“What?” he asked.
“Not sure,” she said, touching that pendant of hers. She took her coat and a scarf her mother had given her. It had snowed earlier that day, dumping six inches over Bend and turning it into a winter wonderland. The snow had a way of making even the darkest things pretty. Esther always liked the snow.
Clean slate, she thought.
It was almost dusk when Liz opened the door to find Detective Nguyen there, holding the rolled-up tarp she used to cover Charlie the morning she’d hit him with the RAV4. Liz didn’t allow her eyes to linger on it, but it was there. Coming at her. A burning spear in a 3-D movie.
She wore a loose sweater and jeans. Her hair was greasy and pulled back. She wore no makeup. She was a far cry from the pretty young woman whom Esther had seen the day Charlie went missing.
The distinct odor of alcohol was on her breath.
“Are you okay?” Esther asked. “Can I come in?”
Liz opened the door wider, and the detective went inside. The house was filled with boxes marked with Owen’s name.
“I heard your husband left Bend,” Esther said, surveying the living room. An almost empty wineglass sat atop one of the boxes.
“It was bound to happen,” Liz said, barely looking at the detective. “We’d been growing apart for some time.”
“But he left town. Left his job too.”
“He has other priorities now.”
“But the money,” Esther said. “I understand he was due for a windfall.”
Liz shrugged. “Money isn’t everything.”
Esther made her way past the organized chaos of the living room to the window overlooking the Deschutes. An enormous FOR SALE sign was posted on the once-again perfect lawn rolling from the Miller house to the shore. It faced where passersby floating on tubes and dreaming of living in Bend would surely see it.
“That was fast,” the detective said, motioning to the sign.
Liz eyed her wineglass but didn’t reach for it. “I heard it’s already sold,” she said. “Buyers from California. Going to tear it down.”
“And put up another one of those?” Esther cocked her head at the Franklin house, once a monument to what newcomers brought to the area with their piles of money and big plans, now a reminder of a near tragedy and its cavalcade of repercussions.
“No doubt.” Liz offered the detective some coffee or tea. Esther declined. They stood facing each other silently for a beat.
“Go ahead and finish your wine,” the detective said.
Liz picked up the glass and took a swallow.
“How are Carole and Charlie?” Esther asked.
“Good,” Liz said, her words suddenly tight in her throat. She took another sip. “I saw them a few hours ago. Carole’s going to take Charlie to see her parents. I think that’s good.”
“I’ve been thinking about something,” Esther said, moving to the dining room table. She unfurled the tarp and spread it over the tabletop. She stopped when the fabric revealed the largest pink splatter. Her eyes met Liz’s. “This color of paint is the same color as your front door.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Liz said, stepping back, drinking some more.
Esther let silence fill the space. “The lab can confirm it,” she finally said.
Liz could feel her face grow warm. It wasn’t the wine. It wasn’t merely what the detective was saying. It was something deeper, coming from far away inside her.
“It does look close,” she said. “My mom loved that color. Called it Elizabeth Arden pink. Same color as her lipstick.”
Esther ran her fingers over the stiff, plastic-coated fabric. “The other paint spots match the wall color over there.” She pointed to the dining room, a celadon hue.
Neither woman spoke.
“Linda Kaiser at the bar exam was right, wasn’t she? Something was wrong that morning and you didn’t stay for the test. You were upset about something, but you couldn’t have heard about Charlie yet.”
Again silence.
“Isn’t that right, Liz? You didn’t know what had happened to him before the test.”
No answer.
“You came to see me, Liz,” Esther said. “But you left before telling me why.”
Tears puddled in Liz’s eyes. “I was worried about Charlie.”
“Everyone was. You didn’t need to come to my office to tell me that.”
“I wanted to help.”
“Maybe you did. But you didn’t help, Liz. You came and went. You left so suddenly that you left your purse. And then when we dropped it by, you didn’t have much to say. Your husband kind of stonewalled us. What was it that you were going to tell me?”
Liz left the table and returned to the window overlooking the Deschutes. As always, the river snaked past the old house, darkening in the early evening sky. More early snow, maybe? She considered the Franklin house. The lights were on. Carole was probably giving Charlie a bath. It was a routine that had resumed in spite of everything.
Everything she’d done.
“Detective, you’re right,” Liz said.
The space between them grew tense. Liz was digging deep. Esther had no idea where it was going.
“About what?” she asked.
Her lips trembled, but Liz knew she could do this. She pushed her wineglass away.
“There is something I need to say,” she began. Each word increased her resolve. “Before I do, we need to go next door. Carole needs to hear this too.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest person alive. So much of all the good that comes my way is from the amazing network of support that surrounds me as I type away at my stories. I’m so grateful for the contributions of so many who offer advice and support. I can’t thank each of you enough. Here are a few that are on my mind today: My buddy Matt Glass, who knows how much I love to use index cards to plot out a book, and who was an invaluable sounding board in the early stages of this novel. Thanks to Rand and Becky Hardy for some insightful medical details. Good people. Good wine too. Gratitude goes to Thomas & Mercer and its team of dedicated people who are transforming the storytelling process for authors—one book at a time. Special shout-out to Liz Pearsons, a devoted and brilliant editor, who has more than one trick up her sleeve. Thanks to Brittany Dowdle, my copyeditor. She’s so smart! Finally, I’ve dedicated this book to David Downing, my developmental editor. David is flat-out amazing. I can’t think of any other words to describe my appreciation for what he does.
But I know he could.