Sometimes, in those early years, Brett woke sweating, heart slamming in her chest, convinced that it was her fault. If she’d gone after Margot, if she hadn’t stayed in the boathouse so long, if she’d told someone sooner, her sister would still be alive. It was only later as an adult that she had a chance to read through the case notes herself and learned the truth. Based on decomposition, the medical examiner determined Margot had been killed some time on Tuesday. Amma and Pop hadn’t called the police until Wednesday morning.
Margot was dead before they even started looking for her.
Brett knew reading her sister’s file might compromise a future trial if they ever found Margot’s killer. But her need to know was compulsive, as if in the details—every single gory one—she might finally understand and find some sort of absolution.
When the search teams found Margot, she had been stripped of everything but her bra and underwear and posed on a bed of pine boughs. The pictures in the file showed a half-naked Margot lying on her back, feet crossed at the ankles, arms over her chest, a deceptive repose. Her golden hair was fanned around her face and tangled in ferns and leaves. Her hands clutched a bouquet of dried wildflower husks, and her mouth hung halfway open as if she were about to break into song. It might have been lovely, a princess waiting for her prince, if not for the lividity, her flesh peeling away, chunks missing where animals had scavenged. If not for her tongue carved out with a knife.
The investigation into Margot’s murder had lasted only a few months before it was pushed aside for other cases. According to the notes in the file, the investigating officer, Stan Harcourt, liked Danny Cyrus as a suspect. There was no physical evidence linking him to the scene, though, only rumors of a summer fling, a heated argument, and a break-up. When asked about his whereabouts on Tuesday morning, the last time anyone saw Margot alive, Danny said he was home alone. He claimed he hadn’t seen or spoken to Margot in several days. He denied they were even in a romantic relationship. They were just friends, he told the detective, just hanging out. He said he had no reason to be angry with her, no motive to wanting her dead. Lacking strong physical evidence and good witnesses, the police were left with their suspicions, their incompetence, and a dead girl who wasn’t talking. Unsolved, the case was shoved into a box and filed in the basement for over a decade where it might have stayed for another decade, if Brett hadn’t pushed for answers.
Growling engines pulled her from her thoughts. Two ATVs roared into the clearing through a gap in the trees and stopped at the meadow’s edge. The drivers, both men, weren’t wearing helmets. They shut off their engines and swung down to the ground. One man was older and fit, muscles bulging beneath a long-sleeved shirt. The younger man was pudgy with a thin mustache and wearing overalls. Before Brett had a chance to tell them to stay put, they walked straight across the meadow toward Eli. Brett retraced her steps over the section she’d already searched to reach Eli at the same time.
“You all are trespassing,” the older man said in a gruff voice.
His head was shaved close to the scalp. His hands were bear paws and bruised at the knuckles, the fingernails stained with what looked like motor oil.
Billy spoke first, moving to join the group, “We got a call from one of your neighbors last night, Lincoln. Said they heard gunshots.”
The older man cocked one eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing trampling around on my property. Because as far as I know, none of you asked my permission. Did they ask your permission, Danny?”
The younger man turned and spat a wad of chew into the grass. “No, sir, they did not.”
Brett hadn’t recognized him at first but could see now the faint outline of the hard-edged boy she remembered beneath the forty or so extra pounds he’d packed on. He was rounder, softer through the middle, but his chin still jutted out defiantly, and his copper eyes glinted mean. If he recognized her as Margot’s kid sister, he didn’t show it.
“We’re not looking for trouble, Lincoln,” Eli said, trying to break the tension.
Lincoln’s eyes dipped, examining Eli’s uniform, the utility belt around his waist, the gun and baton at his hip. “Even if you were here looking for mushrooms, you still have to ask my permission.”
“We’re allowed to enter a property if we’re concerned about someone’s safety,” Brett said.
Lincoln’s lips twisted in an amused smirk as his gaze skimmed the length of her. She moved aside her jacket so he could see her badge and the gun in its holster, but this only made him laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned if they aren’t letting anyone be cops nowadays.”
“Your neighbor seemed to think there was some trouble over here last night,” she said. “A lot of engines revving, loud music. People shouting. Like Officer Jones said, they heard gunshots.”
“Look,” Lincoln said with a shrug. “Everyone around here knows there’s no love lost between me and my neighbors. If you’d checked your records before you came all this way, you would-a seen so yourself. Rich motherfuckers think they own these woods, and they’re always coming up with reasons to call the cops on me. If they heard gunshots, it wasn’t coming from my property. But I get it, you have a job to do, gotta make sure everyone’s safe.”
He leaned hard on the word, mocking her.
Brett darted a glance at the grass around his feet. They were close to the spot Billy had indicated he’d seen blood splatter the night before. If there had been blood, it was minimal and mixed in with the dirt now, trampled by Lincoln’s heavy boots. They’d worked most of the rest of the clearing before Lincoln and Danny showed up and hadn’t found anything interesting. She’d check in with the neighbors to make sure nothing of theirs was damaged. Not much else she could do without evidence of a crime.
