by N L Hinkens
“We should get going,” Josh said, glancing at his watch. “Traffic will be heavy getting across town at this time of day. Are you staying with your sister this trip?”
“Violet’s in Boston—she gets back tomorrow. I’m bunking at Marco’s guest cottage tonight. I might stay with Violet after that. It all depends what her plans are and how long I’m here. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
“I doubt you could do that,” Josh said, gathering up their paper cups and napkins.
Heather threw him a curious glance as she got to her feet, trying to decide if he was talking about Violet, or Marco, or himself.
At The Sardinian, Marco’s flagship restaurant on the far side of town, Josh and Heather joined the others in a private room at the back. After they were seated, Marco gestured to one of his wait staff hovering in the background who hurried off and returned, moments later, with a couple of bottles of wine.
“None for me, thanks,” Heather said, holding her hand over her glass when the waiter approached her. “Just a Pellegrino, please.”
Reagan leaned over and squeezed her arm. “We appreciate you coming back out here to investigate this.”
Heather gave a tight-lipped smile. “Well, as you pointed out, I’m in it as deep as the rest of you. I take it nothing else has happened since we last spoke?”
“Not that I know of,” Reagan replied, glancing around the table.
Sydney shook her head.
“I’ve been keeping a close eye on the restaurants, making sure no one suspicious is loitering in the vicinity, and I’ve installed some additional cameras. Nothing out of the ordinary to report,” Marco said.
“Nothing on my end either,” Josh added. He met Heather’s gaze briefly before looking away.
The waiter interrupted them to take their orders. As soon as he retreated, Reagan set a yellow legal pad on the table and retrieved a pen from her purse. “Let’s get right to business. I’ve begun making a list of suspects for Heather to follow up on. So far, it’s just my ex—Roy—and a nosy old retired neighbor who makes a habit of calling the city to complain about where Dave leaves the trashcan, that kind of thing.”
Marco let out a humph of disgust. He swirled his wine around in his glass before taking a swig. “A grouchy pensioner hardly fits the profile of an arsonist. We’re not here to waste Heather’s time.”
Reagan threw him a sharp look. “I think it’s important to cover all our bases. It’s up to Heather to decide which leads are worth pursuing and which aren’t.”
Marco curled his lip and gestured for the legal pad. “I’ll add Danny Baxter’s contact details—the employee who sued me.” He consulted his phone and scribbled something down before passing the legal pad and pen to Sydney who was sitting next to him.
She pursed her lips. “I can’t think of anyone who would want to do something like this. I mean the only name I came up with is Karen Hill—Steve’s ex-fiancée. He broke off his engagement to her to be with me, which sucked, I admit, but that was fifteen years ago. I doubt she’s still resentful about it after all this time.”
“Add her name to the list anyway,” Reagan insisted, jabbing a finger at the legal pad.
Sydney shrugged and picked up the pen. ”I don’t have any current contact information for her—just her maiden name. She lived in Moline.”
“That’s all I need,” Heather said. “I can take it from there.”
Sydney made a note of it and then handed the pad to Heather. “How about you? I’m sure you have all sorts of unsavory characters out for your blood in LA,” she said, with a look of mock horror.
Heather shrugged. “Pretty much every case I work on. There’s always big money involved. So, yes, I’m a potential target. But if someone wanted to do a hit job on me, it would be a lot easier to pull off in LA than following me out to Iowa.” She passed the legal pad to Josh. “You’re next. Do you have anyone to add?”
He rubbed his jaw, an uneasy expression on his face. “I … had this patient who committed suicide a few months back. Her husband blamed me for not being able to help her. He came into my office and threatened to kill me. I never saw him again after that, so I didn’t report it to the police.” He jotted something down on the pad and handed it back to Heather.
“So what’s the next step?” Reagan asked, a curious gleam in her eye.
