalie Anne Warren.
Holding the locket tight, I peered back into the box, seeing a silver bracelet, a turquoise ring, a woman's beanie, and then an envelope with strands of dark hair flowing out of it. Why would there be hair in an envelope?
I felt suddenly sick. I couldn't pick up that envelope. I couldn't look inside.
Getting to my feet, Natalie's locket still clutched in my fingers, my mind raced with questions. Why were these things here in Dorothy's basement?
She couldn't be a killer, could she?
No. That was impossible. She was a sweet old lady, and she'd brought me down here as if she had nothing to hide.
But I couldn't stay down here. I needed to get upstairs, to go to the sheriff, or maybe to Finn, to someone I could trust.
Before I could move, I heard someone come through the door, and then footsteps on the basement stairs that seemed too heavy to belong to Dorothy.
"Dorothy?" I called, turning toward the steps. I froze in shock.
It wasn't Dorothy coming down to the basement.
And any hope of escape had just vanished.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jeff Holloway stood at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes moving from my face to the locket swinging from my fingers.
"You shouldn't have come down here, Cassidy," he said in a voice that was deadly quiet.
I took a step back, my mind racing. "Where's Dorothy?"
"When she told me you were down here, I sent her on an emergency errand to talk some sense into Cole before he leaves town. She won't be back…in time."
His last two words sent a wave of panic through my body, but I tried not to show it. "Then I'll just go back to the inn."
He moved closer, his big, broad body, blocking my exit. "You're not going back to the inn." He paused, his gaze turning very dark. "No one ever goes back."
I swallowed a knot in my throat, telling myself to stay calm, to think. I needed to keep him talking until I could figure a way out. Maybe Dorothy wouldn't find Cole. Maybe he'd already left with Sophie, and she'd come right back to the house.
"Nothing to say?" he challenged. "You? The woman who has so much to say to anyone who will listen? I've enjoyed your podcasts, listening to you scramble to find some reasonable explanation for what happened to Natalie. You wanted to tell a true crime story that would fascinate your listeners. But you know what's more fascinating than talking about murder?"
I really didn't want to answer that question. "Where's Natalie, Jeff?"
"She's not here. But you are. And you look like her with your brown hair and your dark eyes—eyes that are filled with fear right now. But you don't have to be afraid. You won't feel anything."
My heart was beating so fast, I thought it might jump out of my chest. "What did you do to Natalie?"
"You'll find out soon enough." An evil smile twisted his lips. "This will be fun. Not as good as planning, waiting, lying… But the spontaneity will be a nice change."
"Were there other women, too?"
"Of course. But no one came looking for them. I didn't think anyone would come looking for Natalie. She told Dorothy she was all alone. Her family hated her. Her ex had moved on. No one cared about her anymore. She was going to start over in a new place, create a new life. That's what they all think they're going to do, what they all want to do."
His voice took on a dangerous, nostalgic quality that made me shiver.
"Dorothy sent the women here? To you?"
