Now
Emma jammed her thumb against the button to end the call and practically flung the phone away from herself. She sat back in the chair, staring straight ahead.
What the hell had Nathan been doing calling Hadley in the middle of the night?
Why had he even had Hadley’s number?
Emma’s unfocused gaze went to the wall. She could imagine it perfectly. Hadley sidling up to Nathan. Hadley offering an apology for that scene in the hardware store, Nathan insisting that no, it was Hadley who was owed the apology. A business card slipped into Nathan’s hand. In case you need anything.
In case you notice anything.
In case you wise up to the fact that your wife is a nutcase who probably murdered two people.
Nathan had found a flash drive—the flash drive?—in the carriage house. He’d checked what was on it and immediately called Hadley.
Now Nathan was dead. And Hadley hadn’t mentioned getting a call from him.
There was one place she was certain she could find Hadley alone. His house.
She took an Uber. She sat at the bus stop down the street for almost three hours before Hadley’s SUV pulled up in front of the meticulously maintained two-story Craftsman. Emma waited another few minutes before she stood and crossed the street.
The doorbell had a camera in it. She pretended not to see it as she rang and stared straight ahead at the door, schooling her face into neutrality. Inside, a dog barked wildly, and she heard Hadley’s gruff voice telling it to shut up.
Chris would be incandescently angry if he knew she was here. Gabriel would call her an idiot, and she couldn’t deny it. But she wasn’t waiting around for the police to find the wrong answers to the wrong questions again. This was on her.
The frantic barking approached at high-speed, accompanied by the skitter of dog claws on hardwood. She heard the dog smack paws-first into the door and start scrabbling, followed by heavy footsteps and Hadley’s voice again.
“Goddammit, get off,” he said, and then he opened the door, using his body to block a caramel-colored, curly-haired dog that appeared to be constructed from springs by the way it was bouncing up and down. Despite herself, Emma had to suppress a smile.
Hadley was dressed in his off-duty uniform of a black T-shirt and jeans. He looked her up and down, then scowled at the dog. “I said off. Sit. For fuck’s sake,” he told it. The dog, which looked like something between a teddy bear and a muppet, finally sank down on its wiggling haunches. The strain of holding in its boundless enthusiasm made it quiver. Hadley took a steadying breath through his nose and turned his attention back to Emma. “What are you doing here?” he asked. He sounded genuinely baffled.
She steadied herself, planting her feet. “Nathan called you,” she said. “Last night. Why?”
He looked at her, his hand on the door, then gave a slow nod. “Why don’t you come inside, Emma?” he suggested with faux cordiality, stepping back to give her room.
She hesitated, suddenly wary. No one knew she was here.
“Come on, Emma. You came here to talk. So let’s talk. Before the mutt makes a run for it,” Hadley said, and the spike of annoyance at his tone gave her the spur to step over the threshold. He had left little enough room that she had to brush past his solid chest, catching the edge of his body heat and his scent, Old Spice and shoe polish. She didn’t like putting her back to him but forced herself to walk inside.
The instant she was past the threshold the dog’s obedience reached its limit, and it sprang in her direction with a delighted whimpering. Its paws caught her in the midsection, only to be immediately yanked back by Hadley’s hand on its collar.
“Damn it, dog,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Emma said quickly, flinching at the rough way he handled the dog. When he released it, this time it wriggled forward without jumping up, and she extended a hand to be bathed.
“He’s my wife’s,” he said defensively. “She doesn’t train him.”
“I don’t mind,” Emma said. She’d always wanted a dog. Dogs didn’t give a shit about your past, they just wanted your love. Nathan was allergic.
With the dog trotting happily at her heels, she followed Hadley deeper into the house.
The house had hardly changed at all since she’d last been in here. They’d had dinner with the Hadleys at least once a month. Marilyn would cook, which she’d hated, and they would pretend it was delicious. The girls would sit in silence as the adults talked, and then at the end of dinner, Hadley and their father would go out to the back porch to drink and talk while the girls did the dishes and the “ladies” slid poisoned barbs under each other’s skin while smiling over their glasses of chardonnay. A choreographed dance that rarely changed.
