Chapter 4

Miss Doreen’s truck pulled into the church lot at seven fifteen.

I heard the engine cough and die. I heard the door slam. I heard her boots crunch through the snow toward the parsonage.

I pressed my ear to the pantry wall. Eli’s room was on the other side. I couldn’t hear him, but I knew he was awake. He was always awake when Kyle was home.

Kyle opened the door before Doreen could knock.

“Miss Doreen,” he said. His voice was warm. Welcoming. “What are you doing out in this storm?”

“I got a message from Hannah.” Doreen’s voice was thin, worried. “Said she was locked in the pantry.”

A pause. Then Kyle laughed. Not a cruel laugh. A gentle, patient laugh. The kind he used when someone said something silly in church.

“Hannah’s in bed,” he said. “She’s been having a rough time with the pregnancy. Her ankles are swollen, and she’s been a little confused lately. The doctor said it’s normal, but I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

“She said Eli was starving.”

Another pause. “Eli’s fine. He’s been eating. You know how he is. He likes to be dramatic.”

I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Eli couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t be dramatic. Kyle knew that. Doreen knew that.

But Doreen was old. She was tired. She’d known Kyle since he was a boy. His father had been a deacon. His mother had sung in the choir. In Barlow’s Reach, the Trask name meant something.

“I’m worried about her,” Doreen said.

“I am too,” Kyle said. “That’s why I called social services. They’re sending someone tonight. Just to check on her and the baby. I think she needs help, Doreen. Real help.”

Silence. I could picture Doreen standing on the stoop, snow melting on her glasses, wanting to believe him.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she said finally. “When the storm’s passed.”

“You do that. Drive safe.”

The door closed. The truck started. The headlights swept across the frosted window and disappeared.

Kyle walked back to the pantry. He didn’t open the door. He just stood on the other side.

“You hear that?” he said. “No one’s coming. Not for you.”

I didn’t answer.

“The social worker will be here in an hour and a half,” he said. “She’ll see the pantry. She’ll see the empty shelves and the missing inventory. She’ll see your handwriting on the audit sheets. And she’ll see a pregnant woman who can’t keep her own house in order.”

I looked at the tablet, hidden behind the creamed corn. The message had been delivered. But Doreen hadn’t believed it.

I had one more chance. One more bell. One more message.

I just had to figure out how to send it before Kyle found the carbon copy.