The Girls Across the Bay

by Emerald O'Brien

  “Drug dealers?” Grace asked.

  Evette opened her eyes wide and shrugged.

  I don’t buy the act. Never have.

  Grace shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “When was the next time you spoke with him?”

  “He came here today.” Evette puffed on her cigarette, and white clouds escaped her mouth. “He didn’t bother to call after what happened to Lily. He just showed up.”

  “And this upset you?” Grace asked.

  “Of course. I was worried about him. When he told me he was going to make it clear he was done with whoever these people are, I told him to call me the minute it was over. To let me know he was alright. I—I didn’t think things would go as smoothly as they did, but he’s out. He told me today.”

  She doesn’t give a shit about Lily.

  “What did he say about Lily?”

  “Oh, he’s crushed,” Evette said. “Absolutely devastated. Madigan saw. He doesn’t see a future for himself anymore. He doesn’t understand that life goes on—that it will go on.”

  Madigan frowned at Evette.

  What an odd choice of words.

  “I told him not to worry about the police. That they’d know he didn’t do it and find who did.” Evette gestured to Grace. “I couldn’t have imagined I was speaking about you. You’ve really made something of yourself.”

  “Do you believe there is any relation to John making a break from these people and Lily’s death?”

  Evette raised her brows. “So it was murder.”

  “I said death, Evette. Not murder.” Grace shoved her hands in her pockets. “So you’ve gotten yourself tangled up with a dealer again.”

  Grace threw the bait out, hoping she’d guessed right about John’s acquaintances.

  Evette squinted at her. “John’s not a dealer. He’s out.”

  Bingo.

  “What do you know about them?” Grace asked.

  Evette tapped her ash out into an empty tray and sniffled.

  “Just that he was mixed up in something that wasn’t his fault, and he smartened up, got out, and they wouldn’t leave him alone, I guess.” Evette scratched her arm and played with the many rings on her fingers. “Calling him, I guess.”

  Grace took in her surroundings. It reminded her of the house on Warbler Way and her desperation to escape.

  This is bigger. More hollow.

  “I’ll need you to come down to the station and make a statement,” Grace said.

  “Haven’t I just made one?” Evette asked, twisting her thick silver ring around her skinny finger. “No? Then let me make it clear. John hasn’t dealt in a long time. He got out. He didn’t kill Lily. There. There’s your statement.”

  “Where were you on the night Lily was found dead?”

  “I was here having dinner. Then I went to the store down the street to buy a lotto ticket and some ice cream. Came back home and watched the women’s network the rest of the night. All alone.”

  “Right.”

  “But please, let’s be real. You know I didn’t kill Lily,” Evette said. “You know I couldn’t kill anyone.”

  Grace didn’t put that past anyone anymore.

  “And if I search your place, Evette? Will I find anything that shouldn’t be here?”

  Evette cocked her head to the side. “Drugs? I don’t know where you got that idea.”

  “Uh huh.” Grace let out a huff of laughter. “Let’s go, Madigan.”

  “So that’s it?” Evette asked after Madigan stood. “You never would have seen me again if it weren’t for this?”

  Grace stopped at the door and turned back to her.

  No. A thousand times no.

  But she couldn’t say it.

  Maybe it was seeing how Evette had aged and having some sympathy for her physical condition and the loneliness she must have felt every day in her pale grey hell she called home.

  The demons she, too, had to live with.

  She’d never even raised a hand to them, but she’d let Eli beat them countless times.

  “Do you hate me that much?” Evette asked.

  Grace’s eyes opened wide, and her shocked expression matched Madigan’s. Evette had never been a confrontational person. Tears had pooled in Evette’s droopy lids. Evette swallowed hard without taking her eyes off Grace.

  “No,” Grace said with a sigh. “I don’t hate you. I don’t even think about you. You’re not a part of my life.”

  “You’ll always be a part of mine,” Evette said, her voice faltering at the end as she wiped away a tear that wasn’t even there.

  Grace turned away, back to the door. She used those fake tears to manipulate them so often, the only reaction she had was disgust at the familiar feeling.

  Why aren’t you coming to the door, Madigan?

  “You’re here now,” Evette said, clearing her throat. “Regardless of the reason, I have to tell you I’m sorry.”

  Grace rolled her eyes and glanced back as Madigan stared at Evette with sympathy in her eyes.

  Oh, come on.

  “I bet you are,” Grace said. “Let’s go.”

  Madigan walked slowly across the living room, staring at the carpet until she reached Grace’s side.

  “I never thought I’d get to see my two girls together,” Evette said, and when Grace looked back, Evette was crying. “You’re both beautiful, you know that?”

  “Evette—“ Madigan whispered.

  “God, I’m so sorry for what happened. What I let happen.” Evette’s hand shook as she set her cigarette in the ashtray. “You have to know that I’m sorry. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but you deserve to know that if I could go back, I’d do it all over.”

  “There’s a lot I’d do differently.” Grace set her hand on the doorknob. “We were children, and you took advantage of us. We were used and abused. You might not have hit us, but you neglected us. I’ve moved on. I—I hope for your sake, you can too.”

