“So you’re just going to leave? And go where?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know yet.”
“Also, what about the funeral? You are going to plan one right?”
“Just something simple I guess. How about you? You going to stay here?”
Ron shakes her head. “I doubt it. I’ve given up on the camp too.”
“Given up on your revenge?”
Ron had almost forgotten about that lie she told. “Yeah. It’s not worth it.”
“So what will you do?”
“I don’t know. Find a job or something?”
Giselle laughs. “Yeah, maybe I should do that too. I used to be a journalist you know. It’s why I hated that Iris always read that dumb paper. No fact-checking and many of the articles weren’t even proofread. Just errors everywhere.” She sits up straighter, that determined look she often used to have coming back. “I’ve always wanted to start my own paper.”
“You can do that. Make an even better one than the Normal News.”
She gives a small smile. “That would be great. Do you have any interest in journalism?”
Ron grimaces. “Not really. I’m more of a—”
The phone in her pocket rings and vibrates. She had left it in there all night and forgot to put it on the charger. She pulls out the phone.
It’s the sheriff.
She flips open the phone. “Hello?”
“Ron, hello,” the sheriff says. “Just calling to say Iris’s death was ruled as a natural cause. The M.E. said she died of a heart attack, no evidence foul play.”
“Okay, thanks for telling us.”
“We can release the body to you to have it buried, or if you’d rather it be cremated then, we can send it to a funeral home nearby and send the ashes to you. Save some time since you’d have to send the body over to that town to get it done anyway.”
“Oh, hold on. Let me ask Giselle.”
Ron presses the phone against her chest. “The sheriff says it was a heart attack.”
Giselle frowns but doesn’t say anything.
“She wants to know if you want to have her buried here or get her cremated in the town over and have her ashes sent here.”
Giselle bites her lip. “Cremated.”
Ron nods and moves the phone back to her ear. “Okay, she said cremated.”
“Alrighty then. I’ll have that arranged,” the sheriff replies.
“Ask her how long it’ll take,” Giselle says.
“She wants to know how long it’ll take for her to get the ashes,” Ron says into the phone.
“Hmm,” the sheriff says, “I think three to five days.”
“Three to five days,” Ron says to Giselle, who nods and lays down in bed.
“Anything else I can help you with?” the sheriff asks.
“No, thank you,” Ron says.
The sheriff hangs up. Ron closes the phone. The battery is at half.
She gets up and pulls out the phone charger from the wall. “What do you want for breakfast? Or I suppose lunch, given the time.”
Giselle just pulls the covers up higher. “Nothing.”
“You have to eat something. Let’s go to the diner together.”
“You go. I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll bring you back something. What would you like?”
“I don’t want anything.”
Ron sighs. “Okay, well, I’m going to go get something to eat.”
“Sure.”
Ron goes into the living room and plugs in the charger. She puts the phone on it and then digs through her backpack for the rest of her meager amount of money. She counts it. A little under eleven dollars. That probably won’t be able to buy her much at the diner.
As she puts the money back, she sees the box of Pop-Tarts she bought from the store a couple days earlier. She has only eaten a couple of them, so the box is still pretty full.
She takes the box to the kitchen and pops two in the toaster. As she waits for them, she wonders if Chrys will call or of if she should call Chrys. Granted, they did just see each other yesterday but Ron is feeling antsy, ready to leave this place this very moment.
She understands why Giselle wants to leave. Everything in this house reminds Ron of Iris. Nothing really seems like it could be Giselle’s. It’s hard enough for Ron, who’s only known Iris for a couple days, to be surrounded by it. No wonder Giselle hasn’t left the room yet.
The toaster pops up. Ron transfers the Pop-Tarts to a plate and sits at the table. She eats.
She’s glad, at least, that they ruled Iris’s death as natural so Chrys and Ron won’t have to worry about being on the run as murder suspects too. She’d have to tell Chrys that.
But what confuses Ron the most is Carl. Certainly he saw something, yet he claims he didn’t. And what about Noah? If Noah really is dead, he had to have done something with the body.
Ron finishes eating quickly. She’s still hungry but she’s used to hunger. She washes her plate and puts the box of Pop-Tarts back in her backpack.
Feeling like she has to get out of this house and just do something, she removes the phone from the charger—it only charged 1%—and puts it in her pants pocket.
She goes outside and walks towards Carl’s cabin.
She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help herself.
She walks through the forest swiftly, making almost no noise. It’s funny how she’s gotten used to it after coming here just a couple times. When she reaches the clearing, she peeks in, still mostly in the forest.
Carl’s motorcycle isn’t there.
She creeps in and peeks in the window. The futon is still there but all the sheets have been stripped off. The once-messy room is now spotless—no clothes on the ground, no dirty dishes hanging around.
Ron goes around the side of the cabin and peeks in the basement window.
Most of the shelves are empty. The mattress is still on the floor, but the sheet is gone and there’s no body. The table, folding chair and laptop are all gone.
Ron gets out of there,
