Abbie sensed she was missing something. Part of her was still “processing” the conversations with her dad. Processing was a word a therapist would use, but it seemed appropriate. She wanted to forgive him for the time he’d missed with her mom, but then he had gone and done Port’s bidding, just like always. Was he capable of saying no? As long as her dad believed he and her mom would be together for eternity if he did what the Church wanted, as long as he felt compelled to follow all the rules, Port would have power.
On top of all that, Abbie had to admit to herself that it was taking an inordinate amount of emotional energy to suppress her anxiety about the break-in. She was processing that, too. It was bad enough that it had happened, but knowing that Bowen had her security code was plain unnerving. Had he been in her place before without her knowing? What else in her life did he have access to? And, the most disconcerting question of all, why?
The bartender recognized Abbie and nodded his head in her direction when she walked in. She and Clarke took a booth in the back and ordered burgers, which would be served in plastic baskets lined in paper along with a generous serving of potato chips. They each ordered root beers.
“What’s your take on the Grant family?” Abbie asked.
“I hate to say this, but I don’t think they’re telling us the truth. I don’t know why they’re pretending they knew about the trip to Costa Rica, but I don’t think they did. At least, I don’t think the brothers knew Smith had been there. As to the rest of it, I feel like we’re getting half-truths or half-lies. I don’t like it. I also don’t know what to make of the suicide angle. The fact that they all think it’s possible is kind of weird.” Clarke took a gulp of root beer from the icy mug.
“You knew Jessica. Is the picture her siblings are painting accurate?” Abbie asked.
“It sorta is. Jess was beautiful. You couldn’t not notice her. The reason she wasn’t married wasn’t because she didn’t want to be married and not because she didn’t date. She had a reputation for being difficult. She went on more first dates than anyone I knew, but they rarely led to a second. She had unrealistic ideas about life and about herself. I’m not saying I think she made up the whole thing about Smith, but it’s completely conceivable that she embellished.”
“What about suicide?” Abbie asked.
“I hate to say this, but her sister is right on the nose. Jess could pull a stunt like this, but not with the expectation that she’d actually die. She’d be convinced someone would save her and then everyone would make a big fuss,” Clarke said.
The burgers arrived in all their greasy, salty glory. The smell of the meat alone compelled both of them to take larger-than-polite bites. It took Abbie longer than Clarke to chew and swallow the mix of soft hamburger bun, ground beef, cheese, ketchup, and iceberg lettuce lining the bottom bun to prevent the juiciness from turning it into a soggy mess. By the time Abbie took a swallow of her root beer, Clarke was already halfway through his burger and had waved to the waitress that he’d like a second.
“How do you explain Melinda’s response to the news about the affair?” Abbie asked. “It seemed to me that she responded like a woman who believed her husband had cheated on her with Jessica.”
“I wonder if Smith had cheated on her before. Not to be mean, but if I looked like Melinda, I’d wonder what my husband was doing spending all that time with young single women, even if it was at church activities.”
Abbie took another bite of her burger. “Do you think Smith and Jess were actually having an affair? Jess certainly made it sound that way.”
Clarke swallowed and thought for a moment. “I’d say there’s an eighty-five-percent chance they were … at the very least, something happened in Costa Rica. Granted, it’s not clear how far they went. I mean, there are a lot of things two people can do without, you know, actually having, uh … you know…”
“Yeah, I know,” Abbie said.
“I do have an idea how we can find out.”
“I’m listening,” Abbie said.
“You may not have noticed all the cheerleading pictures in Jess’s room when we were there. Jess’s best friend, Meghan Silver, was a cheerleader with her in high school. I think they shared an apartment for a while in college. They were always together at church. If there’s anyone Jess would have talked to, it’d be Meghan.”
“I take it you know where Meghan lives?” Abbie asked.
“Yeah, I do.”
If it hadn’t been so dark in the Shooting Star, Abbie would have sworn Clarke was blushing.
Abbie finished her burger, and Clarke was popping the last bite of his second Star Burger into his mouth when both their phones buzzed.
It was Henderson: NEED TO SEE YOU ASAP.
* * *
“There’s something you have to see,” Henderson said as soon as Clarke and Abbie walked into the station. He handed Abbie an evidence bag with a pale-pink sheet of paper inside. “It’s the suicide note.”
Someone had typed out the words “I’m so sorry, but this is the only way” in Courier font, all italics. There was no signature.
“I thought tech didn’t find anything on Jess’s computer,” Abbie said.
“They didn’t. Tech went through everything on her computer and phone. There wasn’t anything there. I looked through the papers on Jess’s desk again this afternoon while you were talking to the family and found it.” Abbie thought Henderson sounded relieved, but also a little surprised. As nice and tidy as this note made the case, Abbie could tell even Henderson didn’t quite believe his luck.
Abbie had gone through every piece of paper in Jess’s room. Twice. She couldn’t possibly have missed a suicide note, could she?
“Are there any prints on it?” Abbie asked.
