Chapter 2: Under Suspicion

“Mark, let me see the video again.” My hands shook as he replayed it. The crowd pressed closer, breath held, faces tight with anticipation. I tried to spot anything—anything—that could prove my innocence.

What unsettled me wasn’t just the footage, but how quickly my family turned on me. It was like they’d all rehearsed the lines, eager to lay blame and move on.

Mark shoved his phone in his pocket, jaw tight. “The evidence is solid. Every store on the block has this on camera. You can’t deny it.” His certainty fed the crowd’s outrage.

I took a deep breath. “I’m not denying it’s my car, but I wasn’t driving. Someone stole my keys, took my car, and hit Mrs. Wilson. I want to call the police.” Saying it out loud was a risk—here, calling the cops was like lighting a match near a gas leak.

My cousin blanched. “We can’t call the cops! The police in this town don’t let things go. If they get involved, it’s on your record forever. People will talk about us for years.” The fear of small-town scandal was stronger than any sense of justice.

Sarah chimed in, her voice shaky. “That’s right! Tyler just started elementary. If folks hear there’s a killer in the family, what will we do?” She clutched her purse tighter, as if it could shield her from the world.

Uncle Jeff rolled forward, suddenly every inch the family patriarch. “Mark, let me speak. I grew up with your mom—picked wildflowers together, worked side by side. Please, don’t call the police. I’ll have Natalie apologize to your family right here. We’ll make it right. When we go back down the hill, let’s still be neighbors.” His words sounded like something from another era, when feuds ended with a handshake and a pie, not a courtroom.

I was floored—was this loyalty, or just another way to bury the truth?

Mark looked at him, voice brittle. “Uncle Jeff, if I weren’t reasonable, we would’ve torn your house down twice already. My mom worked hard every day, and now she’s dead. Your family owes us.”

Uncle Jeff pressed his palms together, bowing his head. “If a life has to be paid, let it be mine. My legs are gone, I can’t move. Push me down the hill if you have to.” His voice broke, but his pain was real. The crowd shifted, some looking away, others whispering.

My cousin jumped to shield him. “No! Whoever did this pays, not my dad!” The scene felt like a tragedy, old wounds bleeding out in public.

My aunt grabbed my sleeve. “Natalie, just admit it. If you don’t, the whole town will say the Parkers failed you. We won’t be able to face your parents.” Her voice shook, the pressure of family shame pressing in.

Mark turned to me. “So, what’s it going to be?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “What do you want to do?” I wouldn’t let him control the moment.

He met my gaze, then looked to Uncle Jeff. “Your family’s been here for generations. If you admit fault, apologize in front of everyone, and make things right, we can talk.”

“How much?” My voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Five hundred thousand,” Mark said. The number hung in the air, impossible and final.

Half a million for a life—not that much, but I wasn’t paying for someone else’s crime. I searched the crowd for support, finding only resignation.

The cemetery fell silent. Even the birds seemed to know better than to break the tension.

“Natalie, just do it. If you can’t pay, we’ll all chip in,” Uncle Jeff pleaded, tears glinting in his eyes.

“Be brave. Don’t disgrace us,” my cousin added, voice thick with pride and shame.

“Natalie, I raised you like my own. Don’t be afraid. Doing the right thing still matters,” my aunt said, her voice softer, almost forgiving.

“Sis, set an example for us!” My cousin almost sounded excited, as if the drama was more important than the truth.

Everyone was here—except my uncle’s wife and son. Only the two of them were at home. Who else could’ve slipped into my room?

“Little brother, come here.” My voice was calm, but inside I was shaking. The crowd sensed a shift.

He swaggered over, but his eyes darted. “Even if you go to jail, I’ll visit,” he said, the bravado brittle.

I patted his head, holding his gaze. “Don’t worry, I won’t go to jail. But the one who stole my car will.” My voice was cold, the game changing.

He tried to play it cool, but his lips twitched and he shifted nervously.

“Someone stole your car? No way. Everyone saw you hit her,” he muttered, voice trembling.

My aunt—Tanya—suddenly appeared, heels sinking in the grass. “Natalie, you’re not trying to blame my son, are you?” she snapped, theatrics in every move.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Aunt Tanya, didn’t you go to the mayor’s house? Why are you only coming up now?”

She folded her arms. “I saw you hit her. And you still won’t admit it?”

“You saw me? The accident happened at nine. Why wait till now to say anything?” My question cut through her story.

She shot back, “Don’t drag us all down.”

Mark pushed me, desperation in his shove. “Stop stalling. I have to arrange the funeral. What are you going to do?”

I steadied myself. “Mark, I know who did it. He took my keys, stole my car, hit your mom, and tried to blame me.”

“Who?” The crowd gasped.

I locked eyes with my cousin. He shrank back, hiding behind his mom. “Why are you hitting me?” he whined.

“Little brother, do you know what a dashcam is?” I asked, slow and deliberate.

His face twitched, sweat beading on his forehead.

“If you don’t, let me explain. It records everything—inside and out. And I can watch it live.” The crowd pressed in, hungry for the truth.

I pulled out my phone, hands steady at last. “Mark, let’s see who really took my car.”

Mark leaned in, hope flickering in his eyes. The crowd was silent, the moment electric.

My cousin and aunt huddled together, fear written across their faces.

“Connecting to your dashcam…” The words glowed on my phone.

A few seconds ticked by. The cemetery held its breath. Then, a red box popped up: “No car storage card detected. Please click retry.”

The hope in my chest turned to ice. Someone had wiped the evidence clean—and everyone was looking at me.