Chapter 8
The community rallied around Dad.
Neighbors. Former customers. People who had heard the story on the news.
They came with brooms and boards and paint.
By the end of the weekend, the shop was cleaner than before.
And there was a new sign on the door.
Hand-painted. It said: VANCE & DAUGHTER? No. It said:
"JIM WILSON. HONEST MAN. GOOD POOLS."
Dad cried when he saw it.
I had never seen my father cry.
But the trial was still months away. And Victor was still out there.
I got a job waitressing at a diner near Dad's house. The hours were long, the pay was bad, but it was honest work.
One evening, a woman came in and sat in my section.
She was wearing sunglasses indoors. Expensive coat. Hair pulled tight.
I recognized her immediately.
Melissa.
My hands went cold.
"What do you want?" I whispered.
She looked up. Her eyes were red. She'd been drinking.
"I need to talk to you. Somewhere private."
"I have nothing to say to you."
She reached out and grabbed my wrist.
"Please. You don't understand. Victor... he's not what you think. He's dangerous. He's coming for all of us."
I pulled my arm away.
"Then turn yourself in. Tell the police everything."
She laughed bitterly.
"You think it's that simple? Richard has lawyers. Richard has money. If I talk, I go down too."
She leaned closer.
"Listen to me. Victor has a gun. And he's already killed once. He won't hesitate to kill again. Your father found the body. You found the notebook. You're both targets."
"Why are you telling me this?"
She looked away.
"Because I'm scared. And because... because David was a good man. And I let them kill him. And I've had twelve years to think about it."
She stood up. Left a hundred-dollar bill on the table.
"Tell your father to be careful. Victor knows where he lives. He knows where you live. He knows about Eleanor."
She walked out.
I stood there, frozen.
Then I ran to the back and called Dad.
He didn't answer.
I called again. Nothing.
I grabbed my keys and ran out of the diner.
I drove to Dad's house as fast as I could.
The front door was open.
The lights were off.
"Dad!" I screamed.
No answer.
I ran inside.
The living room was overturned. Furniture broken.
And on the kitchen table, a single bullet.
Next to it, a note.
May you like
Two words.
"YOU'RE NEXT."
