My hand glides over his, soft and reassuring. “I would have gone with you. I know that must have been hard.”
He stares at the curtains as if looking right through them and back into that night. “It was harder than you know.” He shakes his head a moment. “The memories in that house. They were brutal—painful.”
“I can imagine.” The parade of death never seemed to end.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fishes it out, flashing the screen my way. It’s a text from McCafferty.
Can I come over?
James texts right back.
Please.
He gives my thigh a light tap along with a reassuring idea of a smile. “Nothing happened with that woman.”
James didn’t cheat on me with that woman.
Not that one at least.
* * *
McCafferty looks older, thinner, frailer than she did when we started out this journey. Her hair sits on top of her head in the requisite bun, and it makes me wonder if she were a ballerina somewhere along the line before she picked up a magnifying glass. That’s the visual I get when someone says the word detective. And I wish she were scrutinizing every detail of my missing daughter’s existence—putting the whole world under a microscope.
An image of Reagan’s lifeless body floating in a stream bounces through my mind. Her shirt caught in a branch, the only thing keeping her from being swept away. As soon as I gouge the eyes out of whoever did this, I’m going to track down Dolla Chetney and do the very same thing to her. I bet her psychic ass will never see it coming.
“Shall we sit?” McCafferty nods toward the dining room table, a room once filled with laughter and joy—albeit short and sweet—now sits collecting dust and mail. A partially used stem candle is knocked over in the center of the melee.
James pulls out a seat at the head of the table for the guest of honor and we sit on either side like somber bookends, our expressions pulled down like melted wax.
She plunks down a thick manila envelope I hadn’t even noticed she had with her and this startles me. How many obvious things do I let go unnoticed? How many times have I passed by my daughter, not knowing it was her? Passed by her captors, missing the opportunity to sink my fingernails into their flesh, disfigure them for disfiguring my family.
“I thought we should touch base. Discuss my recent findings regarding the case—the two of you.” She cuts a quick glance to James and he flinches.
My heart lurches at the sight. James and I don’t have a single thing to fear.
“Don’t worry.” She sheds the hint of a viper-like grin. “I will leave no stone unturned.” She pulls a file from the envelope with Price scrawled across the front. “I’ve taken the liberty to dig as deep and wide into your past as I felt needed.” Her eyes hook to mine, dark citrine, with a rim of crimson. Blood and urine that’s all I see.
My body takes on a heartbeat of its own. My hands start to shake so I slip them underneath my thighs. This can’t be Len. Nobody knows about him but Heather and me. Heather is practically my disciple. There is no way in hell she would rat me out.
A brief vision of me wrapping my fingers around Heather’s neck, the skin pressing white around them in a pasty looking halo as I squeeze the living life out of her brings me a rise of satisfaction.
McCafferty frowns as if she had the ability to see my thoughts displayed in a cartoon bubble over my head. Now her I would believe. McCafferty is far more credible on her worst day than Dolla is on her best.
“Let’s talk about the accident.” She folds her arms, and for the life of me I can’t register what this might be about. “You were sixteen. It was January.”
“Oh, that.” I close my eyes as a deep swell of regret washes over me. “Yes.” I roll my eyes toward James as if it didn’t matter. I know we glossed over this once when we were dating. I painted it as insignificant. “I went to a party with two of my girlfriends.” It was right after Heather gave birth. I knew that I needed to seize the opportunity to reintegrate myself into society. Heather had been a toxin injected straight into my bloodstream, and with her off the grid for a short time I needed to seize the day. “Karen Parker and Briana Humera.” I shudder as their names stumble from my lips. As far back as I can remember, I hadn’t uttered their names since before the accident. “They were seniors. I was a junior. But I grew up with them. I knew their families.”
McCafferty narrows her gaze my way as if disbelieving on some level. “What happened next?”
“I had cramps.” I shake my head remembering how pissed I was at the time. “We were supposed to party hop that night. I had a big social debacle I was recovering from, and that was supposed to be the night I shed my coat as the social pariah.”
James offers a quick tap to the table as his dimples depress, no smile. It’s his way of saying I’m sorry, I pity you, wish I could fix this all rolled into one.
“When we got in the car, I asked Karen to take me home. I didn’t think I could do another round of beers and boys. The only thing I wanted was my robe, thick socks, and a hot water bottle slung over my stomach.” I take a ragged breath as the argument that ensued comes back to me.
“I’m not taking you home.” Karen scoffed while slicking on another coat of lip gloss. “That’s clear across town, and Jonny Guzman said he has a surprise for me once we get to Vinny’s house.” She and Briana cackle at the idea of hickeys and herpes being doled out freely for the rest of the night. But I was sick. A nine at least on the pain scale.
“I started to vomit.” I give the slight tick of the head toward McCafferty. “Karen rolled down the windows and proceeded to get me home as quick as she could.”
“You stupid, stupid, bitch! Don’t you fucking yak in the back of my brand-new car!” A new Honda Civic gifted to her on her sixteenth birthday.
Briana glanced back, daggers in her eyes for ruining their night. “She’s probably knocked up like that freak she hangs out with.”
I wasn’t about to correct them, let them in on the fact that Heather had the baby and named her after me.
“And then they dropped me off at home.” I try to shrug it off as if it were no big deal, but my entire body ricochets with the terror of their shared fate that night.
McCafferty leans in, her entire demeanor reminds me of an angry old spinster school teacher who openly hates children. “What did you do after you went home?”
My faces pinches with heat. My eyes settle over her a moment too long until it becomes unbearable.
Karen stopped in front of my driveway with a jolt so hard I almost snapped my neck. I wasn’t fully convinced she was going to wait for me to take the time to get out, so I quickly took off my seat belt and swung open the door. A hand reached back. Karen dug her nails into my forearm, her entire face locked with a silent rage. “Rumor has it, you have a crush on David McMillan. Is that right, Pig Face?”
I hated that nickname. Nobody had called me that since junior high, but ever since Heather glommed onto me like a fifth appendage it had resurfaced. Heather hated it as much as I did.
“She does.” Briana snorted into the mirror on the sun visor where she watched the show unfold. “She’s blushing. She probably fucks him in her sleep. That’s the only way she’d ever get a piece of him.”
“Good.” Karen winked—something so seemingly innocent, but I saw the devil in her eye right then and there. “I’m going to take a giant shit in front of his locker early Monday morning and let him know it was from you.”