“Please state the nature of your emergency.”

“I . . . I think I heard something . . . someone . . .” Violet started, still unsure. Her hands were shaking, and so was her voice. “It was coming from inside one of the shipping containers on the waterfront.”

“Do you have an address?”

Violet shook her head, even though the dispatcher couldn’t see her. “It’s near the ferry terminals. The ones at Pier Fifty-two. There’s a sign that says Puget Sound Shipyards.”

She was jumpy about placing the call. Maybe she’d made a mistake. She glanced around uncertainly, suddenly wondering about what kind of person could put someone inside one of those containers. What if that person was still here? What if he was watching her? What if he’d followed her?

She took a step away, and the hand holding the handset fell to her side as she strained to listen to the sounds around her, searching for any sign that she wasn’t alone. The metal cord that connected the receiver to the pay phone reached its limit and she froze. She could hear the operator speaking on the other end, but she couldn’t make out the words.

She needed to get out of there, but that need was outweighed by the desire to make someone come . . . to find whoever was trapped inside the steel box.

She lifted the receiver back to her ear, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “That’s all I can tell you. There’s someone in there, a person . . . locked in one of the containers. A red cargo container. Please . . . send help. . . .” She was whispering now, afraid that someone besides the operator might be listening to her.

“What is your name—”

Violet hung up, ending the call with an eerie sense of foreboding.

She ran as quickly as she could to her car. Once she was inside with the doors locked, she leaned her head back and fought to catch her breath. She started the engine and listened to its rough purr as she waited for the heat to catch up—and for her heart to slow down.

Outside the car, the echoes of the harp were muffled now, but the quivering aftershocks stirred all the way to her soul. She could hear the distant sound of sirens. She wondered if this was their destination . . . if they were coming because of her call.

She didn’t wait to find out; she put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot, a little surprised that her tires didn’t squeal as she stomped on the accelerator.

And as the watery dawn broke across the sky, she was haunted by the nagging sensation that she’d just made a terrible mistake.

Chapter 4

It was still early as Violet passed the turn to her house, but she kept on driving. She wasn’t quite ready to go home, not ready yet to face the questions from her parents about where she’d gone to so early on a Sunday morning.

Her note had simply said she was going out and would be back soon. Violet knew it was a lie, even if only one of omission. To her parents, however, a lie was a lie; the distinction wouldn’t matter. She only hoped they wouldn’t ask too many questions.

She drove, instead, to Jay’s house and parked next to his shiny black Acura.

He’d bought the car in the fall, right before the Homecoming Dance. Violet couldn’t recall ever seeing it when it wasn’t polished to a high-gloss shine, which was no small feat in a climate where it rained more often than not. Jay spent so much time at the do-it-yourself car wash that Violet was afraid he might buff away the top layer of paint. But so far it managed to sparkle even on the gloomiest of winter days, and Violet’s car just looked sad and dull sitting beside it.

Even though it was a Sunday morning, Jay’s mom answered the door ready for work. She was a nurse at the hospital in the next town over, so her schedule was irregular at best, but the flexible hours were perfect for the single mother. After Jay’s dad had left, Ann Heaton had moved to Buckley, the town where she’d grown up, to raise Jay on her own.

“Hey, Violet, you’re up early,” Ann said, letting Violet inside. “Jay’s up in his room, still asleep.”

“Thanks. I’m glad I didn’t wake you.”

“Oh, honey, even if I didn’t have the early shift this month, I’m not one to laze around in bed all day. Even on a weekend.”

“I’m not sure it counts as lazing when it’s only seven thirty in the morning,” Violet teased. Her eyes watered as she followed Jay’s mom inside, and she blinked against the familiar sting that Ann Heaton always caused her. Jay’s mom carried an imprint of her own.

Violet had only confided in her own mom about Ann’s imprint; she’d never told anyone else. Her mother had explained to her the difficulty that nurses sometimes faced when watching their terminally ill patients suffer agonizingly slow deaths.

Violet had decided not to tell Jay that his mom had killed, even out of mercy.

Now, years later, the smoldering scent of burning wood that Ann carried had dulled, and the sting that hit Violet’s eyes, like smoke from a campfire, had lessened. Although not by much.

“You know what I mean, young lady.” Ann smacked Violet on the behind, the same way she did to Jay whenever he was giving her a hard time. And then she winked. “You can go on up, dear. I’m sure he won’t mind if you wake him.” Ann grabbed her purse and car keys from the table beside the door. “Will you please tell him I’ll be home after dinnertime, so he should feed himself?” Without waiting for an answer, Ann gave Violet a quick peck on the cheek, and the smoky scent wafted around both of them . . . only Ann couldn’t smell it. “I gotta run or I’ll be late. See ya later, sweetie.”