Allison was the only one in a steady, solid relationship. Cassidy changed men about as often as she changed shoes. And Nicole never dated.
Privately, Allison felt that whoever Makayla’s dad was, he must have been very bad news. By the time the three women had gotten re-acquainted, there hadn’t been a daddy in the picture, just bright-eyed, pigtailed Makayla. Nicole never talked about who Makayla’s father was, and even Cassidy’s skilled probing had run into a brick wall. A brick wall fortified with steel.
“Darcy should have gotten out earlier,” Nicole said now. Her voice was matter-of-fact, not judgmental. “I remember reading about her husband. He was charming but manipulative when he first started dating her, then he moved on to yelling at her—the neighbors heard him—and then by the end he was beating her. With guys like that, it always escalates.”
“But,” Cassidy said, “it’s not like they all go from being charming and manipulative to hosing their wife’s blood off the driveway.”
Nicole shrugged. “Yeah, but too many women make excuses when the guy gets violent. Too many think he means it when he says he’s sorry and gives them flowers and kisses.” She wiped her face with her napkin, balled it up, and dropped it on top of her plate. “And by the time they figure out he isn’t all that sorry, it’s too late.”
Her words were distorted as she reapplied her lipstick. At work, Nicole always dressed conservatively, but Allison thought her secret side was revealed by the ever-present lipstick that played up her full lips. Today it was a dark wine red, a good contrast to her navy blue pantsuit.
“Maybe after this Katie Converse thing is over, I should do a feature on domestic abuse,” Cassidy said, looking uncharacteristically subdued. She broke off a chunk of the huge chocolate-chocolate chip cookie they were all sharing. “You know, what to watch out for, how to help your friends, what to do if you’re being abused. What are some of the things they tell women who call Safe Harbor?”
Allison ticked them off on her fingers. “We say they should always know where the nearest phone is. And we tell them to have a cell phone, if possible. We tell them that the kitchen and the bedroom are the two most dangerous places. And that they should keep all their essentials—their ID and prescriptions—in one place, ready to go. Oh, and that they should use a code sentence when they are on the phone and he can hear them.”
“What is it?” Nicole broke off a piece of cookie and popped it into her mouth.
“We tell women to use the phrase ‘I heard it might rain this weekend.’ Then they tell a friend or relative who already knows that she’s in danger,” Allison explained. “So if she says the phrase, the friend knows she’s in trouble and should call 911.”
Too bad, Allison thought, that Katie had never had the chance to call 911.
DOWNTOWN PORTLAND
January 3
Something about Cassidy was bugging Nic, but as she walked back to work, she couldn’t figure out what it was. Something about her had seemed out of place—but what was it? Nic was still trying to put her finger on it when her phone rang.
It was Wayne Converse. “Someone who was at the vigil has her!”
“What?” Nic said. “Wayne, what are you talking about?”
“The school secretary called us and asked if we wanted all the things people left in front of Katie’s photo at the vigil.” He was speaking so fast that his words ran together. “It didn’t feel right to tell her just to toss them. They sent over a big box, but I didn’t look through it until today. But there were some flowers in there that were starting to rot, so I opened up the box to throw them out. And her necklace is in there! Katie’s! I gave it to her for her birthday, and she told me she wore it every day.”
Nic felt her heart begin to race. She picked up her pace until she was almost running. “Did you touch it?”
“No. Thank goodness, no. I reached out and I almost did, but something stopped me at the last minute.”
“We’ll need to find out from the school who handled things there.” She hoped people hadn’t stopped, picked things up, examined them, put them back. That they had been more respectful. Like mourners. Not like people at a garage sale.
Twenty minutes later, she was in the Converses’ living room. “Valerie’s with Whitney at a movie,” Wayne said while Nic stared at the jumble that filled an old cardboard box. “We’re trying to take her mind off what’s happening.”
Inside the box, a brown stuffed bear leaned against a purple plush monkey and a green stuffed frog. They were surrounded by two dozen votive candles burned down to puddles of wax inside their glass enclosures, as well as a drawing of a dove, a ceramic angel, two smaller photographs of Katie, and other offerings.