The Three Deaths of Willa Stannard by Kate Robards

Author:Kate Robards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER

24

Sawyer

ROBERTA HANDS ME a steaming mug of coffee despite the late hour as she settles on the couch next to me. Between her nearly antique television and her wide glasses that haven’t been in style since last century, I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time. I take a polite sip, and it’s a bitter black.

“How long have you worked with Christine, Sarah?”

My heart leaps in my chest. Willa once revealed that I blink rapidly when I lie, so I open my eyes wide and innocent. “Oh, off and on for years now.”

Roberta gives a brisk nod. “It takes a certain sense of entitlement to claim to know someone else’s story well enough to write a book about it.”

I set the mug down on a battered end table beside the couch and take a deep breath. I should have known that the Wynnes’ neighbor would be wary of an invasive reporter and less loose-lipped than Justine Vaughn.

“I can appreciate that. I’m coming in as an outsider, trying to tell your story,” I allow.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

I can’t help but think of Willa. She chased rumors and followed legends and probed deeply into the lives of everyone she talked to. Her whole life was about telling other people’s stories. But even as her sister, I never knew her story or that she lived a secret, private life of depression.

“But you’re a part of it,” I argue. “Don’t you think it’s worth telling your perspective and sharing how you felt? If it would help save even one person, isn’t it worth it?”

“That this interview could save someone is a lofty ambition.”

God, she’s no-nonsense. Book smart too. Her tiny one-room cottage is nearly overflowing with newspapers and books, and not the type of candy-colored beach reads scattered around my apartment either.

“I understand that true crime books purport to delve into a criminal’s mind,” she continues. “But is that why people read them? Isn’t it really just a basic morbid curiosity? I suppose I got over that quickly when I worked in emergency dispatch.”

“So you were on the receiving end of a lot of sad calls. You were the first person to hear about countless tragedies,” I say. “Then you understand that if this book can help us understand why Melody Wynne went missing, then it’s worth it so the dispatcher at the desk where you used to sit may have one less missing-child report to file.”

Roberta rummages in the pockets of her plaid jacket and retrieves a tissue. She dabs at her nose discreetly and pats at her short-cropped gray hair. She looks like the type of woman who’d carry a compass in her pocket, not tear up at the mention of her former career. I may have gone too far.

“There’s an insatiable desire to understand these monsters. But in the end, they’re just regular people without guilt or remorse. That’s what a psychopath is. We don’t even know what causes it—upbringing or Mother Nature. Your book won’t change that.”

I run my sweaty palms across my dress slacks.

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