“First, I’m going to prioritize the names on this list,” Heather said, glancing it over. “I’ll do some research, run some background checks, and then determine who is worth pursuing. If anyone else comes to mind in the meantime, text me the information. Also, think back to the reunion. Did you notice anyone acting suspiciously that night? Reagan, maybe you can get me a list of everyone who volunteered on the reunion committee. We can’t rule out the possibility that the person was working alongside you.”
Reagan shot a wary look in Marco’s direction. “Well, there was Marco, Josh, Sydney, and myself, obviously. Lindsay too, until the accident. There were ten of us altogether. I’ll print you out a list.”
“Speaking of the reunion,” Sydney interjected, “Did you find out anything more about the floral delivery?”
Heather shook her head. “All we know is that the customer paid in cash—a woman. No camera on the premises and the description was vague. She could have been hired by someone to place the order.”
“I did a little research on the significance of the forget-me-not flower and how it got its name,” Sydney said. “Supposedly, two lovers walking along the Danube River spotted the flowers on a bank. They thought they were unusual looking so the man climbed down to pick some and ended up falling in. As he was being swept away to his death, he yelled out to the woman not to forget him. So she named the flowers after him. Forget-me-not. Kind of creepy, huh?”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Everyone stopped eating and stared at Sydney.
Heather’s blood ran cold. It felt as if a voice from beyond the grave had just called to her.
10
Alone in Marco’s guest cottage later that evening, Heather threw herself down on the bed and stared up at the wood-beamed ceiling. Sydney’s words haunted her like a ghostly rebuke from her past. Forget … me … not! All she’d tried to do for the past two decades was forget: forget what happened to Violet and—more important—forget what she’d done about it afterward. But some things couldn’t be forgotten no matter how much time trickled by. It had all begun with a lie. A relatively harmless lie, or so she’d thought at the time.
“This kid in my class is having a party for all the freshmen,” Violet had chirped as they drove home from school at the end of the first week of term. “Sort of an icebreaker. You know Mom and Dad won’t let me go if I ask them. But all my friends are going. Can you tell them you’re taking me to the movies or something and drop me off at the party?”
Heather tightened her grip on the steering wheel and glanced over at Violet with a raised brow. “Don’t tell me you’ve got your eye on some boy already.”
Violet tossed her head. “Of course not. It’s just that everyone else is going and I hate being the only one who’s never allowed to do anything fun.”
“So who is this kid and where does he live?” Heather asked. At seventeen, she had been fiercely protective of her vivacious fourteen-year-old sister, but at the same time, she knew better than anyone how unbearably strict their father could be. Heather’s curfew had been 9:00 p.m. until she was sixteen, which meant she’d missed out on many a fun activity with her friends. The one time she’d invited them over to watch a movie at her house had been a disaster. Her father had insisted on watching it with them and fast forwarded through the PG-rated kissing scene. Thanks to their mother’s coaxing on their behalf, he’d eased up a little since then, and now that she was a senior, he’d agreed to let her and Violet stay out until 11:30 p.m. on the weekend as long as they were together.
“The kid who’s throwing the party is Trevor Carpenter,” Violet said. “His parents own a sandwi
ch shop in Davenport. They’re very respectable. I have the address. We can drive by their house if you want to check it out.”
“Let me think about it,” Heather replied, cranking up the music in the car.
In the end, against her better judgment, she had agreed to pretend she was taking Violet to the movies on the night of the party and promised their parents to bring her straight home afterward. After dropping Violet off at the Carpenters’ house, Heather sat in the car and watched for a few minutes as freshmen arrived in pairs and small groups, talking and laughing excitedly. She was relieved to see there weren’t any older kids showing up. She glanced at her watch. It was a little after eight. She was reluctant to go to the movies in case Violet decided she wanted to leave early. On the other hand, she might want to stay until the party ended, which would leave Heather with three hours to kill. She didn’t dare risk going to any of her friends’ houses in case it got back to her parents. Lindsay was the one friend she could trust to be discreet. She shot her a quick text.
What r u doing?
