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HEATHER GREEN HAS ONCE again become a reluctant recluse. It began with a call from a local who considers herself an investigative journalist but couldn’t uncover the truth if it bit her in the ass. It escalated with the re-emergence of gawkers outside her home, and it finally reached a fever pitch when People Magazine called her for comment (she declined) before running a story on the current drama surrounding the “Mother-in-law Murderer.” She understands that this nation has a morbid curiosity when it comes to murder and magazines are just trying to sell copies, but she wishes they’d wait until everyone had some answers before shining a national spotlight on her little town once again.
She peers through a gap in her closed blinds to stare at the big pile of leaves she raked the previous week for Evie to play in. Now she’s afraid to play outside with her own daughter. Meryl has stopped going to the casino, due to the nosy gamblers who insist on claiming the slot machine next to her and peg her with questions surrounding the deaths and her niece’s possible involvement.
All of the SHARKs, and everyone else in her life for that matter, keep insisting to Heather that nobody actually believes she is capable of these crimes, the public is simply intrigued that all the victims are connected to her. Despite this insistence, none of them seem to be able to take a few days off work to spend with her while she locks herself away. They are all suddenly swamped at their jobs and can’t make the drive. Even Rebecca, who lives in town, hasn’t been by.
The two people who haven’t left Heather’s side (besides Meryl, who has no choice) are Mitch and Frank. They both are over often, help care for Evie, and usually bring food. Truth be told, she’s gotten used to having Mitch around a little more than she cares to admit. He’s so good with Evie; he even volunteered to watch her the other day so Heather could take a bath and a nap – two things that don’t get to happen very often when you have a child under the age of one.
Next week is Halloween, and Heather is devastated that she won’t be able to take Evie trick-or-treating. She’s letting Ryan take her, as long as he promises to keep her costume over her face while in front of others. She doesn’t need her innocent daughter being targeted over this nonsense.
When she’s not putting on a brave face for Evie, she cries in her room, holding a pillow to her face to muffle the sounds so Meryl doesn’t hear. She doesn’t watch TV, as she knows exactly what every local station is discussing. She prays to a god she’s not quite sure she still believes in and begs for the murderer to be found quickly. She promises not to ask for anything else as long as she lives. Well, maybe for Evie to have a happy, healthy life. But nothing else. She swears.
There’s a knock at the door as she microwaves her Lean Cuisine and Heather rolls her eyes at the thought of answering it. Anyone she wants to see right now knows her well enough to just walk in, especially with all the reporters outside. Whoever is knocking on the door is an unwelcome guest. She reluctantly presses cancel on the microwave and walks to the front door. She sighs in relief when she looks through the peephole.
“Vicki,” Heather says as she swings open the door and swiftly closes it behind her before any of the vultures can get a good picture. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you could use someone to talk to. Is that okay?”
Heather huffs.
“I’m not Quinn Harstead, Vicki, I can’t afford house calls. I’m sorry.”
Vicki gives her a tight smile.
“Well, as a matter of fact, Quinn Harstead has paid for this session. And any further sessions you require at home until this all blows over.”
Heather wants to be annoyed, but she’s relieved. She needs to talk to Vicki now more than ever.
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AFTER NEARLY TWO HOURS of intense back and forth, Heather says goodbye to Vicki and has her leave out the back door and through the gate. She pops open the microwave and tosses the room-temperature baked ziti into the trash. Just as she considers what she’s going to eat in its place, Meryl comes through the sliding back patio door, having entered discreetly through the side gate herself.
“You couldn’t resist the casino, could you? What did you do, put on a disguise?” Heather teases.
“Oh, I didn’t go to the casino.”
Heather laughs at the absurdity of Meryl ending the discussion without offering any further information. What is going on with her?
“Any chance you want to talk about where you were?” Heather asks with a sweet tone.
“Ah, Christ. I can’t lie to ya. I was at Frank’s.”
Heather cocks her head.
“Mer, if you think this little flirtation between you and Frank is a secret, I have to tell you that it’s the worst-kept secret in the county.”
Meryl gasps. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t even have the energy to tell you all the signs you’ve been ignoring for months. Can we just talk about what we should do about dinner?”
Meryl’s cheeks redden slightly.
“Oh, so you guys already ate. Fantastic,” Heather smiles. “I’ll fend for myself.”
Meryl walks around the kitchen island and holds both of Heather’s hands, before momentarily dropping one and leaning forward to fix a strand of her hair that has fallen over her eye.
“Frank and I have been talking about you for hours. Once this blows over, we are going to get back to normal around here. I promise you, sweetie.”
“Everyone keeps using that phrase ‘once this blows over,’ like it’s a rumor being spread that I kissed some boy in the school gym. It’s not that easy, Meryl. Three people have died, they are all connected to me, and it appears that the police don’t have any credible leads. What if more people die?” Heather says, tapping her foot furiously to distract her from crying. “And then what?”
Meryl inhales sharply. “Well, Heather, that’s why we installed more cameras inside the house. You’re going to suck it up and stay here until this does blow over, which it will, and heaven forbid there are any more murders, there will be no possible way for you to be a suspect. We will have footage to prove you were here.”
“I can’t believe I have to do this. I’m a prisoner in my own home. I thought my time being locked up was behind me.”
Meryl hugs her and Heather knows it’s because she’s not quite sure what else to say at the moment. Heather’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she looks down to see it’s from Mitch. He wants to know if she’s hungry. Against her better judgment, she smiles.