“It was Sheriff Baker who told me to bury it,” Dr. Jeffrey said. “I brought my results to him first. And he told me I had to keep it quiet. That it would break Cassandra’s mother’s heart.”
Abby’s frown deepened. Maryann Martin was a lot of things, but she was a strong woman, she’d survived Cass’s murder. She would’ve survived this. She felt angry on Maryann’s behalf, that these men had decided that they knew better than her. That they understood her strength more than her.
“Well, that’s some good ol’ boy bullshit right there,” Zooey declared. “You took that woman’s right to grieve away. You withheld an important fact from law enforcement. You didn’t do the right thing, sir. And as a doctor, as a scientist, I would think you would understand how people like me need the full picture to do our job. To catch the killers.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Dr. Jeffrey said, his eyes wide. “I understand this news is a shock, Abby. But holding back the news of Cass’s pregnancy didn’t hinder anything. Her killer is behind bars.”
Abby took a deep breath. “It was a copycat, August.”
All the color drained from the man’s wrinkled cheeks. “What?”
“Cass’s killer, he killed her to frame Howard Wells. He made it look like Wells’s killing method. Cass’s killer is still free.”
“And we think he’s still active,” Zooey said. “That he’s been active for the last sixteen years. So it’s time to dig deep, Doc. Please tell me you saved the pages from the medical report.”
He sighed. “I gave them to Sheriff Baker,” he said.
“And where’s he?” Zooey asked.
“He died five years ago,” Abby said.
Zooey pursed her lips, breathing hard through her nose. “Okay. Okay. Then we’re going to get creative. Doc? You’re gonna go in that sweet little house of yours, pull out a notebook, and you’re going to write down every thing you remember from the autopsy and medical report. I’m gonna pick it up later on tonight and we’re going to talk over everything you remember.”
“You’re very impertinent, young lady,” he said.
“And you obstructed an FBI investigation,” Zooey said. “The sweet little old man act won’t work on me. Like you said, I’m impertinent. Abby?”
Abby got up. She still felt numb, like she was walking through cement. “I’m sorry, August,” she said, not really knowing why she was doing the apologizing. He’d known this this whole time. He’d known this when she came to him for the copy of the exam. And he thought a promise to another man was more important than her uncovering the truth. Because he was an old-school guy who thought that a teen pregnancy would somehow taint Cass’s memory.
Maybe in the eyes of men like him. But not Abby’s. And certainly not Mrs. Martin’s.
Abby felt a twinge of pain at the thought of Cass’s mother as she and Zooey headed down the street, where her truck was parked. She needed to go see Maryann. It’d been a few months since she’d checked in.
In a way, she was just as bad as Dr. Jeffrey and Sheriff Baker. She’d kept the truth from Maryann too.
You didn’t know for sure until now, she thought. It was her one saving grace. But she needed to go tell her. And soon.
“You look like you need a drink,” Zooey declared as they came to a stop in front of her truck.
“It’s not even noon yet,” she said.
“Okay, good point,” Zooey said. “French fries it is.”
Without another word, the younger woman plucked the keys out of Abby’s hand and climbed into the driver’s seat of her truck. Abby got in the driver’s seat, letting Zooey drive them to The Pit, Castella Rock’s best—and only—diner.
They took a red vinyl booth in the back, and Abby leaned her head in her palms as Zooey ordered fries and two chocolate shakes.
“You knew,” Abby said finally, after their food came and Zooey poured about half the shaker of salt on her own plate of fries. “Even before he started acting suspicious. You knew she was pregnant.”
“I had my suspicions,” Zooey said. “The pages of the report that were missing were the ones that would’ve detailed a pregnancy. I didn’t want to say it, just in case I was wrong. My hunches aren’t always right. I’m more of a science girl.”
Abby stared at her plate of fries. “I can’t believe I didn’t know,” she said. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”
“Maybe she’d just found out. Maybe she needed more time. This isn’t your fault, Abby.”
But maybe it was. Maybe, if she and Cass had met for coffee that day like they were supposed to, she would’ve never crossed paths with that sick psychopath. Maybe she’d be sitting across from her right now, the mother of a fifteen-year-old.
God. Abby felt sick. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to breathe deep and gain some kind of control. She needed to get herself together.
She was going to have to tell Paul.
“I don’t know how to tell him this.”
Zooey sighed, plucking the paper off her straw and sticking it in her shake. “Yeah . . . this is really messed up,” she said. “It’s going to be really hard.”
“He’s going to be devastated,” Abby said, shaking her head, bewildered and overwhelmed.
“There’s a lot of history here for both of you,” Zooey said.
“We’re all tangled up in each other,” Abby admitted, softly, a confessional she had to get off her chest. She felt like she was losing grasp of everything—her emotions, her heart, her words—as she just kept talking. “Sometimes I think it’s my fault.”
“What’s your fault?” Zooey asked, her black brows drawing together. “Cass’s murder? That’s ridiculous, Abby. Look at all you’ve done to find her real killer, when no one else was even thinking they had to look.”
“You didn’t know me back then,” Abby said. “Cass and I . . . we were always so close. But that summer she was killed, it was like things were falling apart. We were falling apart.”
“What happened?” Zooey asked. “Did you guys have a fight?”
“The fight to end all fights,” Abby said. “My high school boyfriend dumped me at the end of the school year, and at first, Cass was supportive. And then she started getting really distant. The night before she left for her grandmother’s for a month, I finally got the nerve up to confront her about it.”
“What did she say?”
Abby could still feel the tightness in her chest, how her cheeks had flooded with heat, when the words had spilled out of Cass’s mouth: Ryan says he dumped you because you’re after Paul.
“She said that at first, she waved Ryan’s concerns off,” she told Zooey. “She thought he was just bitter. But then she started really thinking about it. And that she’d decided that Paul and I were way too close. That he was way too concerned about me when Ryan dumped me. That she’d let it go on for way too long. That things needed to change.”
Abby stared at her hands. “I admit it, I was pissed at her. It felt like she was accusing me of something. Other than Cass, Paul was my best friend. And I spent the next four weeks being mad and petty and I didn’t avoid Paul at all. Sometimes teen girls can be vicious, and I was. I spent as much time with him as possible. Doing all our normal summer stuff. So when Cass came back, she cancelled on me when we were supposed to get coffee. And so the next time I saw her, she was in a coffin.”
“Abby, I’m so sorry,” Zooey said. “I had no idea.”
“No one does,” Abby said. “And now . . .” She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Now I’m sitting here wondering if she was telling me to back off not just her man—but her baby-daddy. And I’m sixteen years removed from it now, I’m older now, and I’m wondering if she had a damn point.”
“You mean you had feelings for Paul back then,” Zooey said.
“I don’t know,” Abby said, feeling hopeless and guilty and just so damn sad for the girl Cass had been, the girl she had been, the woman she got to be, while Cass never had the chance.