“At some point, though, you have to move on,” he said. “They refuse to do it. It’s frustrating to have to hear it over and over. The last night, the last phone call, the last birthday, Christmas, New Year’s.”
I could tell he was older than the girls, old enough to see them as immature. I didn’t want him to know I was closer to their age than his, to view me the same way.
“You think I’m being harsh,” he said. “I guess I am.”
“I think you’re honest,” I said. “I can’t fault you for that.”
I stepped toward the terrace and warmth of the house’s lights, intent on finding Del, but William grabbed my arm again, this time more forcefully, perhaps surprised that I was leaving him.
“Wait,” he said. “Could we talk sometime?”
“About what?” I asked. The pressure of his hand on my arm lessened now that he had my attention. A gust of wind blew my hair over my face, sent a spray of embers up that forced a few people back from the fire.
“Anything at all,” he said.
It was as if I had amazing things to share, and that out of innumerable nameless women he might encounter—passing by on the sidewalk, or in their cars—and even over Del, I was unique, and chosen. It was a powerful thing, this being chosen. Strong enough to urge me to assume I had the upper hand, that I could control what I’d give and take. I told him I had to find my sister, and he asked if he could call me. I knew nothing about him—who he was, what he did, why he was even there. Still, I wrote my phone number on an old miniature golf scorecard I found in my bag, and we separated at the terrace steps. I went up to the door and into the glare of the kitchen, where Anne sat with a cup of tea at the counter.
She raised her hand, weakly, in greeting. “I had a wonderful chat with Delores,” she said.
I found Anne difficult to read—the thin line of her pressed lips, the trembling teacup in her hand.
“I hope she didn’t bother you,” I said.
“Not as much as that irritating police officer,” she said.
The kitchen was as warm as its lights had promised from outside. Anne gestured to a bar stool beside her. “Sit,” she said. “I found your sister very intriguing—given my circumstances.”
I didn’t want to sit with Anne. I felt certain I should find Del, and Geoff, and head home. I kept picturing the dead waiting in the fragrant pine shade—souls who knew Anne, family members, friends, Mary Rae herself with her dismal longing.
“I’m looking for Del,” I said. “Do you know where she is?”
Anne took a sip of her tea. “I’m going to die soon,” she said. She set the cup down on its china saucer and gave me a look that startled me at first—it was the look the dead gave me, full of worry, and need.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Anne laughed then and did her weak wave. “Oh, well, it’s not your fault. I do wish I could work more—there’s suddenly so much I’d like to finish. I’m sorry about that. And this whole horrid thing about Mary Rae—such a lovely girl.” Anne’s eyes seemed questioning. “I’d like to stick around long enough to find out who did this to her,” she said. “I’m open to any little hints.”
“Del is full of stories,” I said. I measured the steps toward the glass doors to the patio and escape. “You can’t really believe the things she says.”
Anne continued to appraise me. “I do,” she said over the rim of her shaking cup. “I believe her.”
When you’ve spent a long time in hiding—quiet, resourceful, and almost always unsure, questioning yourself and your own sanity—and someone tries to coax you out, it’s a rush of emotions impossible to take in at once. I felt gratitude, relief, an overpowering surge of release, and then cautiousness. Anne’s voice turned soft, kindly.
“I believe you,” she said.
The kitchen felt too warm, and my head spun. “I really would like to find Del,” I said.
Anne set her teacup down in its saucer, where it settled with a brittle-sounding crash. “She met one of the local boys here in the kitchen,” she said, curtly. “They may have gone out front.”
I thanked her, and I felt a tinge of regret for not providing her with what she wanted. I didn’t know who killed Mary Rae, and I didn’t want to know those details. I couldn’t have realized then that they would become very important to me later.
I went back out the doors to the terrace, down the steps to the yard, and around the side of the house. Geoff was there in the glare of someone’s headlights.
“Oh, there you are,” he said. His voice was slurred. He’d had too many bourbons. “Your sister is taking off.”
Along the gravel drive the maple trees’ leftover leaves were like torn golden paper in a car’s headlights—a red Firebird, its dual exhaust fanning white smoke around our ankles. Del stood by Geoff, her face lit up. I suppose I knew what she would do before she did it, and still, there was nothing I could do to stop her. The driver reached over and opened the car’s passenger door and Del slipped into the car. I smelled pine tree air freshener. And then she shut the door without a glance back, and the car took off, careening down the gravel drive like a getaway vehicle.