The May Queen Murders (30 page)

decomposition, fingernails protruding from the bone’s tips. Some-

thing glinted even in the forest light. It was metal but so tarnished I

might’ve overlooked it if the sun didn’t eke through when the trees

swayed in the breeze. Amid the bones, a ring was slid halfway down

one of the skeletal fingers. I lifted the dead hand into mine and took

the ring into my palm, turning it over.

“Did Milo tell you his mother’s last name?” I asked.

“I assumed it was MacAvoy and she changed it to Entwhistle

when she married his father. He said his mama’s name was Laurel,

which —”

“It doesn’t go with Terra,” I finished. “Terra’s a land name. Laurel’s

a tree.”

I held up the ring for him to see and fumbled for another ring I

had strung on Heather’s necklace of found things: Milo’s. They were

similar but not total y the same.

Rook took the rings and looked them over before handing them

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back to me. “Milo’s has laurel leaves. But this one, they’re birch

branches.”

“You sure?” I asked. “That means someone’s pretending to be

Birch Markle.” That metal tang in my mouth, the tightening of every

cord in my neck and throat. “Wh-who would do such a thing?”

Why Heather didn’t want me to know who she was seeing. It

hadn’t been an
M
for MacAvoy in the family crest carved on the ring.

It was an
M
for Markle.

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Chapter Twenty

You can’t know the kind of evil that runs in folks’ souls, but

you also can’t know the good that lies there until you look

hard enough.

Legs scissoring over fal en branches and divots in the ground, I

ran as fast I could out through the woods. Rook kept pace with

me, urged me, “Keep running. Keep going.” My chest heaved, and

no matter the humidity in the air and mosquitoes buzzing near

my cheeks, the sweat layering my skin was cool. I batted away the

branches sticking out to tear at my sleeves, snatch at my cheeks,

and snag my hair.

Two sober figures came into view.

Milo had a crate filled with pillows and shrouds, crystals and piec-

es of metal. Emmie’s arms held discarded silver cups weathered by

tarnish.

They’re taking Heather’s things.

I clamped my hands over my mouth to keep from shouting at

them while they sifted through Heather’s treasures as if collecting

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them might command her spirit to laugh one more time, tell one

more secret, all to taunt her soul.

I tapped Rook’s shoulder and pointed. How could they raid

Heather’s things? To destroy evidence against them? A hurt stewed

inside me so furious my mind throbbed.

Rook crept closer, waiting, lips moving in a silent count, before he

broke into a run, narrowed the gap between himself and Milo, and

smashed hard into Milo’s back. They fell in a heap and sprawled on

the forest floor.

“Motherfucker, get off him!” Emmie shouted and dug her fingers

into Rook’s shoulders to pull him back. Milo kicked out from under

him, but Rook was too fast and got on top of him, holding him down

again.

“What’s wrong with you?” Milo hollered.

I caught up to Rook and the Entwhistles. I tugged Emmie away

from Rook, then knelt beside Milo.

“We know,” I said.

Milo drew his eyebrows together. “What are you talkin’ ’bout?”

“They say things run in families.” I locked on those pale, blue eyes.

“So does murder run in yours? We thought you were MacAvoys at

first, a Glen mama who left after a family tragedy, but you’re Markles,

ain’t you?”

Milo’s nostrils flared. “You know damn well where I was when

Heather died.”

“You were gonna run off with her, but she” — I whipped around

and pointed at his sister — “never would’ve let you go. Or maybe the

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two of you decided to work together and take some revenge for your

family’s disgrace.”

“Y’all are sick!” Milo shoved Rook back so that both boys were

spread on the ground.

“Not as sick as someone goin’ ’round and dressin’ up like a mur-

derer!” I yelled. “We found your kin’s bones in the woods. Heather

found where they were hidden, too. She had a map that led to ’em,

even if she never got to show them to Sheriff. So did she tell you what

she knew? I deserve to fucking know what you’ve been hiding! She

was my best friend! She was my blood, and I hate you for what you

did to her, how you changed her! You took her from me! And the

only reason
I’m
not dead is that I want to know what happened!”

My voice was frayed. The tears sliding down my cheeks and tast-

ing salty on my lips did nothing to quench the fire burning through

me. Rook stood and put his arms around me, burying my head

against his chest. The leaves above swayed, but the four of us were

ghostly in the empty woods.

A muffled sob that wasn’t my own caught my ear.

Milo’s sister sat on the ground and pulled her knees to her chest,

hiding her face. Milo crawled over to her and held her in a close hug.

“Shhh, Em.”

“I can’t,” she croaked. “I promised Heather.”

“I know,” Milo replied. His eyes closed and wiped her cheek. “It’s

okay.”

I broke away from Rook and knelt beside Milo and his sister.

“What did you promise Heather?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Milo interrupted.

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Emmie’s head slumped forward, and the sobs she attempted to

quiet racked her body. I crouched in front of her. The well for my

own tears was drained, but this girl ached in a way I knew too wel .

Yet I didn’t. It was strange to see how Milo and his sister grieved.

Heather, before she was angry with me, had loved me, and when she

loved you, it was impossible not to love her in return.

She reached into her pocket and withdrew the stationery I recog-

nized as Heather’s. “You gotta read this.”

My hand quaked as she slipped the letter between my fingers.

