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When I pull up at Connor’s, news vans line the street. The hair on the back of my neck lifts, and my trembling fingers struggle to open the car door as the beeping in my head begins. I race past the crowd as a headache starts to form. Finally, I reach the front door, and Connor opens it and pulls me in.
“Are you okay?” I’m panting and out of breath. “I’m sorry I came in the front like that. I was just so worried.”
“Yes, I’m okay. Everything is okay. Wentworth made a statement today. They’ve ruled Allegra’s death a murder at the hands of the late Claude Van Morrison.” Connor’s eyes roll into his head so far that I think they’ll be stuck forever.
My headache suddenly disappears, and I take a deep breath. “Oh, thank God! I thought something else had happened.” I lean against the wall, exhausted from my pain and misplaced adrenaline.
Connor walks over and reaches out. “Come here.” He kisses me deeply as our hips touch. My bag slips down my elbow, past my hand, and hits the floor with a thud as I melt into him.
“I guess all the reporters out there think I’m in here getting some exclusive interview, huh?” I say as we come up for air, then peer out the curtains in the dining room.
Connor snickers as he cranes his neck toward the living room, where he can view live reports from his front yard on his TV. “Probably. It just sickens me that the police let things go, just like that. What are they thinking? I swear, if you hadn’t come back, I don’t know what I would’ve done with my life.”
I cock my head, confused. “Come back? You mean today?”
Connor shakes his head as if he’s confused himself. “Yeah, I mean, came into my life when you did. Sorry, I’m thinking about the boys. I keep going back and forth on whether I should go get them from school or not. I want them to go about their lives as usual, but if the other kids at school are going to bring up what’s going on in the media, maybe I should keep them here for a while, until the story dies down. What do you think?”
“Ooh, that’s tough. Maybe text them or their teacher and ask how things are going? Can you do that?”
Connor runs and grabs his phone. “You always know what to do,” he says as he dials.
“I do?” I laugh, not knowing what he means, since I assume raising preteens and teens is much harder than raising toddlers, who are quite difficult in their own right but don’t have as many crucial, real-life problems yet.
He whispers with a smile as he covers the mouthpiece of his phone. “Mothers always know.”
He leaves messages for Mason and Garrett’s teachers on the school phone and texts both boys as well. “Hey, while I wait for them to get back to me, I have something for you.” Connor reaches into a drawer in the pristine white kitchen and pulls out a black box with a red bow on it. “I think you’ll like it.”
I rip the bow off and open the box, which reveals a smaller box of black velvet. “Jewelry?”
Connor shrugs with a smirk.
I lift the lid, and the beautiful pendant and chain inside take my breath away—yellow-gold scrollwork laced with rubies and sprinkled with diamonds. “It’s gorgeous!” I give him a big hug. “How did you know I’d love it?”
Connor kisses me on the lips and pulls me even closer. “I guess I know your taste that well, huh?” His phone rings from across the room. “I gotta get that.” He dashes to answer it.
He’s talking to one of the boys’ teachers when the doorbell rings. I pull back the dining room curtain and see Mayven at the front door, so I scurry to let her in.
“Come on in,” I say over the sea of voices outside as camera flashes blind me. She doesn’t react quickly enough, so I reach outside the door and pull her in, careful not to be photographed again. “Sorry about that,” I say as Mayven flattens her now-wrinkled skirt.
“It’s quite all right. What a mess it is out there. I saw you run in a while back, and I wanted to give you all a minute, but I also wanted to make sure everything was okay. Anything I can do?” Mayven rubs my arm as if she’s concerned.
“Well, they knew this was coming, but...”
Connor walks to the foyer from the kitchen. “Mad, I’ve got to—” His cell phone rings, and he holds a finger up in the air before he runs to answer it again. Why he doesn’t just keep it in his pocket, I’ll never know.
I turn to Mayven. “Connor’s worried about the boys being at school with all of this hitting the fan today. He’s calling to see how they are. He may end up going to get them.”
Mayven frowns sympathetically. “I can call the principal at Garrett’s school if you like. I’m close to his wife.”
I grin, appreciating her sweet offer. “No, that’s okay. I think he’s talking to both of the boys’ teachers right now, and he’ll text the boys too. I just hope they tell him the truth if they’re having a hard time.”
Mayven nods and bites her bottom lip, obviously concerned. “I think they are the hardest part about all of this. Collateral damage, those poor innocent things.”
“Breaks my heart too.” Losing Clayton was awful, but having to see Graham lose Clayton would be even worse. Although I wish Clayton had known Graham, I’m grateful Graham didn’t have to work through that kind of pain, especially not in the public eye like Connor’s kids.
