I’d taken a roll of photos of him the next day but had never picked them up from the print shop. I knew if I saw those photos, my resolve to go forward with the wedding would waver. Where was the roll, I wondered now? I imagined it now in a bin somewhere marked “Abandoned Memories.”
“Finn carried it around in his wallet,” said Rori. “It was in his things when my dad had to identify the bodies. I thought you might want it.”
I didn’t take my gaze off the photo as she spoke. Finn had his arm around me, both of us grinning into the camera. Finn. Handsome Finn. His blond hair was cut short and bleached by the sun. With my finger, I traced his high cheekbones and those light blue eyes that turned soft when they looked at me.
“You look different in that photo than you do now,” said Rori.
“I was a lot younger then.” It was true. I’d forgotten how young.
“Yeah, you look younger but it’s not that. You look happy. Now you look sad.”
I placed the photo on my lap. “I was happy that day.”
“Then why didn’t you come back sooner?”
“I wish I had.”
“If you had, my Uncle Finn and my mother would still be alive.” Despite the harshness of her words it was said without malice, more matter of fact and with the same lack of inflection. “But life doesn’t work like that. People never choose with their heart, only their head. It’s not your fault. We’re taught to be this way.”
“What way is that?”
“Ignoring our instincts.”
“Why do you think they would still be alive if I’d come back?”
“Because he loved you and he wouldn’t have been tempted by my mother and she’d have stayed with my dad.” Rori paused, fiddling with the material of her pants. “My mother would never have left my father unless there was someone else with an equal fortune. She was all about the money.”
I let that settle into my consciousness. Kevan’s wife was all about the money. Was this true? I knew enough about teenage girls, having been one once, to know their perceptions were not always accurate. Then, I’m not sure why, I offered up something to her, this daughter of Kevan, this waif of a girl whose mother had betrayed her. “My mother was all about the men.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, one after the other, each time a bigger jerk than the last.” We were quiet for a moment. I looked back at the photo and then to Rori. “I’m trying to decide if you have the Lanigan eyes.”
“No. I have my mother’s eyes. The shape of them anyway.” She continued to speak in that same monotone voice but this time her eyes turned glassy. She cleared her throat as her gaze darted up and then over to the door. She folded her hands together on her lap.
“I lost my father around the same age you lost your mother.” I spoke softly, my mother-self yearning to gather her into my arms and let her cry until my T-shirt dampened. It was all I had to offer, this mother-self that dried tears and bandaged cuts and corrected grammar.
“You did?” Her eyes moved from the ceiling back to me. She watched me in that way that seemed to penetrate a wall, just like her father. “How?”
“He had a heart attack at forty. No one saw it coming but he was born with a heart condition.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. It sucked. It hurt to lose him, especially when I needed him the most.”
At the word sucked, she smiled for the first time, not the wide, innocent smile that a child her age should have, but a weary smile, a reluctant smile of someone a hundred years old. “I don’t feel anything about her, or anyone, any longer,” she said. “Once I figured out that people suck and to expect nothing from them, it stopped.”
“What stopped?” I asked, softly.
“The hurting.” She was quiet for a moment. “My dad was whistling when he came home last night. I haven’t heard him whistling since my mom died. And then he called my aunt on the phone. Said he’d met someone nice at a bar and asked her if she thought he should ask this woman out. Was that you?”
At first I felt too stunned to answer. After a moment, I nodded. “That was me.”
“And you got here yesterday?”
“That’s right.”
“So the first thing that happens when you arrive in town is you meet my dad? Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“It is.” The entire last twenty-four hours were nothing but weird.
“Did you like him? You know, that way?” Her eyes bored into me now.
I smiled. “I thought he was attractive and intelligent.”
“So, yes. You liked him.”
“Yes, I liked him. However, I wasn’t exactly at the top of my game.”
“You mean because you got so drunk?”
I flushed. “Right.”
“He told my aunt he thought your drunk thing was adorable, which is bizarre because he never talks like that.”
“Well, that was generous of him.”
I turned back to the photo. Finn smiled at me with his perfect teeth. That’s what first drew me to him, that smile that lit up the space in my chest that felt all the time guarded, waiting for the next disappointment, like Rori’s confession just now. I’d learned this same lesson early in life. If you stop expecting anything from anyone then you’re not disappointed or sad. Finn had been different. I’d allowed him inside, despite my careful ways. How alive I’d felt with him—alive and cherished and happy.
Rori crossed her ankles and leaned forward in the chair. “There are rumors, you know. People don’t think the accident was an accident, like maybe they were run off the road on purpose. Don’t believe them though. The rumor’s fucked. My mother was a terrible driver.”
I jerked forward, my heart pounding. “Your mother was driving?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Finn have any enemies?”
“Only everyone in this town. We’re not exactly liked here.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re rich. That, and my grandmother.”
I thought about this. Perhaps that was why everyone suddenly became quiet when I started asking questions about Finn. Could the rumor be true? Had they been murdered? I shivered, remembering the silence in the coffee shop that morning.
