by Brenda Novak
“You what?” Paige cried.
Sloane was tempted to take back that statement. She’d always shied away from accusing her father outright. Even to her closest friends and Micah. Stating it meant she’d have to do something about it, and she’d known she was in no position. But things had changed. She could do something about it now. “Yes.”
“I knew you sometimes wondered if things didn’t go quite the way he said—that he chased her off instead of her leaving on her own and she was afraid to come back or something like that. But you’re talking murder?”
“I was only five when I heard what I heard, but I don’t know how else to interpret it.”
“You’re going to investigate your own father.”
“Someone’s got to do it.”
Paige dropped her spoon in her soup, letting it clank against the edge of the bowl. “But you’ll have to face down your brother, too. Heck, given who your father is, you’ll have to face down the whole town!”
“No one has ever made a concerted effort to figure out what happened. It’s time someone did.”
“No matter what it might cost you.”
“No matter what it might cost me.”
“That has to have been a tough decision.”
“It’s been excruciating. But I would hope someone would do the same for me, if I went missing. Wouldn’t you?”
Paige whistled as she let her breath go. “I guess I would.”
Sloane hadn’t been hungry in the first place, not after talking to Vickie Winters. So she didn’t mind that her soup was getting cold. Paige didn’t seem to mind, either. She seemed to have forgotten all about it. “Wow,” she said.
“Yeah. So there you have it. I’ve waited long enough to know that no one else is going to step up to do the heavy lifting. In my mind, that gives me no choice.”
Paige picked up her spoon. “But do you have anything to go on? Anything that might make a difference? What is it you remember?”
Sloane closed her eyes as she recalled the night she’d spent so long trying to forget. “I heard an argument.”
“Your parents were fighting.”
“Yes. That’d been happening a lot. It made me so upset.”
“But a lot of parents fight. My parents have fought over the years, too.”
“This wasn’t that kind of fight, although I tried to convince myself it was. I felt powerless to stop it, so I tried to go back to sleep. Then the anger in the voices I heard changed—grew almost...malevolent.”
“What were they saying?”
“It had something to do with cheating.”
“Your mom thought your dad was cheating?”
“I think so, but he seemed to be accusing her, too. They were talking about our kindergarten teacher.”
“Mr. Judd.”
Sloane nodded and dipped her spoon in her bowl to at least make an attempt to eat the soup Paige had been kind enough to prepare.
“He was young and good-looking, but so was your father.”
“Still, my dad must’ve been jealous. He said my mother was helping out in my class because she wanted to be around Brian Judd.”
“Did you ever see anything strange going on between Mr. Judd and your mother?”
“Never. She tried to tell my father that, but he wouldn’t listen. The yelling got louder. I remember covering my ears, wishing they’d stop.” She stared at the soup in her spoon without really seeing it.
“And then?”
“And then I climbed out of bed and crept to the top of the stairs.”
Paige held her drink around the rim, letting it dangle. “Did you see anything?”
“Not from that vantage point. But I could when I went down a few steps. My father had a hold of my mother and was shaking her. She noticed me first. When her eyes widened, he turned, jerked his head toward the stairs and shouted, ‘Get back in bed. Now!’ I desperately wanted to go to my mother instead, but I was so afraid of him I ran back to my room.”
“Did you stay in your room or did you sneak out again?”
Sloane forced herself to swallow the bite of soup. She hadn’t had anything to eat since the bagel and coffee she’d had for breakfast, but she could hardly taste it. “I was too frightened to do anything else. I lay in my bed, staring at the darkness, listening to the sound of my own breathing while they continued to argue.”
“How’d it end?”
“With a crash and a thud. Silence after that. I held my breath and waited, but I heard nothing, no voices. Just someone moving around the house.”
“Your father?”
Sloane brought up another bite of soup. “I can’t be sure. The back door opened and closed several times. After a few minutes, I heard someone on the stairs.”
“But you don’t know who it was?”
“My father, I think. But I squeezed my eyes closed as soon as those footsteps approached my room and pretended to be asleep as my door creaked open.”
“Someone looked in at you?”
“Yes. Whoever it was paused in the opening for what seemed like a very long time, but I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare crack open my eyes until they went away.”
“What happened after that?”
“Not much. More sounds, a lot of movement in the house, doors opening, that sort of thing.”
Paige slid to the edge of her seat. “The movement of two people or one?”
“I couldn’t tell. There was no more shouting, no more talking. Before long, a car engine started outside, and I got the feeling I was alone in the house.”
“Your brother was spending the night with Staley Hicks, right?”
It didn’t surprise Sloane that Paige would remember that detail. Several things about the night Clara went missing were common knowledge, and that was one of them. “Yes. I wished I could go to him in his room, but I remembered he wasn’t home. The silence stretched and stretched. I can’t say for how long because the next thing I knew, the sun was streaming through my window.”
“You’d fallen asleep.”
“Must have.”
Paige added some more tortilla strips to her soup. “Who came to get you up for school?”