  Madigan squeezed her arm with pleading eyes, and Grace nodded to her. It was the most compassion she could muster, but she couldn’t leave Evette crying like she was. Madigan grabbed a tissue and handed it to Evette.

  “Thank you.” Evette sniffled and dabbed at her dry cheeks. “I don’t sleep at night—not most nights. The ones I do, I have nightmares about the past, just like Maddie. I don’t doubt you do too.”

  Grace turned to Madigan, who stared at the floor.

  What have you told her?

  The dream about the body and the tattoo, again?

  “I’m not looking for sympathy.” Evette covered her mouth as she coughed. “I’m alone in this life, save for what relationship I have left with Johnny. He’s a good man. He came from the same place you two did, and he’s made it out. Finally, he’s made a life for himself that has nothing to do with the one he had with me. He’s not judged by his past anymore. You both must know how good that feels. Can you let him have that too?”

  Is that what she thinks I feel? Good?

  Grace shook her head. “You don’t just get to forget who you were before you start fresh. It stays with you. I live with it. So does Madigan. John must, too. We’re never free from our pasts, Evette. You of all people…”

  Evette stared up at her with big glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Madigan nodded, and Grace twisted the knob.

  “Take care, Evette,” Madigan said as Grace stepped out the door.

  Madigan closed the door behind them, and after rushing down the stairs and through the rain to the car, Grace wiped the rain and tears from her cheeks. She’d never expected to get an apology, and she hadn’t thought she needed one, but a heavy feeling lifted from her chest.

  She pitied Evette, and the words she spoke made her realize she’d held on to her past as tightly as Evette had, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Not back then, at least.

  Evette had something to be sorry about, but Grace didn’t.

  “You alri
ght?” Madigan asked.

  Grace nodded and started the car.

  “Maybe you’ve been right all along.” Grace sighed and checked her rearview mirror. “Maybe it’s better to forgive and let go.”

  Madigan nodded. “Doesn’t mean I forget.”

  “I know.” Grace sighed again, finally able to breathe. “She looked awful—and that cough!”

  “I know.”

  “Did you tell her about the nightmare again?”

  Madigan nodded. “I had to. She still says it didn’t happen. Maybe I should let it go, like you say.”

  With her confirmed story and more of a connection than she’d like, but not enough to mess with the case, Grace felt confident about what she had to bring to the table, as Mac had said.

  You’re lying, John.

  To whom?

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Grace dropped Madigan off at her bike that night, she promised to message her right away should anything official happen that she could put in an article for The Gazette. It didn’t feel right to burden her and dampen the mood with the fact she’d been fired, so Madigan went along with it.

  When she woke, Will had already left for work, but he’d also left a note on the kitchen table.

  Come home tonight. I want to talk.

  A pit in her stomach ached from the time she read his words until she started out on her bike for the library. She’d been sidetracked once before, but no matter what she told Grace, she couldn’t let it go. The nightmare was real to her, and if the evidence said otherwise, she’d be happy to admit to Grace she’d been wrong.

  After arriving, her favourite librarian, Mallory, showed her to the Amherst Times archives, and she found the year she and Grace moved in to Warbler Way. She started from the first of the year and checked each paper. Hundreds of missing men, women, and children.

  I have to narrow this down.

  She found The Gazette’s old archives and went through those, paying particular attention to the fall.

  It felt like autumn in my dream.

  It was cold and damp.

  After each article in August, she began with September and got a week in before it skipped a date.

  The paper for September eighth is missing.

  “Mallory?” Madigan approached the front desk. “Do you have copies of the articles?”

  “No, why?” Mallory asked.

  “There’s an article for The Gazette missing,” Madigan said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mallory said, pulling herself closer to the desk on her rolling chair. “Reader’s aren’t allowed to check those out. Someone would have had to steal it. Maybe it’s just misplaced? When from?”

  “The mid-eighties. No back-ups then?”

  “Everything’s on the computer system starting in the nineties,” she said. “This just missed it, huh? Okay, there’s one person who might be able to help. Arthur Cooper. He and his wife have collected the town paper every day since they married in nineteen seventy-two. She was a hoarder, and it was mostly her doing. Since she passed away, Arthur stopped collecting them, but he kept all of the ones they already had. Can’t bear to let them go.”

  “Could I have his address?”

  “Let me call him for you.”

  Mallory made the call and set up a meeting that afternoon.

  As Madigan arrived at Arthur’s bungalow, he sat on the front porch with a mug in his hand, waiting.

  “Mr. Cooper,” she called as she swung her leg over the bike. “I’m Madigan.”

  He nodded. “That bike there. That a Sportster?”

  Madigan took off her helmet and nodded.

  “I remember those. They came out just after I quit riding.”

  “You rode?” Madigan raised her brow.

  “Sure did. Wife wouldn’t let me after the grandkids were born. I think she just didn’t want it taking up room in the garage where more of her things could go. Had to sell my Harley.”

  “That’s a shame,” Madigan said as she stepped up onto the porch. “Well thank you for seeing me so soon.”