Rori scrunched her thin shoulders forward, picking at the material of her pants again. “My uncle Ciaran doesn’t believe anyone in town here killed them, that no one cared enough to do that.” In what seemed a conscious move, she shifted her bangs away from her eye and looked at me directly with a gaze loaded with innuendo. “Did you know that most murders are crimes of passion? I learned that from my Uncle Ciaran.”
“Crimes of passion?” What was she trying to tell me?
“You have no idea how screwed up my family is. They talk without saying one thing they really mean. And they all hate each other.” The sides of her mouth twitched into one of her almost smiles before she arranged her bangs back over her left eye. “You’re welcome.”
“For what?”
“For saying screwed up instead of the f-word. I noticed how it made you tweak a little when I said it.”
I faked a smile, my stomach nervous. This girl was smart, manipulative and damaged, but unbearably sweet all at the same time. “I appreciate that, thank you.”
She rose from the chair and moved toward the door. “I have to go. My dad freaks if I’m gone longer than an hour. I live in a prison.”
I stood, following her.
“You know what’s weird?” She stopped before she reached the door.
“What’s that?”
“I still love them all, especially my mom and Uncle Finn, even though I hate them for what they did to all of us. I miss my uncles and aunt. When my grandfather was still alive, we were all so close, but after the accident no one talks. We used to have these big family dinners and everyone laughed a lot and even my grandmother was half-bearable because my aunt and uncles were so much fun. At least they used to be. Now everyone hates everyone else. And I’m sad and mad and disgust
ed with all of them. I don’t know what I feel half the time, really. It’s all jumbled up inside my head. I guess that’s family.”
I nodded, thinking of my mother, how I loved her and felt sorry for her and hated her all at the same time. “Yes, I suppose it is.” I rested my hand lightly on her shoulder. “I know what it’s like to have mixed up feelings about your mother. I think someday you’ll reach a place of understanding. Our parents are just human beings, after all, flawed and multi-layered. I’m sure she did the best she could.” Even as I said it, I knew I was a hypocrite. I certainly didn’t have all this worked out about my own mother. I’d accepted she was flawed, but I certainly hadn’t reached a place of understanding.
“Yeah, and sometimes that isn’t good enough.”
“I know.” I stopped talking for a moment, trying to think of a way to ask the question foremost on my mind. “Rori,” I said, finally. “Your father said he and Finn were at odds. Do you know why?”
“All my uncles, including Finn, wanted to sell the business after my grandfather died. But my grandfather set up the inheritance so that none of them could sell without the others agreeing. It was all or none. My aunt Teagan said she’d do whatever my dad wanted. He felt it was a family legacy and should remain in the family to pass onto me and my little cousin, Aunt Teagan’s son. Christopher. He’s five.” A smiled crossed her dull features at the mention of her cousin.
“What made your dad agree to sell the business finally?”
“When my uncle and mother died, my dad agreed to sell, which they did, and my dad moved here full-time. He decided to do this horse thing. He calls it a ranch. I call it a foolish hobby.”
“What about your uncles? Do they live here most of the time?”
“No. Uncle Ardan and Uncle Ciaran only come for visits. They both have other houses in other places.” Her eyes darted to the door again. “I have to go. But thanks for talking to me.” She looked at her hands, fiddling with a snake ring on her index finger. Black polish covered her short nails. “Guess you’ll be heading back home then?”
I nodded. “Probably tomorrow.”
Rori opened the door and stood there, one foot in the hallway, the other in my room, her gaze on the ground. “See you around then.”
“Good luck, Rori.” Without thinking it through I hugged her small frame, no bigger round than Lola. “Don’t let your family’s messes define you, okay? You can have any kind of life you want.”
“Thanks.” Then she was gone, her black high tops squeaking on the hardwood floor of the hallway.
I closed the door and sat on the bed, my mind churning. Had Kevan run them off the road in a jealous rage? He certainly had enough money to cover it up if he had. Was this the reason the townspeople were so quiet when I asked about Finn? Did everyone know? Were they all complicit in the conspiracy? This was the mode of small towns. No one wanted to get involved. Things everyone knew were kept quiet, as if silence would make them disappear.
However, one nagging thought wouldn’t let go: Finn Lanigan was not the kind of man to run off with his brother’s wife. Yes, I only knew him for three days long ago, but there were certain people that you knew the typography of their soul as if you’d known them in another lifetime. Finn was not having an affair with Kevan’s wife. And Kevan? What did I know about him? Could I read the typography of his soul? Whether I was wrong or not, it was telling me he did not kill his brother and his wife. But could I be sure of either of my assumptions about these two brothers? No. Because it was the nebulous feeling of faith, not something I could see or touch or hear. It was instinct and I was not a woman who believed in such things. Or was I? Was it the sky here that made it so that I could not let go? I picked up Belinda Bear and took her to the window, both of us looking at Blue Mountain. “I need answers, BB. I just do.”
She was silent but I imagined what she thought.