“No one. This happened on a Friday night. That’s why Randy was allowed to sleep over.”
“Of course. That makes sense.”
“I waited, wondering if I’d hear my mother in the kitchen. When I didn’t, I got up and went into my parents’ bedroom, but it was empty. I found my father in the kitchen, sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee. He had this far-off look on his face until he saw me, and when he realized I was there... It’s hard to put into words.” She nibbled at her bottom lip, staring past Paige, remembering. “His eyes narrowed as though I’d done something wrong. He asked me what I was doing up so early, and I told him I wanted to watch cartoons. I thought he was going to send me back to bed, thought he was still mad from the night before. But then he shoved himself to his feet, walked into the living room and turned on the TV.”
“He didn’t say anything about your mother?”
“Not a word. He sat on the couch behind me—I was on the floor—and fell asleep almost right away. It wasn’t until I started getting hungry that I began to search more earnestly for my mother. He must’ve heard me calling for her, because he woke up, told me to be quiet, that she was gone, and lumbered into the kitchen to get me a bowl of cereal.”
“‘She’s gone’? That’s all he said?”
“I asked when she’d be back, and he said he didn’t know.”
“Are you sure you heard a car that night before you fell asleep? Because it’s always been my understanding she didn’t take the car. She left on foot. I don’t know where I got that, because you would never talk about it, but it’s the mental picture I’ve always carried around with me—of your mother, walking dow
n a dark and lonely street at night.”
“I have no idea where you heard it. Maybe from your parents. I’m sure people talked. No one double-checked my dad’s story—not that I know of—but some of the details must’ve circulated through town. He claims she walked away, that when he calmed down he tried to go after her, but she was gone.”
“Which suggests...what? Someone picked her up?”
“That’s what he claims to believe.”
“What do you believe?” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell me you think the car you heard was your father getting rid of her body...”
“I hate to even acknowledge that possibility, but I’ve always wondered.” Sloane told herself not to divulge any more, but the words tumbled out in spite of that—maybe because she didn’t want to seem like a terrible daughter for doubting her own father. “And I’m not the only one who suspects him.”
Paige’s eyebrows shot up.
Sloane had only ever opened up to Clyde. He wasn’t connected to any of the primary players in this drama, which made it easier for her to voice her fears. Admitting what she suspected to Paige, who knew her father and brother and everyone else in town, felt like sacrilege. But the truth was the truth, and she had to come to terms with it. “Today someone told me they saw Dad drive past that night.”
“Who?”
Sloane purposely chose the wrong pronoun to protect Vickie. “I can’t say. I told him I wouldn’t. And that’s not the point. The point is that my father wasn’t in his car, like we might imagine. He was in his truck—and he was towing the boat.”
Paige’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit! He wouldn’t bother to hook up the boat unless...”
“Unless?” Somehow it was easier for Sloane to let Paige draw the obvious conclusion.
“He was going to the river. But why would he be going there so late and right after your mother had stormed off?”
Sloane said nothing.
“Oh God! That’s where he dumped her body—in the water somewhere!”
They stared at each other for several long seconds. Then Paige pushed her mostly untouched bowl off to the side. “Sloane, I’m scared for you,” she said. “You realize it’s been twenty-three years. Are you sure you want to dig all of this up?”
Sloane moved her bowl to the side, too, so she wouldn’t spill it as she leaned forward. “What would you do if it was your mother?”
Paige pursed her lips in a “you got me” expression.
“I’ve tried to let it go,” Sloane said. “Tried to come to terms with not knowing. But I can’t. If he killed her, she deserves justice, and I’m the only one who can give it to her. I’ve sort of always known I’d have to deal with this eventually.”
“Even though you’ll be making an enemy of your entire family? You might need them one day!”
“When do you not need your family? I need them now, Paige. But I can’t live a lie. Whatever happened wasn’t as my father said, so I have to do something about it.”
Paige seemed to mull that over as she took another drink of her wine. “What about your brother? Is there any chance you could get him to listen to you? To work with you to uncover the truth?”
“I haven’t tried to speak to him in so long I can’t be sure, but I doubt it. It’s not as if he’s ever reached out to me, even though he could’ve found me on social media as easily as you did.”
After putting down her glass, Paige reached across the table to take Sloane’s hand. “I can’t imagine how terrible it would be to think you can’t trust your own father, and that you can’t lean on your only sibling, especially when you don’t have a mother.”
“That’s why you meant so much to me growing up,” Sloane said. “That’s why it was hard for me to leave you. I was running away—from all of it, from everything associated with this place. But I couldn’t keep running. I’m back to find out what happened to my mother, but also here to see if there’s any way we can rebuild our relationship.” Despite her professional success, and even though she did have Clyde, Sloane had felt so isolated and alone—without root or branch, as the saying went—in New York.
“Then I’m glad I reached out,” Paige said. “Because I feel the same. I’ve missed you so much.”
