Aurora wasn’t always so hostile—almost every page had a reference, sometimes punctuated by hearts or smiley faces, to “Barkley,” who Veronica gathered was a family dog. And a full page of the journal was devoted to a sketch of Hunter, looking sober and skeptical, captioned with the words “The Boss.” But the image of Aurora Scott that started to emerge somewhere between the lines was prickly and impatient. She was smart, creative, petulant, bored. Unlike Hayley Dewalt, she didn’t seem eager to please anyone but herself.
“So how was your mom today?”
Veronica looked upward through the filigree of leaves. That morning, seeing Lianne on the small screen in the kitchen, neither of them had even said her name out loud. Veronica had watched the press conference open mouthed, lost in her own shocked horror, and it wasn’t until the screen went back to Trish Turley that she thought to wonder what Keith was feeling. But there’d been no time to discuss it; Petra Landros had called, and she’d had to hurry to get dressed and out the door.
When she’d gotten home, Keith had dinner on the table, glasses of wine at the ready. They’d eaten in an almost polite silence. She had the feeling he was waiting for her to talk about it. She’d opened her mouth to speak once or twice and changed her mind. Maybe it was just habit that made it so difficult. She and Keith talked about almost everything—but Lianne was one of the few topics they’d always avoided.
Now she propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. “Devastated. She’s terrified.”
Keith nodded, not looking up. He jabbed a gardening fork into the tender earth, trying to pry out the deep and stringy roots of another weed. She watched him for a moment before going on.
“But besides that? She seems like she’s doing well.” She paused for a moment. “She has another kid. A little boy.”
He nodded. “I saw that in one of the articles.” He paused. “Did you meet him?”
“Yeah. He’s cute.” She just had to avoid saying the word “brother” and she’d be able to keep it together. “And Tanner’s nice enough. I mean, he’s a little sketchy. Mac turned up some old check forging charges from back before he married Mom. And he does that bullshitty, self-mythologizing thing addicts always seem to do. But it seems like he really does care about her. Since they’ve been together, he’s been on the straight and narrow.”
“I’m happy for them,” Keith said simply. “I mean, not about what they’re going through, obviously. But I’m happy they found each other.”
She sat up in the hammock and swung her legs down. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. It’s been a while. When are you going to get back on the horse?”
Keith grimaced. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, honey, but I’ve currently got my hands full recovering from a catastrophic injury or two. I’m not sure I could handle dating.”
“Come on, ladies love vulnerability. You’ve just got to limp on out there and be yourself.”
“Why, you know any MILFs in the market for a cripple?” He waggled his brows.
“Oh my god. Please never say MILF again as long as I live.”
Her laughter was interrupted by the sound of her cell phone trilling in her pocket. She stood up out of the hammock and pulled it out.
“Veronica Mars.”
For a minute all she heard was background noise—traffic, maybe, or the patter of a TV. Then there was a phlegmy cough. “I got this number off a flyer.”
She froze, her senses going on alert. “I’m listening.”
“I might have some information for you.” Another cough. “You should probably come on by, 20111 Meadow View Road.”
“I’ll be there in forty minutes.”