Hannah
Hannah needed a break. She stood up from her computer, stretched her arms overhead, walked circles around her living room. Another person would set up a yoga mat and do some exercises, then finish her work and start on her investigative tasks. That was probably what Hillary would do. But for the last few days, she’d felt trapped in her house, like it was too weather tight. Like she wasn’t getting enough air. Her own house, the house she’d longed for and chosen, was strangling her now.
She’d promised Hillary she’d make half the neighborhood phone calls, as soon as she finished her pages for the Philanthropist, but she couldn’t concentrate.
It was the fall festival that night, and she’d already let down the whole neighborhood apparently by telling Susan that she had not procured the ingredients for a “signature fall cocktail” but had bought tequila and lime juice. The disappointment in Susan’s voice came through even over text. Oh, but we always do something original! Otherwise everyone will be stuck with the IPA the guys brewed in their garage! Oh well, you’re probably not attending, right? Because of Ben being arrested and all, but we were still counting on you two to be creative. We still need your contribution!
Oh, could this woman be any more annoying? Why didn’t she just say We don’t want you, just your fancy expensive cocktails? Like they didn’t all have more important things to do, like saving the neighborhood from a murderer, when there were cocktails to be designed.
But people love tequila, she’d texted back.
It’s fine as a base, Susan texted. But you need a twist!
Okay, I’ll think of something, Hannah sent, then added Hillary has glow-in-the-dark napkins. Susan squealed with delight over this, with a string of shocked-face emojis.
Hannah would have to get Hillary to think of the twist. She didn’t know anything about cocktails. She probably needed an herb or strawberries frozen in ice cubes, something. Maybe there was a poisonous herb to slip into Susan’s.
The last thing Hannah wanted to do was worry over this stupid, inane task.
Ever since she’d learned where Barrett Smith lived, she’d had trouble sleeping. She imagined him seeing right through the walls of their houses, knowing what they were doing, breaking into their war room and killing them all. Quietly. Without a word. She now understood why people didn’t take justice into their own hands; there weren’t enough security systems and guns in the world to make the average citizen feel safer than a police force. Ben had run out to the hardware store and installed a simple alarm system for her, and she and Hillary had emailed all the women in the neighborhood to gauge their interest about a female poker night, keeping up the subterfuge so no one suspected them, but still. Still.
They were going to be asking questions. After Eva’s absurd performance on Eyewitness News, the vans trolled by several times a day, as if hoping to catch one of them outside. Robert Barker had called Hillary and moped about this betrayal, stating that Inge and Anya were completely innocent and were friendly with his wife, for God’s sake. Hillary had played dumb and blamed her mother for being unhinged, for having old-fashioned views. She’d even gone so far as to use the word senile, she’d told Hannah. They did what they had to do, because they still needed people’s help. And as soon as you rippled out to others, you were in danger of getting caught. Hannah had even thought about sending Miles to Mike’s house for a week or so but then told herself she was being silly on every level. First of all, he was so excited about the fall festival. And when she was thinking clearly, she knew that if Barrett Smith was involved, wouldn’t he be crazy to hurt either of the two main suspects? No, she was being illogical.
Still, when she texted Kendra to see if she was open to taking a walk somewhere else, anywhere else, she was surprised when Kendra told her she was in California and would be staying there, probably until Thanksgiving. She said she couldn’t handle the fall festival this year. Hannah was about to wish her an early happy holiday when she stopped, her thumbs hovering about the screen, then adding:
Can I ask you something?
Of course.
Did the police ask you for surveillance footage?
Yes.
Do you know if they asked your neighbors?
No.
No, you don’t know?
No, they didn’t.
Are you sure?
Yes. Why?
It might be nothing.
But it might be something?
Yes.
You’ll let me know?
Yes.
Text me anytime, Hannah.
I will. And, Kendra, please don’t tell anyone I mentioned this until I know more?
I promise.
Well, she thought, if you can’t believe the word of a grieving mother, who can you believe? She locked the doors, set the alarm, then drove herself to the path at Haverford College. She walked a mile and a half loop in the cold damp air, missing the trees of her neighborhood but enjoying the anonymity. The college students laughing and looking at their phones while they walked. The retired people swinging their arms, wearing their Fitbits and Apple watches. Everyone walks now, she thought to herself. It used to be a way to get away from the world, but now the world was walking.