She hitched her shoulders back and offered Lincoln a stiff smile. “We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Byrne. Thanks for letting us take a look.”
“Next time, come knock on my front door first. A fine lady such as yourself deserves nothing short of the grand tour.” Lincoln grinned, exposing a gap where he was missing a front tooth.
* * *
Brett opened the trunk of her Beetle and leaned inside, pretending to look for something. She needed a moment alone, a second to press down the anger rising in her chest. She hadn’t thought that seeing Danny Cyrus would have such an effect on her. For over a decade, he’d been the prime suspect in Margot’s murder—the only suspect. Brett had spent ten years of her life alternately fearing him and wanting him dead. Even after the somewhat tenuous connection between Archer French and Margot was made, Brett still couldn’t shake the feeling that Danny had been involved, that he was lying about something. He’d sworn up and down he had nothing to do with Margot’s death, but then again, Archer French swore the same.
After a few deep breaths, Brett straightened and slammed the trunk shut. She was startled to find Eli leaning against her car, watching her with concern.
“Everything okay?”
She grimaced and gestured to nothing. “Looking for a jacket.”
His eyebrows arched as he stared pointedly at the windbreaker she was already wearing. She cleared her throat and moved around him to get to the driver’s door.
“I hear the Blue Whale Diner makes a killer bowl of clam chowder,” he said. “Best in the state, if you believe the news clippings the owner hangs on the walls. Will cure anything that ails you, apparently.”
She fumbled the keys in her hand and shook her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
She had told Amma she’d be back in time for lunch.
Eli backed away from her car so she could get in. “Rain check, then?”
“Yeah, sure.” She gave a non-committal smile and shrug, hoping he’d forget about it later.
Once in the car, she pulled a U-turn and drove away. In the rearview mirror, the forest loomed dark and sinister.
Brett wanted to be done with her grief and get on with her life. The
evidence was there, and everyone else who saw it drew the same conclusion: Archer French killed her sister. Most likely, Margot had been his first victim. But all Brett saw were missing pieces and loose ends. All she felt was doubt. If only Archer French would confess, perhaps she would be able to finally move on, but he kept saying it wasn’t him. So always in the back of her mind, Brett wondered if not Archer, then who? She felt she owed Margot this at the very least: certainty of what had happened that day in the woods, the ending to a story she never had a chance to tell.
Chapter 5
Clara brought two cold beers into the living room along with a plate of potato skins hot from the oven. Marshall took the beers from her and passed one to Eli. She set the potato skins on the coffee table next to a bowl of peanut M&Ms.
“I mean, right now, yes, we’re considering it a drowning,” Eli said. “But honestly, we won’t really know much of anything until the autopsy report comes in.”
“And when do you think that will happen?” Marshall asked.
They were still talking about Nathan Andress. The body on the beach. His name on everyone’s tongue, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about at church this morning was Nathan. The terribleness of it. The shock. All the things they didn’t yet know.
“Thanks, Clare Bear.” Eli tipped the can at her and took a swig.
She cuddled up on the couch next to Marshall and laid her hand on his knee. He put his arm around her shoulder. On the television, the Seahawks were beating the Packers. The entire first half of the game between plays, Eli and Marshall had talked about the investigation. Eli didn’t know much more than what the Tribune had printed in this morning’s Sunday Edition:
LOCAL MAN FOUND DEAD, POLICE INVESTIGATE POSSIBLE DROWNING.
All the rest was pure speculation.
“I’m sure Eli’s tired of talking about work. Aren’t you, Eli?” Clara smiled at him.
He took another drink. “I don’t mind.”
“What else is there to talk about, though?” Marshall said. “Nothing interesting happens in this town, and when something finally does—”
“It’s not interesting,” she interrupted him. “It’s a tragedy. Poor Mary.”
“We should send flowers,” Marshall suggested.
“I thought you said flowers were the worst things to get after someone dies? Remember how many we got?” Everyone sent lilies like they thought they were so clever sending flowers that shared a name with their dead daughter. “Remember how they all started dying at once?”
Marshall frowned at his beer.
“We couldn’t get the smell out of the house for weeks,” she finished.
“A casserole then?” Marshall said with less enthusiasm.
“We still have a stack of uneaten ones in the freezer from a year ago.” She shifted, pulling out from under his arm. “We could give her one of those.”
It came out sounding meaner than she intended, and when he gave her a dejected look, she curled into him again, leaning her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I sound callous. It’s just, people think they’re doing something nice for you, bringing you flowers or food or whatever, but you end up having to throw it all out. Then you feel guilty on top of your grief, and it’s just…it’s complicated.”
He kissed the top of her head. “We should send her something anyway. Let her know we’re thinking of her.”
“Someone gave us a ficus after Grandma Miller died,” Eli said. “That was maybe seven years ago, and it’s still alive.”
The football game resumed, and for a few minutes, their focus was on the television. Then the Packers called a timeout, and the station cut to commercials.
“So, Eli.” Marshall took a drink before continuing, “Have you asked her out yet?”
