I have to go to work, but once I’m at Fred Meyer, I move like an automaton. Duncan texts me from Zumiez, wanting to know what I learned, but I respond that it’s too long to explain in a text. I’m working in the prep room when my coworker Andy snaps his fingers and says my name.
“Huh?” I follow his pointing finger. I’ve just tossed a trimmed bunch of celery into the garbage while keeping the pared-off brown and broken bits on the cutting board. “Oops!” I retrieve the bunch and rinse it off.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Andy has worked here forever, and he’s always warning me to lift with my legs and be careful with the produce knives.
“Just didn’t sleep well, that’s all.” In my head, I’m still watching my mother flail her arms while her blood rains onto the snow.
“I hear you. It’s been so hot.” He takes a paper towel and runs it over his red face and what remains of his hair. “Even the air-conditioning here isn’t keeping up.”
I don’t feel it. I’m stuck in the bone-chilling cold of my memories.
A half hour later, Duncan comes in, his face full of curiosity. I ask Andy if it’s okay for me to go on break, then take off my apron and ball it up. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I don’t speak until we’re alone in the cookware aisle. “The hypnotist was able to take me back to that day, but I guess nothing about it is exact. Not what ends up in your memory, not where she can get you to go. But”—I have to swallow before I can continue—“I saw it happen. I saw my mom’s murder. And now I know why I told my grandma that she was dancing.”
“Why?” Duncan breathes.
“Because she was pinwheeling her arms, trying to get away, but the killer was yanking her close.” I demonstrate, feeling her helplessness in my own body.
“Oh my God.” Duncan grabs my wrist, his eyes widening. “So you saw the killer?”
Still feeling the echoes of my mom, I step back and pull my arm away. “I was only three, remember? Probably no taller than this.” I put my hand at hip level. “They were both wearing jeans and boots. And that’s all I saw: their legs, and my mom’s back and arms, and her blood falling onto the snow. And then I guess I started freaking out, both in the past and now, because the hypnotist woke me up.”
“Do you think it was someone you knew? Was it a man or a woman? Was your dad there?”
“I don’t know,” I say miserably. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I was trying to run away. But I guess the killer must have caught me.” I shiver, remembering the bloody knife on the floor of a car.
“That must have been awful, having to relive that.” He pulls me into a hug, and this time I don’t pull away. My shoulders tremble against his chest.
A second later, a surprised voice says, “Duncan?” We step apart. It’s a woman with a thick brown braid almost to her waist. She’s wearing a green apron that matches the one I’m holding.
Color rises in Duncan’s cheeks. “Oh, hi, Mom. Um, Mom, this is Olivia. She’s Nora’s new neighbor.”
I almost put out my hand, then remember the scar and think better of it. I just say, “Nice to meet you, Mrs.—”
“Call me Audrey.” Her eyes are still going back and forth between Duncan and me. It’s clear she’s imagining much more between us than there really is. “So you’re Nora’s neighbor, huh? If you’ve just moved into the neighborhood, then you might not know about the big barbecue we have every summer. It’s this Friday at six. I don’t know if Duncan’s invited you yet, but you should come.”
“Thank you.” I try to sound perky and normal, like I wasn’t just talking about blood raining on the snow. “That sounds fun. I can come over after I get off at eight. Should I bring something?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waves a slender hand. “Just bring yourself.”
“We’d better get going, Mom,” Duncan says. “Olivia’s on break, and she wanted to go to Starbucks.”
We say good-bye. Once we’re out of his mom’s earshot, I say, “I get the feeling your mom wants a chance to check me out.”
Duncan’s cheeks get even redder. “I’ve been thinking: If we pretended to be boyfriend and girlfriend, it could be a good cover for us spending time together.”
“Maybe,” I say, drawing the word out. Before the cops showed up at my door, I would have wanted to be far more than Duncan’s pretend girlfriend. But now finding my parents’ killer is the only thing that matters.
“And the party will give you a chance to check out people. Half of Medford comes. Even Chief Spaulding. Everybody’s going to be talking about the murders.”
At Starbucks, I order a grande latte, hoping it will warm me up. I also get a scone, since I got up too late to have breakfast. We sit in an empty corner.
Duncan takes a sip of his iced coffee. “I was talking about it with my dad this morning. He said there’s a story going around about Samantha.”
“Sam?”
“I guess when she was in high school, her mom had to work two jobs because her dad was basically a drunk. Once Sam and her dad got in this big fight. After they saw blood on her sweater, the neighbors thought he had hurt her and called the police. Only it turned out that she was the one who’d hurt him.” Duncan sucks in a breath. “And get this—she stabbed him.”
“What?”
“Dad said it was just a paring knife, and her dad refused to press charges. Still, my dad said people are talking about it now.”
Even Duncan must be starting to realize that just because you know someone doesn’t mean they can’t be a killer. “So Sam and Jason,” I ask. “Do they come to this party your parents throw?”
“Every year.”