Chapter 14

I told Mills about the diner conversation.

He took notes. His face was serious.

"Melissa is still in prison. I can go talk to her. See if she'll talk."

He did.

Two days later, he called me.

"She talked. There's someone else. A man named Frank Doyle. He was Victor's cousin. He helped bury the body. He was the one who poured the concrete."

My hands tightened around the phone.

"Where is he?"

"That's the problem. He disappeared the same week Victor was arrested. He's been off the grid. But Melissa thinks he's still in the area. He has family here."

"He's the one sending the letters."

"Probably. We're looking. But I need you and your father to be careful. Stay together. Don't go anywhere alone."

Dad and I increased security. Cameras. Alarms. A dog.

A big golden retriever named Max.

We got him from the shelter. He was three years old and scared of everything.

But he loved us. And we loved him.

Weeks passed. No more letters.

I started to relax.

Then, one night, I was working late at the office.

Dad had gone home. I was finishing payroll.

I heard a noise. Outside.

I looked up.

A shadow passed the window.

My heart stopped.

I reached for my phone.

And then the front door smashed open.

A man stood there. Stocky. Red-faced. Angry.

Frank Doyle.

He had a knife.

"You," he snarled. "You and your father ruined everything."

I backed away.

"Frank, please. Put the knife down."

He advanced.

"Victor was family. You put him away. Richard too. Now I'm next. I can't let that happen."

He lunged.

I ducked. The knife hit the desk.

I grabbed the heavy stapler and threw it. It hit his shoulder.

He roared and came at me again.

And then Max barked.

We had brought Max to the office that day. He was in the back room.

He came running.

Max, the golden retriever who was scared of his own shadow, launched himself at Frank Doyle.

He bit his arm. Hard.

Frank screamed and dropped the knife.

I grabbed it and threw it across the room.

The police arrived three minutes later. The alarm had triggered.

Frank Doyle was arrested.

He confessed to everything. The letters. The vandalism. Helping bury David.

He got thirty years.

I sat on the floor of my office, shaking, while Max licked my face.

Dad arrived. He held me.

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"It's over," he whispered. "It's really over now."

And this time, I believed him.