“Don’t be such a chicken. I know, BB, you’re right.”
I set her in her place on the desk, grabbed my keys and purse, and headed toward the door.
CHAPTER 11
INSTEAD OF MOONSTONE, a plump girl with milky white skin and a cap of red hair sat at the front desk. I asked her the location of the local library and she made a small map on a sticky note, indicating it was only several blocks off the main street of town. I thanked her and set down the street on foot. It was nearing four and the sun was high in the sky. My hangover had lessened considerably since my cry and nap. I passed several people on the way; they all stared at me like I was a stranger in a strange land, which I suppose I was.
A bubble maker on the sidewalk in front of the hardware store tossed glistening bubbles into the summer air. On the other side of the street, country music spilled out from the Grill’s open front door. A half-dozen cars peppered the grocery store parking lot. No cars fueled up at the gas station but the bank’s doors were open, with several well-dressed women at desks helping customers. I turned left where the map indicated and found the library.
A dozen steps led up to the brick building’s front door, making it appear large, but when I walked in the building seemed to shrink. Between two small rooms, presumably nonfiction and fiction, a lone librarian sat at a front desk. It smelled the same way as all libraries, of paper, ink, and dust. I decided it best to ask the librarian for help, given the late hour. A middle-aged woman with thick red glasses and thicker bangs—the librarian—peered at me over the top of her glasses with an expression that was either irritated or startled. I immediately felt seven years old. “May I help you?” Her voice, surprisingly high-pitched and clear, wasn’t unpleasant but wasn’t exactly warm and friendly either.
“I’m wondering if you could help me find newspaper articles from three or so years ago.”
“Do you have the exact date?”
A man read a magazine at one of the tables. I recognized him from the coffee shop—the doctor. He glanced up at me, seeming to take me in with a furtive glance, and then went back to his reading. I could see now that he wasn’t much older than Kevan but the bags under his eyes and pallid coloring made him appear haggard. Perhaps the good doctor imbibed a few too many cocktails? His hair, graying, was slicked back from his forehead.
“Three years ago. Winter time, I think.”
“You looking for something in particular?”
“Details of a car accident. Two local residents were killed.”
She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You talking about Finn Lanigan and his sister-in-law?” I couldn’t tell if I imagined it or not but her eyes seemed to take on a wariness.
“That’s right. Do you remember it?”
“Course I do but there was nothing in the papers about it. We have no local paper and no one cares about anything that happens in this town.”
“But he was from a well-known Idaho family. Surely there was something in the Boise paper?”
She spoke so softly now I had to lean closer to hear her. “Trust me, there wasn’t.” Her gaze darted to the doctor. “Best to leave it alone. Sore subject round these parts.”
“Why’s it a sore subject?” I smiled, hoping this might convince her of my harmlessness.
“Just is.” She turned away, busying herself with a stack of books behind her desk.
I left, the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up. Walking back to the Bed and Breakfast, I thought about there being no local paper here. This truly was a small town. It wasn’t really even a town. In the middle of these thoughts, I realized someone walked right behind me. I stopped and turned. It was the doctor.
He smiled, revealing straight, white teeth, and held out his right hand. “How do you do? I’m Doctor Sloane.”
“Blythe Heywood.” I shook his hand; it was warm and dry.
“Listen now, I heard you asking about Finn Lanigan’s death.” His voice was smooth and low-pitched, the kind you’d want from your doctor, especially your family doctor. “Terrible thing but there’s not much to know about it.”
“No?”
“Simply an accident, tragic as it was. Terrible loss for me. My father delivered the Lanigan babies, one by one at his practice in Boise, which I inherited. We were close family friends. Finn was one of my favorite people. I’m just a few years older than Kevan and we used to spend a lot of time together when we all summered here with our parents.” He cocked his head to the side. “Terrible about Finn and Meredith.”
I couldn’t figure if he meant their deaths or the affair. “Well, not everything’s as it seems.”
“What do you mean? The suitcases were surely enough to convince poor Kevan of the truth.” He gave a furtive glance up and down the street, a strand of his thinning hair shifting in the breeze. “I don’t believe it for a moment but some folks feel suspicious of him. Caused quite a stir of gossip soup for a while.”
Gossip soup? I hated this guy.
He tugged on his ear with his left hand and continued to talk. What was it about this town where everyone immediately told you their life story? For a moment, I yearned for Seattle where everyone was terribly polite but could freeze your soul with their disinterest.
“My wife died ten years ago and I know how hard it is raising a child alone. I have a son, Blake, same age as Kevan’s daughter. Matter of fact, Blake and Rori are sweet on each other. Have been ever since they started middle school in Boise. They both attended a private school there—all the best Idaho families, of course.” He cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips like it was all a delightful joke. “Not sure Kevan’s too keen on Blake going after his little girl. But kids are kids. Am I right?” He held out his hand again. “Anyway, great to meet you, Blythe. I hope you’ll find the answers you need.” He turned, as if to go. “Now how is it you knew Finn, again?”
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