The real point of Kelsey’s journey to Summit Lake was clear—this was a time for her to heal and recover. Take some time off and lay low. There was never any confusion about that. And after an initial protest, Kelsey was fully willing to kill a month under the ruse of chasing a story. The problem was, while sniffing for a story she thought didn’t exist, she found one. And now she was neck-deep in it—possibly in some trouble and about to make things worse. She kept the details of her plan vague when Penn pressed her for specifics. When he requested something of substance from her—a draft or outline—Kelsey promised she’d get something to him soon.
“Tonight,” Penn said.
“I’ll try.”
“Try? I just gave you a deadline. I want to see what you have.”
“I’ve got something going on tonight, Penn. I’ll get something out to you tomorrow. Promise.”
“It better have some guts to it.”
“Trust me,” Kelsey said as she walked. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Before you go, remember one thing,” Penn said.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve allowed you to expense everything on this trip.”
“You encouraged it, actually,” Kelsey said.
“Okay, I’ll go that far. But know this: Bail money is not included, so don’t call me at 2 a.m. if this plan of yours breaks bad.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
“I’m serious, Kelsey.”
“I know you are. I’ll touch base when I know more.”
“One more thing.”
Kelsey waited. “Yes?”
“You’re the best I’ve got and . . . just be careful, okay?”
“Always. Thanks, Penn.”
She stuffed the phone in her purse as she approached the corner of Spokane Avenue. She checked her watch: 5:53 p.m. She was about to sit on the corner bench when the SUV pulled up. The passenger side window rolled down.
“We’ve got to stop meeting this way,” Peter said.
Kelsey shook her head and offered a nervous smile. She pulled open the door and climbed in. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
“Not really, because I don’t know exactly what I signed up for. Why couldn’t I pick you up at the hotel?”
“Let’s get out of here and I’ll explain.”
They drove fifteen minutes into the mountains and pulled over at a scenic overlook. The vastness of the lake was in front of them and the homes of Summit Lake were nestled in a neat pocket below, glowing in the evening darkness.
“Has anyone been around to talk to you?” Kelsey asked as they pulled to a stop.
“Anyone who?” Peter asked.
“Any police? To talk to you about breaking into the county building the other night.”
“No. Why? What’s happening?”
“One of the detectives on the Eckersley case paid me a visit last night. Told me to stop snooping around and go back to Miami.”
“Really? Not sure he has the authority to kick you out of town.”
“Normally, I’d agree with you. But he started asking questions about stolen documents from the county building, and where I was that night.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I acted like I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I don’t think it was a very good bluff. He told me they’re reviewing surveillance tapes that show two individuals entering the building after business hours with a stolen access card.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, we’re in trouble. I wanted to give you a heads-up. You might also mention to your friend who got you the card that some heat might come down on him.”
“So with all this ‘heat,’ as you call it, about to come down on us, you thought it was a good idea to pull another B and E?”
Kelsey smiled at his sarcasm. “Not a good idea, but my only shot at finishing what I started here.”
“What’s with this case?” Peter asked. “Why is it so important to you?”
Kelsey stared out the windshield, where the dying sun laid a cherry runway quivering across Summit Lake. In her heart was empathy toward Becca—who, like Kelsey, had undergone a brutal assault. That no one ever paid the price for this crime was something Kelsey could not turn her back on. She was hungry for closure, and she couldn’t leave Summit Lake without it.
“I’m not sure,” she finally said. “But I know too much about this girl to leave with all these questions floating around.” She shrugged. “Just not enough to find the answers.”
“Which is why you asked me to help you break into some woman’s house tonight?”
“Correct. I know you’re sticking your neck out again for me, something you don’t have to do. I’m nervous to try this by myself. And I hope to hell you don’t get in any trouble for what we did the other night.”
Peter smiled. “You’re worth a little trouble.”
Kelsey’s cell phone buzzed. She looked down and read the text message. “Okay. Rae’s got her out of the house—they’re headed to dinner. We’ve got about an hour. Hour and a half tops.”
“Let’s go,” Peter said, backing out of the parking spot and starting down the mountain road. “Where does the old lady live?”
Ten minutes later, they pulled to the front of Millie’s house. Peter parked in the driveway and turned off his headlights. They sat in darkness and stared at the house, lighted now only by two porch lights and a stray living room lamp.
“Okay,” Peter said. “Now what? You’ve got a key?”
“It’s not that complicated,” Kelsey said. “Come on.”
They slowly moved up the front walk, making sure no neighbors were watching. When they reached the front door, Kelsey simply turned the knob and pushed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Peter said.
“Rae said she’d make sure the door was unlocked.” She handed Peter a small flashlight. “Let’s go.”
Inside, they closed the door behind them.
“No lights, just in case the neighbors saw her leave. A blazing house will draw suspicion.”
