“Stay. I really want to know why,” she said, no trace of anger in her voice. “Why are you here?”
I looked over at where the clover carving was. I could barely make out one edge of it now that the light had moved, but the shape of it, the way the leaves pointed, all of it matched the image on my mother’s coin exactly. I thought I didn’t know why I was there, but that wasn’t true. There was a reason—a reason I wasn’t sure I should tell Lily.
I hadn’t told anyone about the picture of my mother and the other members of Sorte Juntos, or how she factored into the crimes. First, because I wouldn’t allow my father to hide behind her death. But mostly, I didn’t want pictures of my mom sprawled across the news sites. As a more practical reason, I also didn’t want Alice’s involvement to be discovered.
Lily would surely take anything damning to my father directly to the prosecutor, so telling her the story was out. But for some reason, I didn’t want to lie to her either. A stupid, stupid want, really.
“My mother,” I said, after a tremendous pause.
“What about her?”
“She knew your dad. They were friends.”
Lily dropped her flashlight but didn’t make a move to pick it back up again, so it was left to rock on the ground, casting an odd, shifting light all around us. “What kind of friends?” She paused, but not long enough for me to answer. “Is that why?”
I shook my head, though I kind of wanted to be able to tell her that it was all as easy as an affair and a jealous husband lashing out. Only that lie would make it seem as though her father had done something wrong, and that wasn’t the case. “I don’t know why, but they were just friends. Not what you’re thinking.”
“How long have you known this?” She stepped toward me, tapping the flashlight with her shoe. And when the light shifted, I could see tears shining in her eyes. “How long?” she repeated, when I remained mute.
“The memorial. There was a picture of your dad in a group of people at a party. My mom was part of that group.”
A sparkling tear dripped down her cheek and she sank to sit in the dirt. It was my opportunity to leave, but I no longer wanted to. And when I couldn’t tolerate the awkwardness of her silent tears and my looming over her, I sat down as well.
Almost as soon as I did, Lily said the very last thing I ever expected to hear that night. “Sorte Juntos.”
We stared at each other for a while, saying nothing— gauging each other while my mind spun, trying to sort out how in the world she would know those words. She’d spoken them like a password, like some kind of spy-code call that begged for a proper response. I could think of only one, so I slid my hand into my pocket and dropped my mother’s gold coin, clover-side up, into the dirt in front of the flashlight. I heard a soft rustling and then Lily dropped an identical coin next to mine. And when our eyes met again, she looked like she was about to smile.
“You took the picture from the memorial.”
I nodded. “How much do you know?”
Lily set the flowers down next to the flashlight and then hugged the black beer can to her chest as she studied me. “What kind of question is that?”
“Did you always know about the group?”
She shook her head, but didn’t elaborate.
“Do you know what they did?”
“Are you trying to figure out if I approve of our parents stealing millions of pounds from banks and jewelers?” Lily shrugged. “There are worse ways to make money, I suppose. What was your mom’s job in the crew?”
“I don’t know much about it.”
Lily seemed to suspect the lie, but that didn’t stop her from saying, “My dad opened the doors and safes.”
“Impressive.”
She sat up a little higher at the compliment to her dad. “I think so too.”
“How long have you known he could do it?”
Her expression darkened. “Not long.”
I thought about pushing her, but I didn’t want her to stop talking. She didn’t know my mother like Alice did, but maybe she knew more about Sorte Juntos than Alice was willing to tell me. There was so much I still didn’t know.
After a moment she continued, “My dad was just a locksmith, but we always had money for schools and trips. We also owned our house, which had a locked basement where Dad spent most of his time.”
“You were suspicious?”
“Not really. I thought maybe he had habits I didn’t want to know about. But one night last fall, he came home drunk, ranting about how ‘It wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t how she wanted to go.’ So I took him to the basement door and made him tell me how to open it so he wouldn’t wake my mom. But it changed everything, that night.”