“Yeah, I’m fine, Spunky.” Turning to me, he said, “Can you get her inside?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. There was a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. It scared me so much it left me speechless.
“Come on, sweetie,” I said, taking up Stacey’s hand again. “Let’s get you some dinner.”
It was ten minutes later when I realized that Spence had left the porch and taken off for parts unknown.
COLE, HIS MOTHER, AND I SAT on the porch of the coffee shop across the street from the clinic where Mrs. Drepeau worked.
“Oh, I knew I should’ve taken the day off,” she said, leaning back in her seat and cupping her iced coffee in her hands. “It’s too nice a day to be working.”
Stacey Spencer Drepeau didn’t strike any familiar chords with me. Maybe it was because she was now a middle-aged woman, and the Stacey that Amber had known had been a little girl. I tried to picture the pretty mom with chestnut hair, light brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose as that little girl, but I couldn’t. There was something about her that was ageless and wise, and to imagine that in an eleven-year-old wasn’t something I could do.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, holding my own iced drink aloft. She’d been nice to treat us.
She smiled warmly at me. “My pleasure,” she said. “So, what’s up?”
We hadn’t mentioned anything about why we’d come to see her, and as promised, I let Cole do the talking.
“We got an assignment in English this week,” he explained. “We have to research and do a presentation on an ancestor we admire. I’m doing mine on Uncle Ben.”
Mrs. Drepeau winced, but then her expression softened. “That’s nice, Cole,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I know I tell you this all the time, but you two are a lot alike.”
Cole and I exchanged an amused glance. He took out his phone and said, “Can I record you and ask you questions?”
“Sure.” His mother sat up a little and leaned forward. She didn’t speak until Cole’s phone was recording, and then she began to tell us about Spence. “Your uncle was the greatest guy. He was smart, funny, warm, and kind. He looked out for us, you know? Your grandma and me. Even before Dad died, Ben worked cutting lawns—just like you—and gave Mom the money so we could keep a roof over our heads. He was so responsible for someone so young,” she added wistfully. “Did you know that after your grandfather was killed in that car crash, we found out there was nothing? No savings or anything. So when Ben turned eighteen, he got himself a life insurance policy. I don’t know what we would’ve done without it when he was murdered. Your grandma and I would’ve been out on the street for sure because she couldn’t even function after Benny died. She didn’t work for three years afterward. She was so heartbroken she could barely get out of bed. It was very, very hard.”
Mrs. Drepeau dropped her chin and I could see how much her brother’s passing still affected her.
“Mom?” Cole asked.
She looked up again. “Sorry,” she said. “I miss him.”
Cole glanced at me, and I could see that he was beginning to regret bringing up the topic of Ben to his mom. “We don’t have to talk about him,” Cole said.
She shook her head. “No, honey, I’m fine. Besides, it’s your assignment, and I think it’d be good for the other kids to hear what an amazing young man your uncle was.”
“You’re sure?”
She smiled gamely at him. “Positive.”
“Okay…uh…how about friends? Did he have any close friends?”
She laughed. “Oh my God, did he! The whole football team was always trooping through our house. And the track team. And the cheerleaders. And the girlfriends of all the players. On weekend nights, it was like a frat house!”
“Anyone specific?” Cole pressed.
Mrs. Drepeau pursed her lips. “Well, yes, honey, but if you want names I’m not sure I’d be able to give you those. It was a long time ago, and a lot of the details of those years got blocked out of my memory. The therapist I went to when your dad and I were divorcing said that I’d very likely had a good case of PTSD back then. Lots of names, dates, places, events, and stuff got muddled together.”
Cole frowned. “Okay, well, what about Amber?”
Mrs. Drepeau seemed surprised that he’d brought her up. “What about her?”
“Well…did you like her?” he asked.
She smiled sadly. “I loved her, Cole. I loved her deeply. We all did.”
“And you don’t think she killed Uncle Ben, right?”
Mrs. Drepeau inhaled a long breath and turned away. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t.”
I leaned in and rested my elbows on the table. “You don’t?” I asked. I needed to believe she knew Amber couldn’t have done it.
She turned back to me with watery eyes. “No, honey. I don’t believe that Amber Greeley did anything to harm my brother. And I’m not convinced that she committed suicide, either.”