Connor reappears in a complete tizzy. “I’m so sorry, Madeleine. I’ve got to go get the boys. They’re having a rough go of it. Just let yourself out. But if you two want to stay and talk a few minutes, I’ll be back with them in about half an hour.”
I give him a quick hug and hand him his coat. “I wouldn’t dream of being here when you guys get back. I’ll talk to Mayven for a few and take off. Call me later?”
He gives me a thumbs-up as he heads toward the garage and adds, “Yeah, it’s best they don’t see you. They’d totally freak out.”
Mayven’s eyes grow large, and I wince as we all walk to the kitchen together. The boys are in such a delicate state already that meeting their dad’s new girlfriend would surely go over like a lead balloon. But at the same time, I’m slightly offended by his statement.
“Mind if I use the restroom really quick?” Mayven asks before scurrying down the hallway toward the bathroom.
“Go right ahead. Make yourself at home.” I reply as if it’s my home, even though it makes more sense to go to the bathroom next to the kitchen.
While she’s gone, I peer out the dining room window again, although nothing’s changed. Vans filled with reporters line the streets in hopes of getting a killer story. I know the feeling. I’ve been on that end of the lawn many times. But I will say that I never harassed people like many of them do. Some cross the line of professionalism by ringing the doorbell and knocking on the front door incessantly, at all hours of the day.
Mayven reappears with fresh lipstick for the cameras. I was beginning to wonder what was taking her so long. She obviously did some serious primping in there.
“Sorry about that. My bladder just couldn’t wait! I’d better be going, but I have to ask. What does all of this mean for your investigation? With the boys being so upset, and the police and media declaring it a random act, does this mean you guys are going to let the story die?” Mayven’s hand is on the front doorknob.
“Gosh, I really don’t know. Connor hasn’t expressed any interest in letting things go. I don’t know if he ever could.” This may be a knot in the chain, though. He loves those boys so much. Their well-being would trump getting the truth.
Mayven takes her hand off the doorknob like she’s conflicted. “I know it isn’t my place, but I just can’t help thinking... Allegra was so selfless and such a great mother, maybe all this is the exact opposite of what she’d want us to be focusing on right now, you know?”
My lips purse. Perhaps she’s right, but it feels like she’s giving up on her friend. “Yeah, I get that. To an extent.”
“It’s just a thought, though.” Mayven grabs the knob once more. “I really need to go. Let me know how the boys are doing, okay?”
I wave goodbye with a smile but suddenly feel guilty for trying to get justice for Allegra but at the boys’ expense. “I will, and hey, thanks for checking in. We appreciate it.”
“Anytime.” Mayven winks as she throws herself to the hungry wolves outside.
My mom, Ivy, and Violet also call to check on everyone, and I wonder what Connor will want to do regarding my investigation. It feels like defeat to give up, but I have to wonder what’s the most important thing here—answers or a peaceful environment.
I lock the house up before I escape through the backyard to avoid being seen again. I climb over the fence with my phone and necklace stuffed down my bra and creep through a neighboring yard before I make my way onto the street and to my car. I successfully avoid the reporters, who haven’t given up on getting an exclusive story from or about Connor.
I throw off Allegra’s scarf, put on my new necklace, and hook my phone up to the charger in my car. I start to drive away from the reporters, who are still down the street, and pass the park as my phone lights up. I pull over to have a quick look. You shouldn’t keep souvenirs of a killing—a source.
I jump when I read the text, because it’s alarming and somehow familiar. I decide to reach out, despite my orders not to.
What does that even mean? Did someone take something from her?
For five minutes, I wait in my car for a response, and nothing comes. I hope I haven’t pissed “a source” off to the point of not telling me anything anymore. I guess I’ll let it go for the time being. Surely they’ll clue me in when they think of something else important to say—via frustrating text message riddles, as usual.
I’m living a real-life game of Clue, except I’m the only one taking risks in the dark. I always do my best thinking when I drive, and I have a few extra minutes before I pick up Graham from school. I cruise around and ponder why “a source” might think this particular tip will be helpful.
I obviously don’t know who tried to kill Allegra, so how else could this be helpful? The last tip said to hold my cards close, as if I had something they viewed as an asset. The only asset I have right now isn’t usable—Lane Stone’s admission about seeing Allegra the night she was murdered. He didn’t give specific details about that night, such as what Allegra was wearing or what she had with her that might have been taken. No one would be able to recall those details unless they were trained to seek them, like a spy or something, which he clearly isn’t. If only he could press Rewind and relive the moment.
