May had come inside to use the bathroom but found herself delaying her return to the deck. She needed some quiet time to herself. And she needed to put distance between her and Nate. He wasn’t actually flirting with her, she now realized. He was just being himself—his cool, confident, gorgeous self—and she hated the effect it was having on her. When Nate first returned to the house after Decker’s departure, Kelsey immediately walked him through everything that had transpired in his absence. May had taken the opportunity to pull Lauren aside to unpack Kelsey’s meltdown.
“You didn’t see how bad it was when Luke was killed. She said those same words—that her life was over.” Lauren’s eyes darted to the deck. “That everyone thought she was behind it. I was seriously worried she’d harm herself. She still doesn’t know, but I called Nate and her father to make sure they were keeping an eye on her. The last thing she needs is the two of us judging her emotions. She needs our support.”
May nodded, hoping the surprise didn’t register on her face. She couldn’t do anything now about not being there for Kelsey when her husband died, but May had supported Kelsey today. She supported her by running outside the second she realized David Smith was dead and ending the police interview. But that hadn’t stopped her from feeling terribly sad that a man’s life had ended. A man they had met before so many years ago. A man who used to be the boy who had refused to leave the lake until his girlfriend was found. The boy who had wept openly at Marnie’s funeral.
He was gone now, and Kelsey’s immediate reaction was to think about total strangers who might judge her for leaving some stupid petty note over a stolen parking spot. A man was dead, and Kelsey was making it all about Kelsey. How could Lauren not see that?
May wasn’t ready to go back outside yet. She poured herself a glass of water, giving herself a few more minutes to be alone with her thoughts.
May knew from Danny Brennan that Carter wasn’t some grunt cop chasing down loose ends unlikely to lead anywhere. He was the detective in charge. The fact that he’d spent valuable time trying to interview the three of them so soon after learning that Smith was dead meant that he had expected to find important information here.
She kept replaying Carter’s questions in her head, trying to figure out what he’d been after.
He’d asked about the note, of course. It was possible it had been found along with Smith’s body, but then he probably would have accepted her invitation of a bottle of water or a soda to get a fingerprint for comparison. Another possibility was that they had found Smith’s girlfriend and she told him about the note, which would mean she was still alive.
He’d also asked whether she recognized that phone number he’d recited. She hadn’t been able to commit the entire thing to memory, but she had googled the area code: 959. It covered northern Connecticut—another dead end.
And then there were the questions about the house rental. She had construed them at the time as icebreakers to get the conversation started on a friendly note, but that was before she knew the case had escalated into a murder investigation. And in retrospect, Decker’s questions had been unusually specific for generic chitchat. Who found the house? How long had the trip been planned? What rental agency?
May had only known the rental website because she had looked up the house after Kelsey sent them photographs. She remembered thinking how lucky Kelsey had been to find it, since the house seemed to be booked solid for the summer. How long have y’all been planning the trip? Why had he wanted to know?
Did it really matter when Kelsey had booked the rental? It must, or Carter Decker wouldn’t have asked.
She made her way over to the far end of the kitchen counter, where Kelsey had left the homeowner’s detailed instructions after removing them from the refrigerator. She entered the number provided at the bottom into her phone.
Her pulse quickened with each ring. What was she doing? Why did she need to be like this? Why couldn’t she bring herself to trust her own friends? She was about to hang up when a woman answered. “This is Arianna.”
Kelsey had wondered if the number would lead to a handyman or property manager, but it was the owner. “Hi, Arianna. This is Kelsey Ellis. I’m renting your house in Springs.”
“Is there a problem at the house?”
“No, it’s absolutely lovely. Thank you. Sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to track down a receipt for the rental because it’s tax-deductible for me, but I can’t find it and I know I’ll forget all about it once I’m home. Can you remind me when I put the deposit down?”
May waited in silence while the owner went to log into her account. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Whether Kelsey rented this house three weeks ago when she said she found it, or six months ago, it doesn’t matter. That cop has your imagination going wild.
“I’ve got it right here. It was April 18. You paid in full. Do you want me to email it to you?”
“Oh no, please,” May said. “You’ve done enough.” Kelsey had rented the house more than two months before inviting them.
“Wait, you said your name’s Kelsey? That’s not what I have. Am I looking at the wrong records?”
May pictured Kelsey plucking the rental instructions letter from the refrigerator. Who the fuck is Callie?
“Oh right,” May said, as if realizing something she should have known all along. “Duh, that’s why I can’t find the charge. My friend Callie’s the one who booked it and then I Venmo’d her my part. Is it under a 959 area code?”
“Yep. Callie Martin. Mystery solved.”