The day is just beginning to cool off as I head home to get ready for the party at Duncan’s house. After a quick shower, I dress in cutoffs and the white peasant blouse I got at Goodwill and put on Nora’s necklace again. I’ve been wearing it every day. She told me earlier that she doesn’t have the energy to go to the barbecue tonight.
Since it’s only six blocks away, I decide to walk, and I text Duncan that I’m on my way. Carrying a bowl of grapes, I set off down the hill, past the old cemetery. Soon the mouthwatering smell of grilled meat fills the air. The street is full of cars, and the yard is full of people.
Duncan steps out on the porch. When he sees me, his face lights up and he waves. I remind myself that we are only pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I weave around clumps of people, recognizing some faces from the memorial. Stephen Spaulding, the police chief, is deep in conversation with Sam. His black pants and polo shirt still look like a uniform.
The house is lived in and comfortable, with hardwood floors, a well-used leather couch, and books everywhere. In the kitchen, Duncan’s mom is digging in the fridge but straightens up when she sees us. She’s dressed in jeans and a sleeveless top. Her feet are bare.
“Nice to see you again, Olivia.” I feel her eyes measuring me before she turns to her son. “Hey, Duncan, I was sure we had a new bottle of ketchup. Have you seen it?”
He shakes his head.
I hold out the bowl of grapes. “Where should I put these? They’re already washed.”
“That was sweet of you! The food goes in the backyard, which is where all the kids are hanging out.” She turns to Duncan. “Although I guess you guys are a little too old to run through the sprinkler or toss the beanbag.”
“You’re never too old to cornhole,” says a man holding a spatula as he comes in through the sliding glass door. His dark hair is cut close to his scalp, and his eyes are such a pale gray they’re almost silver. I only need to look from him to Duncan to know it’s his dad.
He sticks out his hand, which is covered with dozens of tiny cuts in various stages of healing. “Hi. I’m Gregg. With three Gs. Which can be confusing to some people.”
I hold up my bowl of grapes as an excuse not to shake hands. I need to be careful that neither of his parents notices my scar. “Hi, Gregg with three Gs. I’m Olivia with a bunch of vowels.”
He grins. “Good thing neither of us is a Scrabble word.”
“Olivia just moved into the house Terry’s wife used to live in,” Duncan says.
“You mean Terry’s girlfriend? Naomi Benson?” he asks. “Naomi and Terry were never married.”
“Yeah, Naomi’s house,” I say. “Hers and her mother’s.” I don’t mention me. “Did you know them well?”
Gregg takes a second spatula from a crock on the counter. “Audrey knew Naomi better than I did. Terry used to live next door with his dad, so the three of us went hunting together a few times.” He hands the spatula to Duncan. “Can you come help me out at the grill? Everyone’s ready for round two.”
As they leave, Audrey says, “Naomi and Terry’s little girl used to play with Duncan.”
I want to keep the focus on my parents, not on the girl I used to be. I steer the conversation back around. “What was Naomi like?”
“She was pretty. Quiet. Smart.” As she speaks, she opens the refrigerator again and leans in, shuffling containers and bottles. “When she got pregnant, she started knitting all these little booties and sweaters.” Her voice is muffled. “Terry was more a life-of-the-party type guy. When they said he killed her, we didn’t want to believe it, but then again, you never want to believe stuff like that.”
“The paper said the police had been called out to the house several times and that she actually had a restraining order against him.”
Audrey looks over her shoulder at me. “That was Naomi’s mom, Sharon. She was mad at Terry for getting Naomi pregnant, and then he got behind on child support. That Thanksgiving, everyone had too much to drink and there was a shoving match. Sharon called the cops and insisted Naomi press charges. Terry told us about it. He was embarrassed and ashamed.”
I feel a surge of hope, even if it’s based on the idea of my parents having a drunken argument and my grandmother lying. “So they didn’t really fight?”
“Ah! There it is! I knew I had another one!” Triumphantly brandishing a bottle of ketchup, Audrey emerges from the fridge. She turns to me. “Oh, yeah, they fought. Gregg and I fought all the time back then, too, and we were a few years older. Naomi and Terry were still kids themselves when their baby was born. Gregg and me—we got a chance to grow up. To figure things out. They didn’t.” With the ketchup bottle, she points at the sliding glass door. “Come on, let’s go outside and get you some food.”
Taking the grapes, I follow her. On one side of the crowded backyard, squealing kids run through a sprinkler. The water sparkles in the long rays of the setting sun. On the other, people are pulling drinks from an ice-filled cooler or circling a picnic table still crowded with food.
Chicken breasts and hamburger patties sizzle as Duncan and his dad turn them on a huge stainless-steel grill. Hovering over the meat is Richard Lee, dressed in crisp blue Bermudas and a madras plaid short-sleeved shirt. When he catches sight of me, he gives me something between a wave and a salute. He looks so different from the ragged boy in the annual. Had his change in circumstances really started with my parents’ murder?
I move a nearly empty bag of Doritos to make room for my grapes. Sam is in the backyard now, adding a scoop of potato salad to an already-heaping plate. Where is she going to put it? You could cut yourself on her shinbones.
From across the yard, Lauren gives me a little wave, and I walk over to her, relieved to talk to one person who for sure can’t be a suspect.
“You’re wearing that blouse! And your necklace is beautiful.” She squints. “Are those buttons?”
“Thanks. They are.” I run my fingers over them. “Nora gave it to me.” Lauren’s wearing shorts and a yellow T-shirt that would look terrible on me. On her, it just sets off her tanned skin and purple hair.
She scans the crowd. “Is she here? I haven’t seen her yet.”
“No. She decided not to come. She said she didn’t want to be out too late.”
“Too late? It’s not even nine o’clock.”
“I think that’s about when she goes to bed. But she gets up before dawn.” My stomach rumbles. “I’m going to get something to eat. I didn’t have much lunch today.”
As I circle the table, I try to eavesdrop. I’m pretty sure I catch my parents’ names a few times, but whenever I get closer, people fall silent.
Jason is saying to Carly, “When you’re out on the open road, and it’s just you and your big, powerful truck, the feeling is amazing.” He labors over his pronunciation, his features bunched together. The beer he’s holding clearly isn’t his first. “Basically, I’m getting paid to cruise along while jamming to my favorite tunes.” I remember him complaining about his job to Heather. Maybe he’s good at presenting only the side he wants people to see.
But Carly’s not really listening. Instead, she says, “Terry would have loved this party, wouldn’t he?”
At the sound of my father’s name, Sam lifts her head from her plate. “He would probably be leading us all in a conga line or something.” Her smile is lopsided.
Jason swears. “Nothing’s been the same since he died.”
Is Sam’s or Jason’s grief a cover for something darker? And what about Richard? Did his real estate empire start with my father’s money? And did Benjy really see anything in the woods—or is he the victim of his own mind? Despite what Quinn said about revelations, I feel that I’m no closer to the truth than when I started.