“Got it,” Peter said. “What is it again I’m looking for?”
“A journal, like a diary.”
“Description?”
“That’s it. Let’s go upstairs first.”
In Millie’s bedroom they carefully took fifteen minutes to look through dresser drawers and nightstands and under mattresses and in old boxes in the closet.
“If I find something inappropriate,” Peter said, pulling open the nightstand drawer, “I swear to God I’ll scream.”
Kelsey laughed. “She’s in her eighties.”
“Then I’ll scream louder.”
“Hurry up,” Kelsey said, laughing as she entered the closet.
“Nothing out here,” Peter finally said.
“Yeah,” Kelsey said, walking out of the closet a minute later. “Nothing in there either.”
They headed to the second bedroom and went through the same routine, taking painstaking efforts to leave everything they touched and looked under in the exact position they found it. Another fifteen minutes passed. They took a quick tour of the hallway closet. Nothing.
They were in the house for thirty minutes when they walked down the stairs to the first floor and picked their way through the dining room armoire. Kelsey thought they were on to something when she stumbled across a bound book in the bottom cabinet, but it turned out to be Millie’s wedding album. Another ten minutes were spent in the dining room, and ten more fruitlessly in the living room.
Kelsey started to sweat, and her palms became clammy. They’d been at it for nearly an hour. They set in on the kitchen, flashlight beams floating through cabinets and pantries, over baking goods and plastic jars of cereal. Finally, Kelsey placed the flashlight on the kitchen table, its beam still now as it came to rest against the back-splash. She took a defeated breath. With no journal, she was stuck. A stale plan of tracking down Livvy Houston and asking about the journal formed in Kelsey�
�s mind, but she knew it would be difficult. She’d have to find Livvy first and then convince her to talk. No guarantee of that. And even if Livvy agreed to meet, she might not know a thing. This was all assuming Detective Madison hadn’t already paid Livvy a visit himself. Kelsey ran a hand over her face and shook her head.
Peter walked over to her. “Hey.”
She looked up at him.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could find it for you.”
Kelsey nodded and closed her eyes. Peter moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. She rested her cheek on his chest and surprised herself by returning the gesture and locking her fingers behind his back. She thought briefly of the self-help books that suggested she may not be able to tolerate a man’s touch for some time, but she felt good in Peter’s arms. Safe, even.
“I wish I could do more for you,” Peter said into her ear.
“It’s okay. I was reaching, I know. For something to help me with this story. For something that will provide the information I can’t find on my own. Becca’s journal was all I had left.”
“Some secrets are meant to be kept,” Peter said.
She adjusted her position and looked up at him. Their faces were close. His eyes, in the dimly lit kitchen of Millie’s house, were caring and genuine. He smelled from aftershave and lotion. She looked at his full lips, thought of what it would feel like to kiss him and if she was ready and if she could handle it, and whether this was the place to do it or if they should just get the hell out of there.
As these thoughts passed through her mind, Peter’s head tilted just a bit and his face came toward hers.
Kelsey blinked a few times before her eyes widened. She moved her hands to his face and smiled. “Say that again.”
Peter shook his head. “Say what?”
“What you just said.”
“I wish I could do more to help you?”
“No, no. After that.”
Peter thought for a second. “Some secrets are meant to be kept?”
“Yes!”
With her hands still on his face, Kelsey tilted her head back and laughed. She remembered her time in this kitchen a couple days before, when she sat with Millie and drank sweet tea and listened to the old lady reveal things about the night Becca was killed. About the night her daughter, Livvy Houston, sat with Becca at the cafe and talked with her just hours before she died. There was something about that conversation that stuck with her, something Kelsey couldn’t define until she heard Peter say it.
She looked at the flashlight, which was resting on the table and shining across the room, illuminating the kitchen countertop and backsplash. Captured in its beam was a row of cookbooks. Kelsey recognized one of them as Millie’s secret recipe binder.
Kelsey remembered Millie standing at the counter mixing her sweet tea.
“Is your recipe available to the public?” Kelsey had asked.
“Oh, no, sweetheart. This book is strictly off-limits. If I let people know what was in here, all my secrets would be revealed. I’m eighty-six years old. My secrets are all I have left.”
Kelsey broke free from Peter’s embrace, grabbed the flashlight, and walked quickly to the binder. She pulled it out of the row and dropped it flat on the counter. She opened the cover, flipped through dozens of laminated recipes until there were no more pages to turn. And there it was. In the back pocket of the recipe binder a small hard-covered journal rested. In a girl’s cursive was scrawled: Becca Eckersley.
CHAPTER 27
Becca Eckersley
George Washington University
October 12, 2011
Four months before her death
It only became an amazing thing later. At first it was complete shock and disbelief.
