“It’s not,” she said. “They sometimes don’t think. They’re good people, really. But that doesn’t excuse it.”
“Okay,” I said, just to get her to stop. I sat down on the step beside her. “I’d invite you in to cool down, but I think it’s probably worse in there. Do you want a drink?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said. “Are you busy? Or do you have time for me to walk you through some of this?”
Her voice was so hopeful, I couldn’t send her away. Not like this. Not right now. Not when everyone else was unreachable and all I had left were my dad’s words for company. With the skeletons, he said. I felt my mind wanting to dive down the rabbit hole after him. “Yes,” I said. “I have time.”
Laura had a scent to her, the fragrance from the garden catching, clinging, taking root in her. Like she herself was blooming or thriving. Her skin had gone transparent, or her veins had darkened as blood rushed under her skin, and I could see the fine map running through her. Life, I thought.
“These are full-shade,” she said, gesturing to a pot, “so I thought they’d be perfect for the side garden.” She paused, frowned. “Some animal really made a mess of it.”
I pushed off the steps and reached my hand down to help her stand. She smoothed the fabric of her dress, stretching her neck to look up at the house.
“The place has good bones,” she said. “It just needs a little work. Dan’s glad you’re here.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
She brushed the comment aside with a swipe of her hand. “He’s got a lot on his plate, between work, your dad, the property, and the baby. He’s just stressed.” She grinned. “I’m planning to ask him to put an addition on our house, but figure I should probably wait until all this has passed.” She waved her hand around her head, and I wasn’t sure whether she was talking about the property or everything.
“Good thinking.” I picked up the larger flower pots, started walking toward the side of the house. Laura carried a few of the smaller ones, trailing behind.
“I know he’s not perfect,” she said. “I know you’ve had your differences. But he takes care of your dad, and he takes care of us. He’s going to be a good father—you can see that, right?”
“Of course,” I said automatically. It was the expected response, the right thing to say.
Laura frowned, as if she could see right through me. “He was just a kid back then, Nic. Same as you.”
As if this was something they had discussed. As if Daniel had drawn her into our family with all of our history—not just as an extension, but something more. A part of our past, as much as our future. She was leaning against the siding, watching me.
I sighed, nodded. “Okay, Laura,” I said, brushing my hands on the sides of my pants. “Where do we start?”
* * *
MY CELL PHONE RANG when I was in the shower, as the soil clumped and swirled down the drain. I reached my hand through the curtain and hit the speaker so I wouldn’t get the phone wet. “Hello?” I said, expecting Daniel or Everett.
But the voice. The voice was every bit as sharp as my memory. Tight and quick. Soft and unsure. “It’s Bailey,” she said.
“Hi,” I said, like an idiot. I turned off the water and stood naked, my hair dripping and goose bumps forming across my skin.
“They’re bringing your dad down to the station tomorrow for questioning.” She let out a slow breath. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
Nothing keeps in this town. Not in the bed, not over the dinner table, not at the bar, not between family and friends and neighbors. Not even between us.
I was full of panic, full of thoughts, full of a to-do list forming in my head, blurry and unreadable. Everett. Call Everett. “I owe you one. I don’t know how to thank you.” My words echoed through the bathroom, and I had to strain to hear Bailey under my own breathing.
A pause. And then, “Stay away from me.”
If these are my debts, if I’m paying them off, then maybe this is hers.
* * *
I CALLED EVERETT WITH a towel held to my body, dripping on the linoleum. “I was just getting ready to call you back. I’m sorry,” he said.
“I need advice,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. “About the guardianship? You got the affidavits, right?”
“They’re trying to question my dad. About a crime. Everett, he’s not in his right mind.” My voice wavered. “I don’t know what he’s saying or what he’ll say. I have to stop it. Tell me how to stop it.”
“Back up. What’s happening?”
I told him fragments. A missing girl from ten years ago. Another missing person, dragging the case out for closer inspection. It all came out high-pitched and clipped. My voice was laced with tears.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“But what do I do? Who do I talk to?”
“I said I’ll take care of it. Call the facility, give them my number, tell them to call me if anyone, anyone, tries to talk to your father. Tell them we’ll sue if they don’t. We won’t have a case. But tell them anyway.”
I did what he said. Called Karen Addelson and left a firm and unwavering message on her voicemail which I’d practiced three times in the mirror. Then I called Daniel and told him what Bailey had told me and what Everett had said.
I tried Tyler again. I considered leaving a message but knew that would be a bad idea. Anything left could be used in an investigation when they broke us all open again, and they were already looking at Tyler for motive. It had happened before. I remembered one of the other things that had made it into the box in Corinne’s case:
A recording of a voicemail, Corinne to Jackson. I’m so sorry, she’d said, her voice choked, so unlike her. The detective from State played it for me to see if I knew what she was talking about. Please, Jackson. Please come back. I’ll be at the fair. Find me there. I’ll do anything. Just don’t do this. Don’t. Please.
Jackson swore they never met up. But if he had, if the last thing on record was Corinne and Jackson meeting up . . . It was enough: a pleading voicemail, and nobody saw her after. It was enough to convict in a place like this.
* * *
I HUNG UP WHEN Tyler’s voicemail picked up, and I started searching. I searched the house for skeletons. I had to get them. I had to get them first.
The Day Before
DAY 10
I couldn’t sleep in the house, worrying that there was something I was missing—someone who’d been in my house, possibly out there right now. I came out to the back porch sometime after midnight for the cooler air, the clearer head. I sat on the back steps but kept the outside lights off—I felt too exposed otherwise, with nothing but my dad’s words echoing in my head: The woods have eyes.
I stared off into the night—the shadows against the dark—drifting in and out of consciousness. The shadows shifting as clouds passed in front of the moon. The dark shapes in my peripheral vision, creeping like monsters.
* * *
THE COPS HADN’T FOUND anything yet—no hard evidence. Or if they had, they weren’t talking. And that didn’t sound like them. Not the ones I knew.
Officer Fraize had been a cop ten years ago when Corinne disappeared. He’d told his wife about Jackson and Bailey and Tyler and me. His wife was the school secretary—maybe he thought she’d know something that would help with the case. Maybe he was looking for information, but he was really giving it away: Bailey and Jackson? Corinne and Tyler? Do you remember Daniel Farrell? Tell me about them. Tell me everything.