A noise at the door caused Sloane to turn and Paige to look up as Trevor came barreling into the house. “Look at this, Mom! Dad bought me a new baseball cap! Isn’t it cool?”
“A new Rangers hat,” she said drily. “How many of those do you have now?”
“Three. But none like this one.”
“I see. That’s awesome, then.”
Sloane hoped he couldn’t hear the sarcasm in his mother’s voice. He seemed so much happier than she’d expected after hearing about his friend Spaulding.
“Are you two already done for the night?” Paige asked her son.
“Not yet. Dad promised he’d come in and check out my new video game before he went home.”
Paige opened her mouth as though she would protest, but Trevor was so excited he was already hurrying over to set up his gaming console. And the next thing Sloane knew, Micah was standing in the doorway.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sloane felt Micah’s presence in every fiber of her being. He didn’t say much; he focused exclusively on Trevor, talked only about the game, how to work it, what the cheats were, how good Trevor was getting at playing. Even when Paige broke in to offer them both a bowl of soup—Micah’s “favorite” soup—Trevor wasn’t the only one to say he was full. Micah politely declined and immediately returned his attention to his son and the TV.
Sloane envied him his ability to function so capably and indifferently; she could barely breathe. It felt like he’d sucked all the air out of the room. She could tell Paige was keeping a close eye on her, so she was careful not to glance over at him, but she couldn’t help straining to hear what he said, no matter how mundane the comment. His voice was so much deeper than it’d been in high school. If he ever decided that he didn’t like being a cop, he could succeed in radio.
She and Paige made small talk while they finished eating. Sloane couldn’t even taste her food. She managed to get most of it down, but the end of the meal came as a relief. Soon she’d be able to go to her room, where she could be alone, and she couldn’t wait for the reprieve. Although she managed to answer correctly whenever Paige asked her a question, her mind drifted. Not only was she hanging on every word Micah said, she couldn’t help thinking about the romantic relationships she’d had since leaving Millcreek.
More than a few men had come into her life over the past decade. Some, at least by most people’s standards, would’ve been “great catches”: fellow models, movie stars, musicians, producers, politicians, professional athletes and other wealthy, accomplished and interesting people. The most aggressive hadn’t even met her before showing interest. They’d put out feelers, looking for her contact information after seeing her in an ad or on the cover of a magazine. Such inquiries typically came through Clyde, since he’d been her agent.
But all the men she’d dated in New York had one thing in common: they’d left Sloane feeling restless and ambivalent. No doubt that was partly where she’d gotten her reputation as an ice queen. Derrick Kelly, a professional hockey player and the last man to pursue her, had told her that nothing he did seemed capable of piercing her cool reserve, that he was looking for something a bit warmer when he came from the rink. He worked in a cold place; he didn’t want to sleep in one, too.
Sadly, she’d had to tell him that probably wouldn’t change. She hadn’t heard from him since and had felt more relief than regret, indicating she shouldn’t have been with him as long as she had been, anyway, which was about six months.
After ten years of shoving the past into a small corner of her brain, refusing to think about it or remember, the intense emotion bubbling up from someplace deep inside her wasn’t only a sud
den change, it was overwhelming.
“Should we take our dessert out back?” Paige asked as they finished up in the kitchen.
Sloane understood that her former best friend was weighing her every expression, every word, even the occasional hesitation, searching for meaning where there may or may not be any. Paige wanted to see if Sloane would rather stay in the house, where she’d be closer to Micah. She was transparent in that regard, so Sloane forced a smile and agreed to go outside. “Why not? The weather is perfect.”
Paige poured them each another glass of wine while Sloane cut the cake. But before they could walk out of the house, a determined knock sounded at the door.
At almost ten o’clock, it was late for visitors, even on a weekend. Micah and Trevor must’ve heard the knock, too, but they didn’t respond. They were too caught up in the game.
With a sigh, Paige put down the wineglasses she’d picked up from the counter. “Just when I thought we were safe from the outside world,” she muttered and went to see who it was.
While she was gone, Sloane dropped her head back and tried to steady her nerves. She had another hour or so of chitchat to get through with Paige. She hoped Micah wouldn’t stay that long, though. It was so much easier when he wasn’t around. She needed more time to acclimate to Millcreek before coping with the residual feelings she had for him.
She’d just taken a big gulp of her wine, hoping that might help her unwind, when Paige called her name.
Sloane nearly broke the glass she set it down so abruptly. She’d expected to have a minute or two to pull herself together. Instead, she was being summoned to the door. “Yes?” she called, turning toward the sound.
Paige’s voice came back to her. “It’s your brother.”
Pa-rump, pa-rump, pa-rump. Sloane heard three distinct heartbeats echo in her ears before she could bring herself to answer. Randy. She didn’t know what to expect of him or their relationship. He hadn’t done anything wrong, not to their mother, at any rate. He’d merely sided with their father, had somehow managed to maintain the kind of blind faith that’d proved so difficult for her.