Epilogue

Five months later…

They stood before her grave, a crisp breeze stirring the leaves over the hard-packed ground.

"I can't believe it's really over," Ginger murmured, taking hold of Adam's hand and bowing her head to observe a moment of silence for the woman to whom she probably owed her life. Her name was Annalise Carter, and she had finally been laid to rest the month before, three days before Thanksgiving.

Ginger's theory that Annalise had been murdered and taken to the well that stood in the Scotts' backyard had proven to be accurate. Roughly three weeks later, the police had found the remains of a young woman in that well, and a combination of sleuthing and DNA testing had eventually confirmed the woman's identity. They would never know for sure if Charles Switzer had been her killer, but none of them supposed it mattered anymore.

The house on Walnut Street had been torn down in October, on Halloween of all days. Chris, Ginger, Adam, Peter and Elizabeth Scott, and Heaven and Harley Feldman had gathered together once again, standing far back, on the other side of the street, hands linked as they watched the wrecking crew bring the towering structure to the ground.

Aiden's body was transported back to Montana, where it soon became known that he had been suffering from psychosis throughout most of his teen years and all of his adult life. His doctors claimed he often refused his medication and they had long ago deemed him to be a ticking time bomb.

Ginger's rejection had simply been his trigger. It still scared her that she hadn't recognized his unstable nature, but she had never been one to dwell on what she was unable to change.

"Are you ready to go now?" Adam asked, standing beside her in the early light of day.

"I think so." She nodded, leaning down to run her fingertips along the smooth marble headstone that was dotted with drops of morning dew. "Thank you. I'll never forget you," she whispered before turning to her future husband.

"I'm ready."

"Good, because we've got a long drive ahead of us—unless you want to stay another day."

"And be late to my own wedding? Not in a million years."