“Is Marilyn home?” Emma asked. Everything in the house was white. White kitchen, white dining table, white couch in the living room in front of a white marble fireplace. There was a mug of coffee out on the kitchen counter and a stack of dishes next to the sink, which she couldn’t imagine Marilyn tolerating.
“Marilyn moved to Portland eight years ago,” Hadley said. “Married some accountant.” He said this like she’d married a cannibal.
“Sorry,” Emma said, without particular inflection.
“Alison,” he said. She blinked a moment before realizing it must be his new wife’s name. He nodded toward the mantel, where a series of artfully arranged photographs showed Hadley with a blond woman who had to be at least fifteen years his junior. They were outnumbered by pictures of the dog.
“I’d ask you if you want coffee, but somehow I doubt this is going to be that kind of visit,” Hadley said.
She grunted in agreement. He jerked a hand toward the kitchen table, and she took a seat. The dog immediately settled at her feet with a contented sigh. Hadley leaned up against the kitchen counter nearby, forcing her to crane her neck up at him. The heat of the imminent confrontation flickered and faded in her chest, leaving her feeling tentative, vulnerable. He crossed his arms and looked down at her with a frown.
“Emma Palmer,” he said, like her name was a revelation. “You’ve been through the ringer, haven’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His face remained calm. “I mean you’ve had a hell of a life. Losing your parents and your husband so violently,” he said. “I’m saying you’ve been through a lot, and I’m sorry for your losses.”
“You think I killed my parents,” Emma pointed out.
He made a noise like he disagreed. “I think you lied about where you were, and there’s good evidence that your boyfriend—your friend, sorry—was in that house,” Hadley said. “I know you thought it was me causing all your problems, but I wasn’t in charge then, and I’m not now.”
“You made it very clear you thought I did it,” Emma said.
“Sure. I did. I’m not completely convinced I was wrong. But Ellis was the one running the show. He was the one fixed on you. He played things nicer than me, that’s all.”
“Nathan called you,” she said. That was why she was here. Nothing else.
“Did he.” He looked at her steadily.
“He talked to someone right before he died. I called the number. You answered. It was you,” she said, but the corner of his mouth curled and her certainty wavered.
“That was you, then,” he said. “Do me a favor, Emma. Google that number.”
Emma hesitated. Then, reluctantly, she pulled out her phone and did as she asked. The first result was a directory for the Arden Hills Police Department. Chief Craig Ellis.
“I answer the chief’s phone when he’s out. All of us do, from time to time,” Hadley said, and Emma remembered now the card Ellis had handed to Nathan, that night with the fire. “Yes, your husband called the station the night he died, a fact that Detective Mehta is perfectly aware of, for the record.”
“Why?”
He gave her a considering look. “I am not your enemy in this situation, Emma. I could be a help to you. And God knows you need all the help you can get. Your husband is dead. Shot. By someone who knew how to avoid the cameras on the house.”
“Meaning me.”
“Did you know that someone was sending threatening messages to Addison James?” Hadley asked, and Emma startled.
“Threatening messages? No. About what?” She couldn’t help the edge of hysteria that crept into her voice. What now? she thought. What new thing was going to become her fault?
“About leaving Nathan alone,” Hadley said, which she supposed should have been self-evident, given that he was asking her about it. He scratched his jaw with the side of his thumb. “Not you, then.”
Emma gave him an appalled look. “No. Not me. I wouldn’t have.”
“No, from what I can tell, you have never once managed to stand up for yourself,” Hadley said.
She rocked back in her chair as if physically struck. “Excuse me?”
He spread his hands. “You’ve been lying since the night your parents died, but if you didn’t kill them, that means you were covering for someone else. Even when it destroyed your life, you kept lying. Then you know about your husband’s affair for how long, and you don’t say a word to him? That person doesn’t go threatening the mistress. But then I have to ask, who would be sending Ms. James those notes? And I’m wondering, who is Emma Palmer going to lie for? And the only thing I can think is how close you three were. So why did you stop talking to each other? You know something about one of your sisters, don’t you?”