M,

I’m so scared. Something bad’s happening in the Glen. I think

I have it all figured out. I need to tell Sheriff, but I don’t know if

he’ll believe me. It means admitting that I’ve been meeting you

in the woods.

Please don’t hate me. I’m not ready for anyone else to know

except Milo.

I might not be able to run away with you on May Day.

Not yet. I know you’re worried about me. I am, too. But I’m also

scared for Ivy. Even if I go, she’ll live in the Glen. I can’t go until

I know she’s safe. That she’s happy.

If anything happens to me, make sure she’s okay. Tell her I

love her and that I’m sorry.

I love you.

— H

I looked from brother to sister, confused.

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Milo’s sister sniffed. “My name’s Mary Jane. I’ve just always

hated it.”

“You know you can’t get enough of Mary Jane.”
The echo of

Milo teasing Heather outside the trailer park scrol ed through my

memory.

Mary. Emmie. Em.

M.

My lips parted. All the intimate things I knew about my cousin.

All the secrets. The words blurred with grief renewed. Rook took the

letter, and when he was finished, he refolded it to hand back to Em-

mie, then took off his glasses.

“All those letters to M . . . it’s you,” I said to her.

Heather had been in love but not with Milo. With Emmie.

I didn’t know what kind of path love was supposed to be — it

seemed like it could be anything. Stumbling, tripping over your

own feet, hoping that the hand you reach out is caught by someone

who stops you from falling. Someone who got you. Wasn’t that what

mattered? Weren’t these things Heather and I could’ve talked about,

shared with whispers and giggles and tears? She didn’t have to cut me

off. And her being gone cut too deep.

“Why was Milo meeting her in the woods on May Day? Why

didn’t you come?” I asked.

“That was what Heather decided. I told her I’d be there, but she

said it’d be easier to get out with him than me, especial y if she ran

into trouble. I was supposed to be waiting at home for her. She didn’t

show up, and then Milo had a broken arm . . .”

She shivered again and sniffed.

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“Why did you let me think Heather was sneaking off to see you?”

I asked Milo.

He shook the hair from his eyes. Ever defiant and yet he seemed

to pull the last threads of fight within him. “You can walk around

with your hand in his” — he gestured to Rook — “and no one blinks

a goddamn eye. Heather couldn’t do that, and believe me, it tore her

up inside. So when you came to me, who was I to spill her secrets?”

He was her friend. He’d protected her.

I thought I’d done the same.

The betrayal I felt was one of trust — that she didn’t trust me

enough. I’d have been there for her. Didn’t she know that? But she

didn’t. She was too afraid. All I thought was what a loss that was.

“You have Heather’s necklace?” Emmie asked.

“Yes,” I replied. I showed it to her and her fingers hesitated on the

two halves of the broken glass circle I’d restrung on the chain.

“I found this,” she said. “It was near the trailer. Heather thought it

was cool.”

I took the glass pieces off the chain and placed them in Emmie’s

palm. Then I reached into my pocket and gave Milo his ring. “I know

this means a lot to you.”

He took the ring from my palm and squeezed it within his hand.

“My mama said her daddy was a metalworker and made a couple of

rings when she and her brother were born. She gave one to Mark, but

he gave it to me when he got sick. Thank you for givin’ it back.”

Rook climbed off the ground and took off his glasses, rubbing

the heel of his palm against his forehead. I didn’t know what to say

to Milo or Emmie. No apology sufficed for accusing them of mur-

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dering Heather, of the other death and harm. All Mamie’s tales of

Birch Markle, all the forced promises to come back in after dark,

the screams from the woods, they were lies. Lies the Glen believed.

Lies someone had made sure seemed like truth and not even Mamie

knew what was real.

“What’s going on out here? The woods are off-limits!”

We looked to the path. The hillmen from the bridge — Coyote

Jones and Ash Fitzgerald, I saw now — came into view with their

rifles up. As the men realized it was Rook and me, they lowered their

weapons.

“Who are you?” Coyote asked the Entwhistles.

“We were friends of Heather’s,” Milo replied.

Coyote helped Milo to his feet. “Y’all need to get outta here.

Things ain’t right in the Glen, and these woods are dangerous. You

shouldn’t be out here.”

“We found a body,” Rook blurted out. “We think it’s Birch Mar-

kle.”

The hillmen looked at each other, all disbelief and surprise. Coy-

ote tightened his grip on his rifle and warned, “You best not be foo-

lin’ with us, or your daddy’s gonna have a word with you.”

“He’s not,” I added. I pointed from where we’d come. “It’s back

there.”

Ash paled. “I think they’re serious.”

“We’ll check out it,” Coyote said. “Y’all drop everything and head

back to the Glen.”

Ash reached for Emmie’s box and tried tugging it away. She held

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tight until he wrestled it away, saying, “We might need this for evi-

dence.”

Emmie cast a forlorn look and took a few steps toward me. “But I

need what’s in there.”

Rook put his hand on her shoulder and spoke so softly I could

scarcely hear him, despite being right beside her. “I’ll come back for

it later. Once we show my dad the real Birch Markle, they won’t need

this stuff. Ivy and I’ll get it up to the road and leave the box. Come by

after dark. It’ll be there.”

Emmie let out a deep breath and set aside the box. Coyote grabbed

Rook around the arm and pulled him down the path leading back

to Potter’s Field. I trailed behind, leaving Milo and Emmie to take

their own path out of the woods while I struggled to keep up. The