Law school began on a muggy day at the end of August where the humidity hung still in the air and stuck to her face when she walked from the cool air-conditioning of the campus buildings. September was more merciful and by the time October rolled through, the dog days were gone and everyone had their eyes set on the cold and brutal winters DC knew well. Becca was putting in twelve- and fifteen-hour days between classes and study. Jack was gone much of September, either traveling or working late at Senator Ward’s office. She hadn’t bothered to tell him about the vomiting, since it came only in the mornings and was mostly cleared up by the time she was into her day. For the first week she accused influenza, but when day fourteen approached she got suspicious. School—Civil Procedure and Contracts, in particular—had her so preoccupied she couldn’t remember the details of her period the previous month, but she was definitely late now.
She bought a pregnancy test at the corner pharmacy on the way home, and now sat on the lid of the closed toilet as she waited for the results. When they came she tried again. After five more minutes her perfect little life and the next ten years, which were planned out and lined up like a precise set of dominos, toppled. She tried Jack’s cell phone and got his voice mail, where she left a frantic message asking for a call back. She texted him five minutes later, then finally jumped into her car and drove downtown to his office.
She’d been there before, during Senator Ward’s courting phase in the summer, when she tagged along with Jack on the grand tour. This was her first visit during working hours and her first while Jack was a true employee of “Milt Ward for President.” Senator Ward maintained an official office at the Dirksen Senate Office Building, and that was where Jack spent most of his time when he was not on the road. She parked in employee parking off Constitutional Avenue and walked inside.
“Hi,” she said to the secretary, in the best calmed-down voice she could find. She asked for Jack. “I’m his . . .” She paused a moment as she tried to figure out what, exactly, she was. A friend? A girlfriend? It didn’t matter, because she wasn’t his wife and that meant pure hell when it came time to discuss this with her parents. “I just need to talk with him,” she finally said.
“He was with Senator Ward on Capitol Hill earlier today, but let me see where he is now.” The secretary picked up the phone. “Oh, you’re back,” she said. “There’s a young woman here to see you.” She covered the receiver with her hand and looked at Becca with an expression that begged for a name.
“Becca . . . Eckersley.”
“Becca Eckersley,” the secretary said slowly. “Okay.” She replaced the phone. “Through security, then down the hallway. Left at the T and then the second door on the right.”
Becca smiled and headed through the metal detectors. Once through, she started down the hall. Before she could reach the aforementioned T, Jack appeared with a broad smile, wearing the tie she’d gave him when he officially accepted the position.
“Can you believe I wore this tie the first time you’re at the office?”
Becca forced a smile. “Looks good. We need to talk.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay, come into my office.”
They walked around the corner into Jack’s office. His isolated laptop sat on the desk with shallow stacks of papers in a semicircle. He closed the door and offered Becca a chair.
“What’s up?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
Jack’s lips stayed sealed together and his forehead wrinkled.
“I know,” Becca said.
“Well,” Jack said. “The clichéd response is, ‘How did this happen? ’ but I’ll start with, ‘Are you sure?’”
“I’ve taken two pregnancy tests.”
“I didn’t even know this was a suspicion.”
“I didn’t either, until today. I haven’t felt well and with school and the hectic schedule I thought it was the flu.”
“Okay,” Jack said, sitting behind his desk. After a few seconds, he said, “Holy shit. Let’s not freak out here.”
“But here’s the problem—there’s so much to freak out about! I’m a pregnant 1L student at GW Law. That might be a first. I mean, how do you finish law school when you have a baby? Then there’s my parents. Holy shit is
right, Jack! I can’t imagine telling my father. And finally there’s you and me, and what this means to us and each other and our future.” Becca was on the verge of tears.
“All right,” Jack said. “So there’s lots to think about. Even if we were married and you were out of law school there’d be a lot to think about. First of all, if we do the math, you’re due when? Summer?”
Becca nodded, she’d already gotten that far. “Not sure, but probably May or June.”
“So that shouldn’t affect your first year of school, other than the obvious. But you can finish year one. Then we either hire help or think about taking a year off—if we talk to the right people, a year off is possible and I’m sure Milt knows a few people.”
Becca stared out the window as Jack talked. There were many reasons to come here and talk to him, but the main reason was because he always calmed her down when she faced something she couldn’t handle on her own. So far, what he said was correct, and for the first time since this morning she considered that she still one day might be a lawyer.
“Second,” Jack went on, “I’ll sit right next to you when you tell your parents, so we’ll have that to look forward to together. And lastly, this does nothing to us—nothing bad, anyways. At least according to me.”
She knew she loved him, knew it the previous summer when they said it to each other for the first time, and she knew throughout her senior year as their relationship grew. It was confirmed on their trip to Yellowstone when they skipped graduation and shared a week together under the blue Wyoming sky. But here, today, Becca loved him more for being a man and for never thinking of anything other than how to get through this situation together.
“There is one other problem, though,” Jack said.
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