Nothing much.
Want to hang out?
Can’t. My grandparents are here.
Heather sent her a couple of emojis in response and tossed her phone into her purse before starting up the car. She might as well catch a movie. She could sit on the aisle at the back of the theater and set her phone to vibrate.
Two hours later, Heather was melded to her seat, lost in the plot of a compelling drama when her phone buzzed, startling her almost out of her skin.
Glancing down, she saw Violet’s name on the screen. She quickly got to her feet and exited the theater, pressing the phone to her ear to drown out the chatter of the other patrons lining up for popcorn in the foyer. “I can’t hear what you’re saying,” Heather said. “Slow down. I’m on my way to pick you up.”
“Please hurry, Heather!” Violet sobbed into the phone.
“Why? What’s wrong? Did something happen?” She broke into a jog, ignoring the reproving looks hurled her way as she dashed through the double doors and out to the parking lot.
“Just hurry up and get here,” Violet begged, before dissolving into tears once more.
“I’m getting in my car right now,” Heather assured her. She hit the speaker button on her phone before peeling out of the parking lot. “Listen to me, Violet. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t hang up. Now, tell me what happened. Are you hurt? Is someone else hurt?”
“I’m … I’m …” Violet sniffed a few times and then whispered, “I can’t talk now. There are kids here waiting to be picked up.”
“Where’s here?” Heather frowned. “Are you outside?”
“Yes, I’m at the curb.”
“It isn’t safe, Violet. Wait inside. I’ll come to the door when I get there.”
“I’m not going back in. There’s a bunch of other people here too. I’ll be fine.”
“Just promise me you won’t stay out there by yourself,” Heather said, trying to curb her exasperation. “Are Trevor’s parents there?”
“They went next door to have a drink with their neighbors.”
“Then go next door and wait with them.”
“No! I … I can’t do that.”
Heather’s stomach churned. Violet’s voice sounded desperate. But at least she wasn’t hurt. Maybe she’d had a falling out with her friends, or someone had said something mean to her. Whatever it was, Heather needed to get there fast. Her sister was upset, and it pained her to listen to her crying into the phone.
Minutes later, Heather pulled into the cul-de-sac where she’d dropped Violet off. Several clusters of kids were milling around outside the house chatting and laughing. Violet sat alone on a small retaining wall, hunched over and staring at her phone. At the sound of the car approaching, she glanced up and immediately vaulted to her feet and ran to meet it. Once inside, she sank down in the passenger seat and hugged her arms to herself.
“Violet! Are you all right?” Heather asked, tamping down the note of alarm in her voice. “What on earth is going on with you?”
“Nothing. Please take me home.”
“Did you have a falling out with your friends or something?”
Violet stared straight ahead. “Please, just drive.”
Heather gave an irritated shrug. “Put your seatbelt on.” She turned the car around and pulled out of the subdivision and onto the main road, mulling over how best to handle the situation. They had a fifteen-mile drive ahead of them. But would it be enough time to tease whatever was bothering Violet out of her? She would have to drive slowly and take the long way home. She couldn’t take Violet back to the house in this state or their parents would launch a full-blown interrogation.
“Violet, will you please talk to me?” Heather prodded, after a couple of miles of silence had stretched between them. “Mom and Dad are going to ask a million questions if you arrive back in this state.”
Violet tilted her face toward her, her tear-filled eyes widening in horror. “No! You can’t let them. Tell them I’m really tired and I want to go to bed.”
“I’m not going to lie to them again tonight unless you tell me what’s going on,” Heather responded, raising her voice. “I’m the one who took you to that party and if something happened, I need to know about it. I’m responsible.”
Violet’s lip began to tremble. “It’s not your fault. It’s … mine. I was … I was drinking.”
“What?” Heather couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice. She gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to pull over and shake her sister. “How could you be so stupid? And where did you get the alcohol from anyway?”
“Some kids brought vodka in water bottles,” Violet whimpered.