  “Mallory told me the date of the article you’re looking for, and I took it upon myself to get it for ya. If you searched for it, you’d be searching when it got dark. It’s a mess, but as Colleen said, it’s an organized mess.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cooper.” Madigan smiled.

  “Call me Arthur.” He swiped the article from the table and handed it to her. “You mind if you stay here to read it?”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  “I know it’s silly, but I just can’t even let one of them damn articles go.”

  “Has anyone been here asking to see any of them? This one in particular?”

  “Not that one,” he said, sipping his coffee. “More recent ones, sure. They don’t want to bother fetching one at the library. It’s a shame really—”

  Madigan nodded, and he gestured for her to sit beside him as he spoke, but she focused on the article.

  Amherst resident, Valerie Hall, Missing

  Valerie Hall, twenty-three, last seen by her parents in Tall Pines Friday night, reported missing early this morning by her fiancé, Joe Harris.

  Hall and Harris reside in Amherst, in the old factory district, where Hall works at a department store. When she didn’t show up for her shift this past Saturday, her manager tried to get in touch with her, but to no avail.

  “If anyone has seen or heard from Valerie, please let us know,” her parents told news outlets at eight this morning, while her fiancé gave his own plea.

  “Please, Valerie, if you’re listening—come home. Just let her come home,” Harris begged as he stared into the camera.

  If you have any information on Valerie Hall, please contact Amherst police...

  “Arthur,” she said, looking up from the paper. “Do you have the next few days following this one?”

  “We’ve got ‘em all,” he said, standing. “I shouldn’t say we, I guess, but—”

  Madigan shook her head. “You should say whatever feels right to you. They’re still her articles—in a way.”

  He grinned and nodded. “Yeah, they are. Back in a flash.” He hobbled over to the door and left her on the porch with the article.

  This has to be why the paper was stolen.

  By the time Arthur came back out, she’d reread the article at least five times and stared at her picture.

  Is she the dead body in my nightmare? I don’t recognize her.

  He walked over with ease and handed her the papers before sitting down again.

  The next issue’s front page included a story about the town’s oldest resident, Ida Collier. Madigan flipped through the pages, but no mention of Valerie or any missing woman had been made.

  The next issue had something different on the cover, and as she flipped through, she stopped when she recognized a name.

  Joe Harris cleared of all suspicion in case of missing city woman

  The city police have cleared Joe Harris’ name from their suspect list in regards to twenty-three-year-old Valerie Hall. Harris, twenty-five, had been away on business the week of her disappearance, arriving home on Saturday to find her missing.

  After speaking with Hall’s parents and contacting police, no missing persons case could be opened until this past Monday, following procedure.

  Joe Harris has been cleared as a suspect.

  When asked how he’s holding up, Harris said, “Now that I’m cleared of any suspicion or wrong-doing, the city police can put all their attention on finding Valerie. On bringing her back home to me.”

  Valerie Hall’s parents are no longer talking to the media amid rumors surrounding her disappearance circulating, and as many as thirty sightings with no leads reported to the PD.

  “This is a hard time for all of us,” Harris said at his residence on Warbler Way.

  What? He lived on our street?

  “I hope the Halls’ privacy can be respected at this time,” Harris continued
. “If anyone has any leads, instead of contacting them directly, please contact the police.”

  Her heart beat fast as she read over the article, taking her cell phone from her purse.

  “I’m just going to take some pictures,” she muttered and started snapping pictures of both articles.

  “Sure, sure. Seems you found what you were looking for.”

  Madigan nodded. “Missing woman.”

  “I was looking at that while I waited for you. It brought back some memories. Did you know her?”

  Madigan shook her head, searching the next few papers, but no mention of Valerie or her family was made.

  “Did they ever find her?”

  “Not that I know of. O’course, I could be wrong. That was a while ago, but I don’t think I ever heard she was found.”

  “Do you remember anything else about it?”

  “Sketchy neighbourhood,” he said, nodding. “Her parents live in that mansion just off Pekoe Place, that subdivision before the road to the lighthouse. Have since before their daughter went missing.”

  “You know them?”

  “I know of them. I guess everybody does because of their daughter. I remember people fussing over the fact that the Halls had money, but their daughter and her guy there lived in a dump.”

  It was bad.

  “I appreciate your help, Arthur,” she said, setting the papers on the table between them.

  “Sure thing. If you ever need to reference a paper, you know where to come.”

  “Thanks Arthur,” she said, walking back to her bike. “I will.”

  “Hey, maybe you’d let me take that thing out for a spin sometime.”

  She smiled and nodded as her cell phone buzzed in her hand and Will’s name popped up.

  Could you be home for dinner?

  She checked her watch. Just after three. She’d lost track of time looking through the articles.

  I’ll see you then, she texted back and shoved the cell phone in her pocket.

  Not home. Not yet.

  Chapter Twenty

  Grace pulled up to Mac’s condo at six, and he strode out the doors before she put the car in park. His patrol car had been pulled off the lot for a check up, and he’d texted her asking to ride to John’s together.