Earlier, I had hidden nearby, listening in horror to their conversation.
“Louise’s in the house. We can’t let her know about us,” Phyllis had whispered to Charlene, brushing her cheek with a familiarity that stabbed me in the gut.
Charlene leaned into him like she belonged there. Like she had always belonged there.
“You’re right. It’s best to stay quiet until everything is settled,” she’d replied, voice heavy with guilt. “I miss Chelsea every single day. I wish Louise wasn’t the one responsible—but the evidence says otherwise. I still care for her. She’s like my own sister.”
She had spoken of me as if I had already been condemned. As though there were no doubt left.
“I wish things were different too,” Phyllis had sighed. “They’ve reopened the investigation, and someone’s digging up more evidence. But there are still pieces that don’t align. I just want to help you find Chelsea. I know how much you ache for your daughter. But Louise knows what she did with the body.”
“Yes,” Charlene’s tone had hardened. “She does. And you need to get her to reveal where it is. Chelsea trusted her. If she really loved her, she would come clean.”
“I’ll get the truth, Anna. I promise.”