Chapter 8: Natalie’s Doubts

Mr. Wallace stopped, then turned to me. “Do you remember this case? It was a big deal around the millennium. You’re from here, right?”

I kept massaging, pretending it was just small talk. “I really don’t remember things from 2000. When I was about twelve, something happened in my family, and we moved down south—must’ve been ’98 or ’99. I only came back recently, so I don’t know much about the news back then.”

I knew Maple Heights Books, but no memory of any infamous murder.

“No wonder,” he said, sounding far away, lost in memories, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Seeing him like that, I hesitated, then picked up the tissue box and pressed it into his hand, my fingers lingering as I wondered if I’d gone too far. “Mr. Wallace, what’s wrong? You’re really tense today—your muscles are stiff. Should we take a break?”

Usually, he’s easygoing, his body relaxed. But now, he was all tension, goosebumps rising on his back. When he mentioned Sam’s death, his body turned to stone.

The room felt colder, like a draft sneaking in under the door. For the first time, I realized his pain wasn’t just sympathy—it was personal. An old wound, not a story.

“I am a bit nervous...” He sat up, wiped his eyes. “You’ve been working a while—let’s take a break. What do you think of this case?”

I was glad for the pause. He’d booked my whole day anyway. I slumped into an armchair, back to the window, facing him.

“Honestly? Sounds like a mentally ill guy killed a kid and got shot. The only weird part is the ‘moon’ thing. Was it a nickname? Did he kill for revenge?”

I tried to piece it together: maybe Henry Young had something to do with Sam’s daughter’s death. Maybe it was revenge. But the name ‘moon’ rang a bell I couldn’t quite place.

“Your guess makes sense,” Mr. Wallace said, “but it’s not the truth. Sam wasn’t crazy. Everything he did—right up to the end—was deliberate.”

He handed me a glass of juice. The glass was cold and slick in my palm, and I realized my own hands were shaking too. Whatever was coming next, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.