“Yes, Jessica’s,” Henderson answered. “I’ve already spoken with her mother. She told me Jessica liked to use this pale-pink paper whenever she had to print something out.” Given the girlishness of Jess’s bedroom, Abbie had no trouble believing Jessica Grant used pale-pink paper. She probably dotted the i in her signature with a circle or maybe even a heart, Abbie thought, even if she felt a bit judgmental for thinking it.
“That girl’s desk was a disaster,” Henderson said. “It’s not hard to see how we might have missed it.”
“Is there any way this isn’t a suicide note?” Clarke asked. “The words themselves could refer to a lot of things.”
“Yes, but this note makes sense. Jessica Grant wasn’t the sweet innocent girl we all thought she was. The most straightforward theory is usually the right one, even if it forces us to admit some uncomfortable truths about people we thought we knew. Jessica realized Smith was not going to marry her and carefully planned revenge. Then the guilt became too much to bear, and she ended her own life, too. We had a bowie knife in both places, both Smith and Grant were dressed in white, both deaths looked like what you’d wear for your wedding … well, you get the idea. It’s not hard to think the same person was responsible for both.”
Abbie generally believed in the principle of Occam’s razor: among competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected. Henderson was not sounding at all unreasonable. In fact, there really was no demonstrable flaw in the theory. Sure, as far as suicide notes went, this was thin. There was no signature and it had not been left in a place where it could easily be found. On the other hand, if her brothers and sister were to be believed, Jessica was given to dramatic gestures. If she had expected to be rescued that night, maybe the suicide note wasn’t entirely necessary. Still, something about the note and the idea of suicide didn’t sit quite right with Abbie. The idea that Jessica had killed Steve was improbable not only because Jessica was not a person to meticulously plan anything, let alone a murder, but also because Jessica hadn’t had her endowments. She wouldn’t have known how to dress Steve in his temple clothes.
“Is there any way someone could have planted the note?” Abbie asked.
“I wondered about that,” Henders
on said. “You secured the crime scene yourself, and the room was cordoned off. Of course, we didn’t have an officer at the scene around the clock, but we did set the alarm on the house. I had to enter the code this morning. I think it’s pretty unlikely anyone tampered with the room.”
Henderson was probably right. It was not likely anyone would have tampered with the scene after they left. Abbie wondered if her resistance to the note had more to do with the fact that she had missed a key piece of evidence than it did with the suicide theory itself. From everything she and Clarke had heard that day, a dramatic suicide attempt was exactly the damsel-in-distress move Jess’s siblings had come to expect.
“We were on our way to interview Jessica’s best friend when you texted. Do you mind if we follow through with that?” Abbie asked.
“Seems like a waste of time at this point, don’t you think?” Henderson was looking at his computer screen. The conversation was over.
Clarke said, “It may be, but I feel like we owe it to Jess’s parents to follow through.”
That was brilliant. Invoking Jessica’s parents put Henderson in a position where it would be difficult to turn down their request.
Henderson sighed. “Okay, you two go interview the friend, but with the suicide note, I want this whole thing wrapped up by Wednesday. We don’t need to spend taxpayer money on an investigation into a murder-suicide.” Henderson looked directly at Abbie. “Final report on my desk by Wednesday end of day. This case is closed as far as I’m concerned, even if it’s a very difficult result for both the Smith and Grant families.”
Abbie and Clarke stood up at the same time. “Yes, sir,” they said. They had the rest of tonight and tomorrow. And whatever they could do before the end of day on Wednesday. That was not enough time. Not even close.
Abbie followed Clarke to his squad car. They buckled up in silence. Once Clarke had pulled out of the parking lot, Abbie asked, “Do you think Jess was capable of killing Smith and then killing herself?”
Clarke didn’t answer at first. He drove as though he hadn’t even heard Abbie’s question. Then he said quietly, “No. I don’t.”
THIRTY-TWO
Clarke rang the doorbell at another one of the McMansions in Ben Lomond Circle. The house was a smaller one for the neighborhood, but still too big for the narrow plot of thick, green grass that surrounded it. A few trees stuck out from the centers of dark brown circles punched through the front lawn. None of them was taller than six feet and none of them had trunks wider than Abbie’s arms.
Abbie and Clarke hadn’t been standing at the door long before a middle-aged woman with a flour-speckled apron opened the door. She smiled when she saw Clarke.
“Jim, I’m so glad to see you. Meghan didn’t tell me you were coming by, but she really could use a good friend right about now.”
Meghan’s mom stopped talking when she saw Abbie.
“Sister Silver, this is Detective Abish Taylor,” Clarke said. “She’s the detective for the Pleasant View City Police Department.”
“Oh. You’re here as a police officer.” The woman spoke her thoughts out loud as she began to comprehend why Clarke was actually on her doorstep.
“We’d like to speak to Meghan. Is she up for it?” Clarke asked.
“I think so.” The mom wiped her hands down the front of her apron. “She’ll be happy to see you, no matter why you’re here.” The woman’s familiarity with Clarke was not lost on Abbie.
“Why don’t you sit in the living room? I’ll go get her.”
