Page 136 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

“I’m taking that as a yes.” I stood and nodded to the garage. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find some boxes.”

Another hour later, I’d boxed the keep pile and loaded it into my car. I’d finished trashing the throw pile and was checking my phone to see if Cole had texted. He hadn’t, so I decided to start packing the kitchen.

An hour later, when all the drawers had been emptied and cleaned, I checked my phone again, still seeing nothing from Cole.

“He’s probably just busy,” I told Nazboo.

Her brown eyes opened, but otherwise, she didn’t move from where she’d fallen asleep next to the fridge.

“I’ll send him a text.”

I fired off a quick note, asking if he had any idea when he’d be done at the station, and then I went back to packing.

The minutes ticked on, and my phone stayed silent on the counter. My eyes darted to the screen so often, I lost focus on packing. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on sorting dishes and random kitchen appliances, I couldn’t stop myself from constantly checking my phone. And every time it turned up blank, my panic grew.

There was something eerily familiar about this. Something entirely unwelcome. Memories plagued my mind from the last time I’d been in this kitchen, desperate for my phone to chime.

He’s okay. He’s just at work. I reminded myself over and over that Cole was fine. That the anxious prickling on the back of my neck was just because I was here. That finding Jamie’s letter had freshened old memories. This is just déjà vu.

Despite my best efforts not to compare the past to the present, when the doorbell rang, a lance of terror cut through my racing heart. I held my breath as my unsteady feet rounded the corner of the kitchen.

My eyes searched the window of the door, and for a moment, I was taken back five years. It took me a second to separate the memory from reality, but when I did, the wave of relief that crashed over me nearly knocked me over.

Cole’s handsome face was on the other side of the glass.

I hurried down the hall—Nazboo rushing to catch up—and turned the lock.

“Hi,” I breathed, pressing a hand to my still pounding heart. “That was the most intense déjà—”

I stopped talking at the look in Cole’s eyes. They were full of pain. Of dread. I’d seen that combination in his eyes before. It was the same look he’d had the night he’d stood on this very porch and told me that my husband had been murdered.

“Cole?”

My voice seemed to make the pain worse and his entire face twisted in agony.

“You’re scaring me. What is it? Tell me.” I waited three heartbeats. “Please.”

He swallowed hard. “We found the person who killed Jamie.”

My hand clamped over my mouth but a sob still escaped. No amount of calming breaths could keep my tears away, and they flooded my eyes, trickling down my cheeks. “You did? It’s over?” An unbelievable sense of finality settled in my chest. I was still crying, but the drops were no longer filled with fear. They were full of relief. It was over.

Cole nodded but didn’t seem at all relieved. Wasn’t this good news? A killer was off the streets. He’d found the bad guy. Why did he still look like he wanted to be anywhere but on my porch?

“There’s more.” His voice cracked.

Tension came rushing back, filling my muscles as I stood silently, waiting for Cole to continue.

When he looked to his feet and then back up again, the tears in his eyes pounded a hammer to my chest.

“What?” I begged. “What don’t you want to tell me?”

A tear rolled down his cheek. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault Jamie was killed.”

Five hours earlier . . .

“Hey.” I stepped into the observation area attached to the interrogation room. Matt was standing by the two-way mirror, staring at the woman he’d called in for questioning.

“Hey. Sorry to call you in, but I think you’re going to want to be here.”