Heather’s thoughts were racing as she tried to figure out what kind of damage control she would have to do. It was bad, but it could have been worse. At least she hadn’t thrown up all over herself. She just had to get Violet into the house, past her parents and straight to bed without engaging them in conversation. If they saw the state she was in, they would know immediately something was wrong. Violet was sure to break down and confess that she’d been drinking. And then they’d both be grounded for the rest of the year. Heather was not about to let that happen her senior year. “I can’t believe you were that stupid, Violet. We talked about this.”
“I know, I know,” she sobbed, rocking back and forth in her seat.
Heather sighed. “Look, I’m sorry for yelling. Calm down. This is my fault for agreeing to lie for you in the first place. Here’s what we’ll do. When we get to the house, I’ll say you need the bathroom. Run straight upstairs. Don’t come back down. And for goodness sake, clean your teeth. Pretend to be asleep if Mom or Dad check on you. Got it?”
Violet nodded mutely and curled up on her side, staring out the side window. They rode in silence for the rest of the way home, pulling up at their house a little after 11:30 p.m.
The porch light came on and their mother appeared at the front door. ”Thank goodness you’re home,” she called to them as they exited the car. “Your father was about to head into town to look for you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Heather called back. “I told you the movie wasn’t over until eleven.”
Her mother flapped a hand at her. “You know how your father worries.
“Don’t forget, straight to bed,” Heather muttered to Violet, as soon as their mother disappeared back inside. “I’ll handle Mom and Dad.”
Violet gave a tentative nod and followed Heather to the front door. She made a beeline for the stairs while Heather walked back to the kitchen where her mother and father were seated at the table clutching mugs of chamomile tea.
Her mother smiled up at her. “Well, how was—?”
“Where’s your sister?” Her father cut in, jerking his chin sideways—a nervous habit he’d had as far back as Heather could remember.
“Bathroom.” Heather gave a wry grin. “She’s been trying to hold it the whole way home.”
�
��Did you girls enjoy the movie?” her mother asked.
“Yeah, it was great,” Heather replied, diving into a lengthy synopsis of the plot designed to buy Violet enough time to clean her teeth and get into bed.
When she’d finished, her father got to his feet. “I’m going to check on your sister.” He came back downstairs a few minutes later and resumed his seat at the table. “She’s fast asleep.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I still think she’s far too young to be going to the late movie.”
His wife laid a hand on his arm. “Honey, it’s the weekend, she’ll be fine. She can sleep in tomorrow.”
“I’m going to head to bed too,” Heather said, stifling an exaggerated yawn. She kissed both her parents on the cheek and then made her way upstairs to the room she shared with Violet. After closing the door quietly behind her, she whispered, “Vivi, are you awake?”
Violet sat up in bed and drew her knees to her chest.
Heather plonked down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You can stop worrying now. It’s all right. They didn’t suspect a thing.”
A guttural sob racked Violet’s tiny frame.
Heather pulled her closer and rocked her gently back-and-forth. “It’s okay. You learned your lesson. Put it behind you now.”
Violet pulled away and pressed the backs of her hands to her eyes. “You don’t understand. I can’t.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Heather said. “You’re not the only teenager who’s taken a drink and regretted it. It’s over and done with. Forget about it.”
Violet blinked at her, her pale face glistening with tears. “I don’t mean the vodka. I mean the rape.”
11
Neither Heather nor Violet had slept much that night. Instead, they held each other and cried for hours on end. Heather tried to persuade Violet that they needed to tell their parents what had happened. But Violet resisted with every fiber in her being, insisting she didn’t know who the kid was or even his real name—only that he was older and that he’d gone by Tank. He had arrived at the party with a friend an hour or so after Heather dropped Violet off. She had flirted with him in the kitchen and let him kiss her—the vodka lowering her inhibitions. Later on that evening, he’d followed her into a bathroom, locked the door behind him, and threatened to strangle her if she screamed.