He was almost right, she thought. Except that they hadn’t been close, really. They’d been utter strangers to one another. All that loyalty had been an invention of her own mind, in the end. A wish for a sisterhood she didn’t really have.
“So which of my sisters are you suggesting is a murderer, then?” she asked. She thought of Daphne. Daphne, so quiet and serious and strange. Daphne with blood on her clothes, Daphne who had been in town for God knows how long and hadn’t said a thing.
“What do you know about what Juliette’s been up to since she left?” he asked.
“A bit,” she allowed. If he thought she would give him anything now just because he was treating her with a modicum of civility, he was wrong.
He dipped his head, all deep consideration, taking his time about speaking again. “Did you know she has an arrest record? Possession. Assault,” he said. She twitched, chin tilting slightly with interest, and his gaze sharpened in answer as he confirmed he knew something she didn’t. “Seems she had a fondness for getting into fights.”
“Recently?” Emma asked, and she knew from the silence that it wasn’t. Old news. “What happened messed me up for a while, too. I’m not here to talk about my sister. I’m here because—”
“Because you want to know why Nathan called Ellis,” Hadley finished for her, and once again she had the sensation that she was standing on a beach with the waves stealing the sand out from under her feet. Nothing was solid. “But that’s what we’re talking about, Emma. Nathan called the station because he found something. Something to do with your parents’ murders.”
Emma’s fingers curled into tight fists in her lap. She could hear her own pulse thudding in her temples. The dog at her feet looked up and whined, as if he could sense the tension. “What was on the drive?” she asked.
Something flashed in Hadley’s eyes. He sat back. “He only said he’d found something, not what it was,” Hadley said. “He was going to bring it by the station the next morning. But we got your call instead.”
Emma said nothing. The dog sat up, tucked its chin in her lap. She buried her fingers in its curly hair. It was small and wiry under all that fur, vibrating like a plucked string.
“Emma, I know you didn’t want anything to happen to your sisters back then. But you have to consider your own well-being,” Hadley said.
Emma was looking off to the side, her fingers loosely splayed over her mouth as she thought. “Juliette wouldn’t have threatened Addison James,” she said, letting her hand drop. “She doesn’t know a fucking thing about my life. She wouldn’t have cared enough to bother.”
“Who would?” Hadley asked.
“No one,” Emma said. Hadley gave her a pitying look, but she felt none for herself. She’d chosen her own life. “Juliette was the one who gave Nathan the keys to the carriage house. If there was something in there she didn’t want him to find, she wouldn’t have done that.”
“If she even knew it was in there.” He thumped the side of his thumb idly against the table. “The threats against Addison James might not be connected.”
“Maybe none of it is,” Emma said. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe we’re just cursed. Maybe it’s all just random and none of it means anything at all.”
“Do you think you’re cursed, Emma? Because I don’t,” Hadley said. “I think that you’ve been dealt a shit hand in life, sure. But I think that’s someone’s fault. And I think you know who it is. Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself.”
“You know what’s funny?” Emma asked. She tipped her chin up as she looked at him. “You aren’t really admitting that you were wrong, are you? You’re just saying your aim was a little off-center. You want one of my sisters because then you didn’t really get it wrong.”
“I just want the truth,” Hadley said.
“It wasn’t Juliette,” Emma said, and tried to believe it. Doubt made her voice shake.
“Nathan found something, and he was dead within hours,” Hadley said. “I saw the video footage. Juliette was there earlier that night. All three of you lied back then, Emma, but Juliette is the only other one in town.”
Emma froze for a moment, not answering, and by the time she collected herself it was too late—Hadley’s brow furrowed.
“Is Daphne in Arden Hills?” he asked.
“I haven’t spoken to Daphne in years,” Emma said, but the hitch in her voice betrayed her. She stood abruptly, startling the dog to its feet.
It had been a mistake coming here.
“I can help you, Emma,” Hadley said.
“That’s what you said back then, too,” Emma reminded him. She turned to go, feeling sick. Juliette had swooped in to help. Daphne had been at the house. Were they checking up on her?
Or were they watching her?