“We need to find her,” Nora told Ethan, her throat aching. “Donovan’s obsessed. He makes Everlee call him Daddy.” Nora didn’t realize she was white-knuckling the edge of the table until her fingers turned numb.
“I think it’s time to call the cops, Nora.” He said it gently, but the words sounded dangerous in Nora’s ears.
“No, that’s not an option.”
“Why not?”
She paused for a moment, considering. But what did she have to lose? Quietly, urgently, Nora told Ethan about the hiding place at the farm. The detached garage and the loose plank beneath the workbench. Ten thousand dollars was missing. More? It was everything Tiffany needed for a clean break.
Without Everlee.
Nora’s stomach flipped. Tiffany was stupid. Foolish and shortsighted and selfish. Had she paused, even once, to consider what leaving would mean for her daughter? Donovan wouldn’t stop. He wanted his money and he wanted his girl.
“Worst case scenario, she’ll go to jail. Best case, who knows?” Nora said. “And what will happen to Everlee? We have to find Tiffany.”
Ethan was quiet for a long time. He templed his fingers together in front of his face, holding Nora’s gaze as if the answers resided there. After a couple minutes he asked, “Where would you go if you wanted to feel safe?”
“Away,” Nora answered without pausing to think about it. “As far away as the money would take me, and then I’d hitchhike. Walk. Swim. Whatever it took.”
Ethan nodded. “Where would Tiffany go?”
Just as easily, Nora said: “Home.”
Nora hadn’t even considered the possibility because it was the last place on earth she would go. But to Tiffany, Key Lake was everything she had left behind. It was stability and family, a fractured sort of love. Home.
“I think that’s where you’ll find her,” Ethan said. “And Donovan, too.”
LIZ
THE HOUSE SEEMED quiet enough, but Liz cracked open the door that led from the garage to the entryway and called through the narrow gap: “I’m home!” She waited, straining to hear any hint of movement—the shuffling of feet, a knife thumping against the cutting board, anything. There was nothing. Thank goodness. When she texted Macy she hadn’t paused to consider what she would do if she came home to find her friend skewering mozzarella pearls and cherry tomatoes in her kitchen. How would Liz explain away the funeral dress? Even worse: What about the urn? Liz could hardly leave poor Lorelei’s remains buckled in the front seat of her black car. It was a furnace in the summertime. No pun intended.
Since it felt wrong, downright disrespectful, to simply abandon Lorelei’s ashes, Liz hurried over to the passenger side of the car and grabbed the urn. She clutched it tight to her chest and slammed the door with her hip. In the entryway, she stepped out of her heels and kicked them under the bench where she sat every morning to lace up her tennis shoes. The house was empty for now, but Macy could pop in the door at any moment. Liz rushed to the bedroom on bare feet, breathless because the situation was just so ridiculous. Her life had suddenly become a daytime soap opera complete with all the usual intrigues: a secret granddaughter, a mysterious threat, and the ashes of a beautiful woman in an ugly urn.
Liz placed the urn in the center of her armoire to serve as both a reminder and a reprimand while she changed for the party. She shimmied out of the black sheath and into the blue sundress, then loosened her neat chignon so a few strands framed her face. Peering into her lighted makeup mirror, Liz added a layer of mascara and smoothed on a plum-colored lipstick. The nude gloss she had worn to Lorelei’s nonexistent visitation was the furthest thing from festive. But the plum was particularly flattering, and when Liz surveyed herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, she had to admit that she looked good. Sun-kissed and elegant, her dress tasteful and her hair really quite striking. Very shiny. The kit from Walmart had worked.
When Liz left her bedroom she felt like an actress. She had donned her costume and was preparing to play a role that felt completely detached from who she really was. Quinn was across the lake. Lucy, too. And Nora lingered at the edges of her consciousness, entangling Liz in uncertainties without end. Throwing a party was the last thing she wanted to do, but the scene had been set and she had no choice now but to rise to the occasion. If nothing else, the evening would be a chance for Liz to ask Bennet some delicate but pointed questions. She wanted to see his face, track each expression and reaction. Bennet had never been very good at hiding his emotions.
Liz had tucked the urn beneath one arm, the other hand supporting the flat bottom. She knew exactly what she would transfer the ashes to: an antique Egyptian box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It was approximately the size and shape of a tissue box, a perennial favorite of hers and a gift from a friend who had traveled the world instead of marrying and having children. It would hurt to pass Tiffany her aunt’s ashes in such a treasured heirloom, but that was kind of the point. It couldn’t be considered a sacrifice if it didn’t sting a little.
Liz was so focused on her plan, so intent on transferring the ashes quickly and then painstakingly, believably performing the role of hostess, that she didn’t realize Macy was in her kitchen until she rounded the corner.
“Well, don’t you look gorgeous!” Macy gushed, turning from the sink, where she was rinsing tomatoes in a white enamel colander. “But what is that hideous thing you’re carrying?”
Liz felt a quick burst of justification. She wanted to say: “See?” She wanted to jab her finger at Christopher Thatcher. “This is the ugliest urn on the face of the planet. You should be ashamed of yourself.” But she forced herself to shrug, trying to be nonchalant as she deposited the urn on a side counter where it would be out of the way. “It’s nothing. I found it in storage and I’m going to get rid of it.”
“It’s hard to believe you ever bought something so vile.” Macy quirked an eyebrow as if her confidence in Liz had been shaken to the core.
“It was a gift.”
Macy turned off the tap and began to gently dab the tomatoes with paper towels. “I’ll have the skewers done in no time,” she said cheerfully. “Is there anything else we need to be doing?”
Liz paused, trying to sift through her thoughts and find the only thing that she could bring herself to focus on right now: her to-do list. “I set up the tables this afternoon,” she said. “And the chairs have all been wiped down.”
“The flag is out?”
“Of course.”
“I bet nobody knows what that means anymore.”