Abbie and Clarke had just sat down when Meghan walked in. Her eyes were rimmed with red and slightly puffy, but even that couldn’t disguise her thick dark lashes and well-arched brows. She was a beautiful girl: tall, with a long narrow waist, pale creamy skin, impossibly high cheekbones, and perfect bow-shaped lips. She was Jessica’s brunette counterpart. She walked straight to Clarke and put her arms around him. He reciprocated immediately, but pulled away when he saw Abbie stand to greet Meghan.
“Meghan, we’re here to talk about Jess,” Clarke explained. “Let’s sit down.”
Everyone did as instructed. Clarke asked Meghan to tell them about Jessica.
“We’ve—we’d—been best friends since the summer before seventh grade. She practically lived here in high school. We shared an apartment when we were at Weber State. We were talking about getting an apartment together again if we didn’t get married soon.”
“Did you see her on Sunday?” Abbie asked.
Tears welled in Meghan’s eyes, but she inhaled slowly and maintained her composure. “No. She decided to go to church with her sister. She did that sometimes instead of going to our ward. We were planning to meet at Nielson’s for Diet Cokes later in the afternoon.”
“Did you go?” Abbie asked.
“No. Jess texted me sometime around four to say she couldn’t make it.”
“Did she tell you why?” Clarke asked.
“No. I figured some guy had asked her out or she just decided she wasn’t up for it. She wasn’t really feeling social. I was super happy she was at church. That was a good sign.”
“Do you know what time she texted you?” Abbie asked.
Meghan reached for her phone, which she’d set on the coffee table. She scrolled through her texts. “Four seventeen PM.”
“And no other texts after that?” Clarke asked.
“No.”
“You said you thought Jessica may have gone out with someone on Sunday. Was she seeing anyone seriously?” Abbie asked.
“Not really; I mean, she wasn’t officially engaged or anything.” Meghan’s eyes lingered on Clarke. It crossed Abbie’s mind that Meghan was holding back because she was there.
“Was she unofficially engaged?” Clarke asked.
Meghan didn’t say anything.
“I know you may feel like you don’t want to tell us something because you don’t want to betray a trust. I get that,” Clarke said. “I also understand you might not want to tell us things that other people might judge. We’re not going to judge. We want to find out what happened to Jess. The best way for you to be a friend right now is to tell us what you know. Even the things you promised not to tell or even little things that might seem unimportant. The more we know, the easier it will be for us to understand what happened.”
“You won’t tell anyone what I tell you?” Meghan looked concerned, nervous even.
“We’re not interested in spreading rumors or gossip,” Abbie answered. “Our investigation is confidential. You don’t need to worry about your friends or family—or Jessica’s friends or family—hearing what you tell us, but we do need the truth, all of it.”
Meghan looked at Clarke. He nodded.
“Okay.” Meghan uncurled her legs from underneath her and climbed out of the chair she was sitting in. She closed the French doors that led to the entry hall. No one would be able to overhear what was being said now.
“Do you know who Jessica was seeing?” Clarke asked.
“Yeah,” Meghan answered. There was less hesitation in her voice now. “She was engaged to Steve Smith. It was a secret. He asked her to marry him when they were in Costa Rica working on some project for the Church. He gave her an engagement ring. It was a huge pink diamond, really expensive. She always had it on. She put it on a thin gold chain she wore around her neck so you couldn’t see it under her top. It looked just like she was wearing a necklace.”
A memory of something sparkly flickered in Abbie’s mind. She remembered Jessica playing with a delicate chain when they’d been in Relief Society on Sunday.
Meghan went on, “She was so excited. They were going to get married in the Logan temple as soon as Steve got his divorce.”
Meghan’s voice dropped to almost a whisper when she said the word “divorce.” Even though the Church accepted divorce, it still wasn’t something anyone took lightly.
“Had they set a date?” Abbie asked.
“Yeah, but it was super secret. Jess said Steve had the
divorce papers and was planning to talk to his wife a few weeks ago. Jess called the Logan temple from my room for wedding times, like, two weeks ago.”
“Did you ever see Jess and Steve together?” Abbie asked.
“Yeah. I was sort of their messenger,” Meghan said.
“What do you mean?” Abbie asked.
“Steve lives just a few houses away from here. It was really easy for us to run into each other ‘accidentally.’ If Jess had something she wanted to give Steve, she’d just text us. I could go for a run or Steve could walk the dog. It was pretty easy to bump into each other. Once, when the weather was really bad, they met here. No one was home, so it was safe.”
Abbie tried her best to look as if this was completely normal. Clarke, on the other hand, was clearly having trouble pretending there was nothing wrong with a married man old enough to be Jess’s dad arranging clandestine meetings with her.
“When you say they met here, what do you mean?” Abbie asked.
“You know.” Meghan looked at her shiny blue nails. “They wanted to have some time together, some private time. You know?”
Abbie nodded. It was clear Clarke understood, too, but wished he didn’t.
“What happened after Steve passed away?” Abbie asked.
“It was awful. For a few days, Jess didn’t eat anything. I mean, like, nothing at all. It was all I could do to get her to drink Diet Coke. Her mom called me because she was really worried.”
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