Clara perked up. Eli had been engaged a few years back to a woman his parents set him up with. The daughter of a friend of a friend, some well-to-do, high-ranking Seattle politician. The woman’s name was Bridgette, and that was all Clara needed to know about her to decide she was a terrible match for Eli. He’d tried to make it work, though. Bridgette was beautiful and rich, and Helen, Eli’s mother, liked her. But Bridgette broke it off in the end. She said she was looking for someone with a little more ambition. Meaning someone more interested in climbing the corporate ladder rather than dedicating himself to public service. And good riddance. Eli was a good-looking man, a hard worker, loyal, kept a neat house, and made a mean chicken cordon bleu. He deserved a woman who would love and appreciate him for everything he had to offer, not just his last name and inheritance.
Since the break-up, he’d had a few dates here and there, but nothing serious. No one worth talking about. The fact that Eli had brought her up at all meant that this new woman was more than his usual, casual fling.
“Ask who out?” Clara said.
“No one.” Eli blushed and pretended his beer was the most interesting thing in the room.
“Brett Buchanan,” Marshall answered for him.
“But you two work together,” Clara said.
“Which is great.” Marshall’s grin widened. “Finally, a woman who understands the long hours and stress of police work. And she’s tough. She won’t put up with any of his bullshit.”
Eli’s cheeks flamed bright red, but a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. “I asked her out to lunch yesterday.”
Marshall lifted his beer in a celebratory manner, but Eli shook his head. “She turned me down. Well, I mean, she said she couldn’t right then, but it did feel open-ended, so maybe…”
“What exactly did she say?” Marshall asked.
“We were following up on a disturbance call—”
“You were working?”
Eli nodded and explained how she’d looked upset, so he’d offered to take her to the Blue Whale Diner for a bowl of chowder. “You know how that soup can work miracles.”
Marshall barked a laugh. “Well, no wonder she turned you down. She probably had no idea you were even asking her out.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were too subtle. Both of you on the job, being all professional, and it was around lunchtime anyway, right?”
Eli nodded again.
“She probably thought you were just being nice to the new guy. Cops grab lunch together all the time, don’t they? You have to make it more obvious than that. Go to her front door, bring her flowers. Don’t wear your gun.” Marshall took Clara’s hand and squeezed it. “Women like to feel special.”
“What’s she even doing back here anyway?” Clara asked.
Both men looked at her, confusion wrinkling their brows.
“I mean, after what happened to her sister, why would she ever want to come back?”
Eli shifted his gaze to the floor, then tipped the beer can to his mouth.
“She has family here,” Marshall said, squeezing her hand again, firmer this time, the way he did when he wanted her to be a good wife and stop talking.
She pulled free of his grasp and scooted half an inch away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think that Eli could do better. I mean, if she’s anything like her sister—”
“Clara, don’t.” Marshall’s voice was a low warning.
“You’re going to sit here and tell me you want that kind of drama back in our lives?”
“It’s not our life, it’s Eli’s.”
“Guys, it’s okay, I don’t—” Eli tried to interrupt, but they talked over him.
“Well, if they started dating,” Clara said. “We’d have to see her eventually, wouldn’t we?”
“And that would be so terrible?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t even know her,” Marshall argued.
“Neither do you.”
He sighed and stood up from the couch, shaking his empty beer can at Eli. “Want another?”
“Yeah, sure,” Eli mumbled with a shrug.
Marshall walked into the kitchen. Clara excused herself and followed him.
He tossed the empty cans into the trash, opened the fridge, pulled two beers from the top shelf, and let the door swing shut again.
“I don’t like it when you say things like that,” he said without turning to look at Clara.
“Like what?”
“You know what.” He turned, and his hazel eyes sparked with anger. “I don’t like it when you talk about Margot like she was some kind of…”
He let the sentence trail off.
“Slut?” Clara suggested.
His grip tightened around the beer cans. His jaw tightened too.
“She tried to break us up, Marshall.”
“That was a lifetime ago.” His voice softened. “And I’m here with you now, aren’t I? I’m right here. I’ve always been here.” He set the beers on the counter and gathered her in his arms. “So what if Eli asks Brett out on a couple of dates? And so what if we eventually have to see her? If Eli’s happy, then we should be happy for him. We put up with Bridgette, didn’t we?”
Clara closed her eyes and relaxed against him, jealousy leaving her. The old, familiar hurt effervescing like so many bubbles.
At that moment, Elizabeth burst through the door that connected the kitchen to the garage. She stopped short like she was startled to see her parents hugging, even though Marshall and Clara were often affectionate in front of her. They parted. Clara smiled and took a step toward her daughter. Elizabeth had slept over at June’s last night. Usually, when that happened, she didn’t come home until later in the afternoon, sometimes even after dinner.
“You’re home early,” Clara said.
Elizabeth’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. She was wearing dark green sweatpants Clara had never seen before. The pants looked big on her, sagging at the waist, the cuffs dragging across the floor. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail and looked damp. She carried her backpack over one shoulder.
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