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“She knew.” Carl’s voice cracked and he hung his head. “This whole time, she knew. Oh! This is all my fault!”

“So you confess!” Sara shouted and pointed. “Filthy scum, no wonder Junetta left you.”

“No, no, it wasn’t me. I would have never…” His words fell away as he stumbled backward.

Catching him in a weak moment, Sara pounced.“You killed her. It makes perfect sense. You couldn’t have her, so you decided no one could.”

“When Junetta found out I’d been coming out here to hunt illegally, she was so upset. That was the beginning of the end for us.”

“You came here?” I prompted, even though I was already pretty sure I knew what he would say next.

Carl pumped his head.“Yes, I came here many times over the past couple years. The animals aren’t expecting it, so they’re easy shots. I’d bring Junetta with me on my trips sometimes, but never tell her where I was going after dark. I guess that’s why she came after the divorce, why she decided to take a job here. She thought it was just me hunting out here. She didn’t know there were more of us. Didn’t know who made it so that local law enforcement didn’t catch on.”

“Who was in charge, Carl?” I asked. “Who made it all possible?”

“She was your friend!” he shouted at Sara. “Why would you do this?”

The accused took a giant step back and pressed herself against her Airstream.“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s easy to blame others when you’re trying to cover your own back,” I said, taking a step toward the cornered killer.

“You! You can’t prove anything,” she spat at me.

“Oh, but I can,” Carl said, taking out his phone and jiggling it at her. “I kept a record of every hunt. Won’t be difficult to match you up to the timeline.”

“Go away! This is my home, and you’re not welcome here!” Sara shouted, completely losing it now.

“You’re going to jail. For Junetta’s sake, I hope you rot in there,” Carl hissed.

More and more campers overheard the yelling and came outside to investigate. The police arrived a short while later to take things over. And the hysterical killer was the one who had called them herself.

Chapter Nineteen

With Junetta’s killer behind bars, Charles and I headed back to our little home on wheels for the weekend. Pringle and Octo-Cat had made themselves scarce, allowing us to cash in on some much-needed relaxation.

We slept in late the next morning, then ate our way through a massive stack of messy, syrupy pancakes in bed. It was bliss.

“If we don’t go anywhere, we can’t be forced out of relaxation mode,” I reasoned, and Charles agreed enthusiastically.

“I still feel bad about dragging you all the way out here only to have the worst weekend ever,” he said with a slight frown pulling down the corner of his mouth.

I pushed my last bite of pancakes around the edges of my plate to collect the remaining drips of syrup, then shoved the whole thing in my mouth and sighed with delight.“Well, it was a pretty bad Friday,” I said once I’d managed to swallow down that heavenly bite. “But the weekend as a whole has yet to be determined.”

Octo-Cat, who lay cuddled at our feet, popped his head up and said,“Life with Angela is often irritating, but it’s never boring.”

I decided not to translate that for Charles.

“Hey, should we grill up that salmon for lunch?” he asked with a laugh.

“Are you kidding me? It’s been sitting out since yesterday. The thing is probably covered in flies by now.”

“Actually, I already took care of that,” Pringle announced, standing in the doorway with one paw to the wall. “Sorry. I know I was supposed to let you have it as a way of saying sorry for ruining your picnic, but I was just so hungry after all that sneaking around I did on your behalf. You know how it goes.”

I nodded and set my polished-off plate at the end of the bed.“I do, and it’s okay. We weren’t going to eat it, anyway.”

Pringle cast his eyes toward the floor, then grabbed the tip of his tail and began grooming it nervously with his fingers.“Sure, but I still feel really… I don’t know… sick to my stomach. It’s weird.”

“That feeling is guilt,” I supplied with a lazy grin. “You feel bad about ruining our picnic, but really, it’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“If you’re not mad, then why do I still feel this way? How can I make it stop?” He pouted and began to twist his tail in his hands.

“Really, it’s—”

“Oh, I’ve got it!” Pringle shouted, then turned and ran off. When he returned, he jumped up onto the bed and climbed onto my lap. His little black fist was closed tight around something, but I couldn’t see what.

“I’ve been feeling sick like this for a while now, and I think it all started after Chucky and I helped those seagulls,” he said, pointing toward Charles with his free hand. I was definitely not okay with him nicknaming my boyfriend after a demonic horror doll, but seeing as Pringle was attempting a genuine, heartfelt moment here, I let it slide.

Instead I asked,“What’s wrong with the seagulls?”