After she finished, she went to her car, wiped her face with a napkin, and grabbed her laptop from the trunk. She walked down the street to a coffee shop and plopped down among the students and freelance workers. All people from another neighborhood at least. Thank God. She had the same sensation she sometimes felt at out-of-town shopping malls—the comfort of all these people, none of whom knew her or recognized her.
The buzz of the restaurant provided just the right amount of white noise, and she hunkered down and finished her chapters, then went back to her car. She was running behind; the walk had taken up too much time. Miles would be home soon, and she couldn’t make those calls around him. She’d have to go to Hillary’s and shut herself away. Then she’d have to explain why she was running late. Hillary would have all her work done, she was sure. Then she’d have more ideas, and Hannah would get pulled into doing more, and she was tired. This was important, but she was tired.
She pulled out the list in her messenger bag and decided to just make two calls quickly from her cell phone before she went home. That way, she could report some progress to her sister.
That morning, she’d found a phone number listed for Barrett Smith in Willistown Township. She assumed it was where his ex-wife lived and that if she hadn’t disconnected her landline, maybe she could still reach her. Otherwise, with a last name like Smith and no first name, they might have a hell of a time finding this woman they hoped would rat out her ex. Unless they had a marriage license in the county, or if they could find someone at Barrett’s office who knew. It struck Hannah as an awful lot of work for what could be a useless dead end. She was much more interested in her mother’s theory about the surveillance footage.
Still, she made the call. As it rang, she practiced her spiel in her head.
When the woman picked up, Hannah almost couldn’t contain her surprise.
“Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes?”
“This is Karen from the county commissioner’s office. We’re just following up on the order of protection filed last year?”
“What?”
“The order of protection? Just a follow-up call to make sure there have been no issues after the first violation?”
She’d practiced the script, but still, even she was surprised with the ease of the words as they came. How simple it was to lie when you set your mind to it.
“I have no idea. You’d have to talk to—I’m not married to him anymore. We’re divorced.”
“I realize that, but—”
“So I have no idea if he’s in compliance with that or not.”
It hit her not like a ton of bricks but like one actual brick. The restraining order was not taken out by his wife.
“So I should follow up with…I’m sorry, the paperwork is…uh…smudged…”
“Alathia’s mother. I can’t remember her first name. But I’m sure the school would call you if there was another issue.”
“The school,” Hannah repeated. She swallowed carefully, trying to frame another question. Did she dare?
“Wait,” the woman said. “Who did you say you were again?”
“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Smith,” she said breathlessly, then hung up. Part of her was elated, and part of her couldn’t breathe. Alathia. A school. A child. And part of her was furious. She had no last name. And no school name. Just Alathia. Fuck!
Hannah called her sister from the car. All hands on deck. New information. They would gather at Hillary’s while Miles and Morgan did their homework upstairs. They’d been promised if they did their homework and behaved, they could go to the festival later and stay up late.
Hannah had gotten skittish ever since they’d started talking about Barrett Smith, and now, she was terrified. Hillary, as usual, was the calm one. Was Hillary afraid of anything? her sister wondered.
As they started to assemble their plan, Hannah said that this was how people who lived near registered offenders felt every day. Always on the lookout. Never a chance to rest. Hillary googled the unusual name of Alathia plus Willistown Township while trying to remember if they knew anyone who knew someone there who might have a school directory. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a girl named Alathia, she said.
“Wait a minute,” Hillary said. “What difference does it make?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Yes. We already know it happened. We already know there’s an incident involving a child. The police could find out who she is in a heartbeat. If they wanted to know. If they cared. My point is, we already know this is a red flag. We don’t need more information to make it more of one. So focus elsewhere.”
“Like where?”
“Like what Mom said. If our neighbors were asked for their footage or not. If he offered his footage and he has a secret, then you should go to the police. That’s all you need. As nerve-racking and as exciting as this is, you don’t need to know the name of the girl Barrett was bothering.”
Hannah’s face froze, her eyes focused on something over her sister’s shoulder.
“What?” Hillary said.
She turned. The door had swung open a foot or so, and Miles, skinny, narrow Miles, stood in the wedge of light. He swallowed and hung his mouth open a second before he spoke.
“Can…um…can we have more cookies, Aunt Hillary?” he said.