“People said the same thing about Susan Smith and Diane Downs.”
“Those were genuinely evil women,” he said.
“Not to the people who knew them before their crimes. Before the outer layer was peeled off from their personas, they came across as normal, loving moms. Carole Franklin might be like that.”
“You think Carole’s guilty and Liz knows it?” he said.
Esther shrugged. “They are close. Carole’s staying with her. Maybe she said something that got Liz thinking. Maybe she flat-out confessed.”
“Well, Carole Franklin’s not talking to us.”
“Not at the moment. All roads lead back to Liz.”
“We need to get to her when her husband isn’t around,” Jake said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
MISSING: TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS
Liz hadn’t been over to the Miller place in a very long time. A decade. No. Much longer. There were times when she had wanted to stop by the place that had been the starting point for so many summertime adventures on the river. One summer she and Seth had it in their minds that they wanted to go inside the beaver lodge that slowed the river to the point where the surface was a sheet of glass a hundred yards downriver. They spent three days preparing for it. Jimmy ruined everything by insisting he and a baggie full of firecrackers would be just the right addition to their plan. He was kidding, he claimed, but the very idea of blowing up the beaver dam was too much for Liz. She didn’t want to do anything that would hurt those funny animals. She’d only wanted a closer look inside their home and, truth be told, a chance to hold one of those tiny kits that she’d seen bobbing like glossy-furred corks near the lodge.
It wasn’t Jimmy who changed things. It was the tragedy at Diamond Lake that morphed into an impenetrable force field between the two families. She’d thought of coming over to see Dr. Miller to make amends for the part she might have played in the doctor’s downturn.
She even managed to make it to the front door a time or two, but something kept her from knocking.
Not today.
Liz stood on the front porch, catching her breath from her run along the river. Running was the only way she could get away from Carole and Owen. Facing either of them had become more and more difficult. Carole, for what Liz had done to her child. Owen, for what she wanted to do to herself. As the days passed since Charlie vanished, she was spending more and more time alone. Seeing anyone, especially those two, only reflected back the terrible things she’d done.
The Miller house had been so quiet for weeks now. Save for the basement light at night, it almost seemed that the venerable old house had been abandoned. Three copies of the Bend Bulletin sat yellowing on the porch.
Liz scooped up the papers and pressed the bell.
No answer.
“Dr. Miller?” she called out, opening the screen door and knocking on the door.
The same Delft blue it had been all those years ago.
“Dr. Miller? Are you all right? It’s me, Liz.”
Liz tried to twist the knob, but the door was locked. Still holding the newspapers, she went around the house and peered into the garage. The car was there.
He has to be home.
As she made her way around the side of the house, Liz noticed a long, low shape in firecracker colors—red, orange, yellow—pressed down among the nearly spent daisies and daylilies. It was the boat trailer from the day of the flash flood. The long blades of the lilies arched over the long-flattened wheels. Had it been here at the side of the house since it was dragged back by the tow truck while she, Dr. Miller, and her brother were in the hospital?
Liz stepped through the overgrown garden and pressed her palm against the rusted metal of the trailer. Why had Dr. Miller kept that trailer after so many years? She’d have gotten rid of it right away. It had to remind him of the worst day of his life. The unkempt space was in sharp contrast to the rest of his yard, which up until lately had been garden-tour perfection. Here, she thought, was a space that he seldom visited.
She went to the riverfront side of the house. All of the basement blinds were drawn tight. She pressed her ear close to the back door. She could hear a faint noise coming from inside, but with a plane passing overhead, she wasn’t sure if she was hearing a television or a neighbor’s radio playing. It was very muffled.
Liz looked across the water. The Franklins’ place: big and imposing. Her house: small and weak. She remembered all of the good times she and her family had had there. The fire pit sending sparkles of light into the dark sky. The taste of a hot dog roasted to a crunchy blackness. She thought of the time she and Owen had made love on the hammock, only to freeze into silence as some inner-tubers floated by. Standing there was like flipping through a scrapbook and feeling the blast of memory with every page.
Part of her knew that Charlie was the last page.
She turned away and started uneasily for home. There was nothing there for her, but something here seemed wrong.
Mrs. Chow, who had lived next door to the Millers for years, was unloading groceries.
“Tina,” Liz asked, “have you seen Dr. Miller lately?”
The short, round woman with a penchant for gauzy shifts and six-inch heels gave Liz a quick nod of recognition.
“No,” she said, moving a heavy bag to her hip. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. A week? Maybe more? I’m not sure.”
“I’m worried about him.”
“I didn’t realize you were close,” the woman said. “He never mentions you.”
Liz didn’t take the bait. Mrs. Chow could be a negative force, and Liz didn’t need that right now. She’d had plenty of that already.
“Well, he’s such a fixture in his yard that I got kind of worried when I noticed that his lawn hadn’t been mowed. You know that he practically lives for cutting that grass.”
Tina Chow shifted her gaze between the two houses and looked down at the lawn. “You aren’t kidding there. I admit, the same thing crossed my mind. First thing I thought was that he’d had a stroke or something, but then I saw the Safeway delivery truck the other day. So I know he’s eating. Not my place to get into someone’s business. Not yours, either.”
Again, no bait taken.
“Right,” Liz said. “I didn’t know that he was getting deliveries.”
Mrs. Chow let out a sigh. Her bag was heavy, and the younger woman hadn’t offered to carry in the groceries. She ruminated on how thoughtless the younger generation had become.
“Me neither,” she finally said, shutting the car door with a swing of her gauzy hip. “Just started a short time ago. I was going to ask him about it but I’ve been busy and he hasn’t been out messing around the yard. Sure hope he isn’t ill or anything. Those greedy relatives of his will turn the old place into a rental, and I’ll be stuck with frat parties for the rest of my life.”
Liz thanked her and started walking to the street.
“Hey, any news on the Franklin boy?” Mrs. Chow asked.