Everyone in Clarkstown believes they know who killed firefighter Zane Gravenhurst.
His girlfriend, Jillian, sits behind bars, accused of leaving him to die after a rainy night ended in tragedy. The case is all but closed.
Only Zane’s younger sister, Molly, knows the truth isn’t buried because she can communicate with his ghost.
Molly needs help to get justice for her brother.
Her shy neighbor, whom she’s crushed on since high school, Duncan, comes to her aid.
Excerpt
Duncan
Duncan Fielding had a great vantage point to watch the Gravenhurst house. His binoculars sat on his windowsill; his telescope pointed across the street. The object of his obsession stood in her attic window. She’d been in the same spot for over an hour. Her lips moved occasionally, but he never saw anyone else in the window.
What is she doing?
Maybe today would be the day Duncan stopped making excuses and checked on her.
For the past year, ever since he and Damian bought a house on her block, Molly had become a fixture in his life. It started with casual hellos across their yards. Then, conversations whenever their paths crossed. Before long, his phone lit up with video game jokes she knew would make him laugh, and he fired back with memes about her favorite musicals.
He smiled despite himself. Molly never missed a chance to send him fan edits from the streaming channel he and Damian ran. Last summer, he rescued her stubborn lawnmower. A few months later, she shouted congratulations from across the street after spotting him on his porch, changing a lightbulb, and hearing about the game he and Damian had developed.
The memories warmed him, but they also sharpened the ache in his chest.
They were friends. Good neighbors. Yet every text, every laugh, every conversation only made him want more. Even now, Molly vanished from his sight, leaving him to wonder if she was sick, hurting, or desperately needed someone to knock.
Every morning, he woke with his body reminding him exactly how badly he wanted Molly. Just as persistent was the familiar hope that today would be different. Today, he’d finally find the courage to make a move.
The hope never lasted long.
He’d carried a torch for her since high school. More than ten years of stolen glances, imagined conversations, and second-guessed opportunities stretched behind him. Ten years of wanting more than friendship and settling for whatever scraps of her attention she freely offered.
For a while, Damian listened to it all. Then his brother grew tired of hearing Molly’s name attached to every story, every plan, every regret. Eventually, Duncan stopped talking about her altogether. The feelings never faded. He simply locked them away and carried them alone.
Flashing lights caught Duncan’s attention. A police cruiser pulled into Molly’s driveway. Duncan looked through his telescope and noticed a Stoney Point Police cruiser. Why is a Stoney Point cop coming to Molly’s house in Clarkstown?
He turned his telescope to Molly’s front door. The rain made it hard to distinguish much, but his heart jumped into his throat when Molly collapsed into one of the cop’s arms.
Duncan’s chest tightened. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
The image of Molly crying flashed through his mind, and a surge of panic shoved him into motion. He yanked open drawers, snatched the first clothes he found, and dragged them on with fumbling hands. He did a quick check in his mirror. His unruly dark brown hair stuck up at odd angles, and his tired hazel eyes, with purple bags beneath them, revealed extreme exhaustion. His six-foot-four frame craved rest, but his scorching need to get to Molly wouldn’t subside. If she’d gotten bad news, she shouldn’t have to face it alone.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
A sock landed on one foot. A different one landed on the other. He jammed his feet into his boots without bothering to check if they matched. Nothing mattered except getting to Molly.
He bolted from the room.
Please be okay.
The thought echoed through his head as he raced down the stairs and out the front door. As he crossed the street and entered her yard, Molly walked with the officers to their cruiser.
“What’s going on? Are you all right?” Duncan pressed, out of breath.
Molly shook her head as tears rolled down her pale cheeks.
Molly’s tiny frame shrank even smaller. At only five-foot-three and maybe 110 pounds, she always appeared physically vulnerable. That morning, her long, dark hair hung limp and wet down her back. Her golden-brown eyes glistened behind swollen, red-rimmed lids. Tear tracks streaked her cheeks, and fresh tears gathered faster than she could blink them away.
Pain twisted through his chest.
In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen Molly like that. Not frustrated. Not upset. Shattered.
“It’s her brother. We’re taking her to Good Sam,” the male officer offered.
“I’ll talk to you when I come home,” Molly uttered.
“Of course. Anything you need, Molly, just call. I mean it. Anything.” Duncan couldn’t believe his assertiveness. Grief rarely touched Duncan’s life, but he’d watched it tear through people he loved. Friends went numb, family members broke down, and entire worlds crumbled under the weight of a single phone call.
As he looked at Molly, he recognized the same devastation.
Whatever waited for her on the other side of that moment, she wouldn’t face it alone. He would be there for her in any way he could. No matter how ugly or painful things became, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Molly grabbed Duncan’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ll explain later.”
With that, Molly got in the cruiser and left with the police. She looked back for a few seconds as Duncan stood in her driveway, drenched to the bone. With the cruiser out of sight, Duncan ran back to his house to turn on his police scanner to figure out what the hell happened to Zane Gravenhurst.
Duncan spent hours watching and waiting. He roamed the halls while Damian played games and chatted with his online girlfriend under an anonymous account.
By eleven o’clock, cars were parked at the Gravenhurst home. Zane’s girlfriend, Jillian, with her dad and Molly’s parents, arrived and entered the house. About ten minutes later, Molly arrived with Jillian’s mother.
Duncan kept his phone in his hand while he gazed at the house with his telescope. Molly’s dad, Drake, paced the floors. Within a half hour, Jillian left with a few bags in her car, which her father drove. A few minutes later, Duncan spied Molly in a tight embrace with Jillian’s mother on the porch. Molly went inside, where her father made wild gestures and yelled at her.
By this time, Duncan had righted his socks and got ready to go to Molly before her call came in. He took one last look, then noticed one car arrive, then another, and another. On and on until ten cars lined up and down our street.
At that moment, Duncan’s phone lit up with a call from Molly.
“Hey,” he answered with tentative sympathy.
“Can you come over? Damian, too, if he wants.” Her voice sounded raw and wrong.
“I can.” Duncan debated whether to end the call or ask the question. His need for an answer won out. “What happened to Zane?”
“Zane’s dead. I think he was murdered.”
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