Wait... Maybe he can.
I call Lane as I’m pulling up to Graham’s school. “How about meeting me for dinner tonight for that raincheck? I’ve got something kind of crazy I want to discuss with you.”
Lane laughs half-heartedly. “Crazier than our last conversation?”
I snicker. “Well, just as crazy, I’d say.”
“I don’t know how it could get any crazier than that, but I’m curious. What time and where?” Lane asks as a school bell rings in the background.
“Six o’clock. Café 4,” I quickly respond so he can get back to work.
“See you there. Gotta go.” Lane hangs up as I imagine students filling his classroom.
“Mommy!” Graham yells and waves when he spots my car as his class walks inside from the playground. I wave back and text my mom before I exit my car. Can you come have dinner with Graham tonight? I have a last-minute meeting. Let me know—Love you.
***
THIS WINTER IS UNENDING, and instead of a beautiful winter snow enveloping the landscape, all we get is frigid, crisp, completely dry air. I walk down Gay Street downtown, puffed up like I’m heading into outer space. Despite my down jacket, another jacket underneath that, gloves, hood, and scarf, I shiver like a nervous Chihuahua. I walk into Market Square and feel warmer—inside, at least—when I see a plethora of people enjoying the lights, ice rink, and winter boutiques. I open the door to Café 4, and the heat rushes at me like a beachy breeze. Oh, how I wish I were somewhere in the Caribbean right now. Winter is so not my spirit season.
I grab a table in the “seat yourself” loft area upstairs. I’ve barely been here a minute, and already, I’m chomping at the bit for Lane to arrive. If I can convince him to trust me and my idea, we may have a chance of solving this case. The waiter arrives, and I order a Sex on the Beach because why not. This is a risky conversation, and liquid courage never hurt anybody.
Lane arrives looking like someone who doesn’t intend to lose at strip poker. “I’m so nervous about this, by the way.” He takes a seat across from me and sheds a few layers. “So, what’s this craziness you want to talk to me about? I don’t think I can do the small talk thing right now. The suspense is killing me.”
My second Sex on the Beach already resembles the skating rink outside—just ice—and I’m feeling looser than normal because I haven’t had time to eat much today. “Oh, come on. Let’s have a drink first.” I signal the waiter.
“Yes, ma’am. Another drink for you?”
“Yes, another. And he wants a...” I twirl my hand, waiting for Lane to fill in the blank.
“An IPA.” Lane grimaces at my state, and the waiter takes off to gather our drinks.
“I don’t want to rush this conversation, Lane. You’ve got to let me build it up for you, okay?” I slur my words, and Lane laughs.
“God, you are such a lightweight,” he jabs.
“Shut up! I’ve hard a had day. I mean, I hard a—whatever. You know what I mean.”
Lane cracks up as the waiter hands him his IPA and places my drink to my right.
“I think I’ve come up with a way we can gain some valuable information, Mr. Stone.” I lean across the table and speak in the deepest voice I can muster. “Are you willing to do whatever it takes?”
“No, I’m obviously not. Because I don’t want this to get pinned on me,” Lane quips after a sip of his beer.
“Well, okay. This is the thing. You have to trust me one hundred percent and one other person involved who is legally sworn to secrecy. It’s a safe place, I promise. Can you trust me?”
Lane shakes his head and looks at his watch. “I guess so. Yeah.”
I whisper across the table, “I happen to have a very good hunch that whoever killed Allegra also took something she had on her that night.”
Lane leans into me and whispers back, “That’s huge. Are you sure?”
I shake my head. “Well, no. I’m not certain, but I do think so.”
“You’re awful convincing tonight.” Lane grabs his face and laughs as I chug some water in a sad attempt to become less loopy.
“I know, I know. My delivery is sloppy, but my head and heart are in the right place. I know this psychiatrist named Dominic. He used to be my neighbor growing up. Anyway, he hypnotizes people to help them recall certain lost memories. I think if I can observe you and take notes while you’re hypnotized, we can unearth some of those small details about Allegra while she was on that porch.”
“Hypnotized?” Lane furrows his brow. “I don’t know about that.”
“Why not?” I’m not whispering anymore.
Lane shuffles around in his seat. “You really think that’ll work? Seriously?”
I stand up, walk behind Lane, and whisper again. “You want to know what I think? I think it’s all we’ve got right now, I think I need some traction here, and I think this is a good way to clear that conscience of yours so you can look at yourself in the mirror and live your life again, Lane Stone. So what do you say?”