With lips pressed together, Carly takes the microphone from her. “I’m Carly, Terry’s older sister. Our mom died from breast cancer when we were little, but Terry was always Daddy’s boy. Terry and my dad were more like best friends than father and son. My dad never stopped searching, but part of him died the day they found Naomi’s body. Not because he thought Terry did it but because he knew Terry had to be dead, too. My dad always believed my brother was innocent. He never wavered. Not once.” She takes a shaky breath. “I have to confess I did. Once or twice. But then I’d realize that he’d never abandon his little girl like that. It just breaks my heart to think about Ariel. I sent her a letter care of her old caseworker but haven’t heard back yet. I’m sure she’s still coming to terms with things, the way the rest of us are.” Her unsteady breathing fills the room. “When the police told me they found Terry’s jawbone, I felt like my soul had been ripped from my body. I didn’t know it could still hurt this much.”
So much pain. Samantha’s and Jason’s and Richard’s. Tim’s and Heather’s and Carly’s. Friends, relatives, and neighbors. Whoever killed my parents hurt so many people.
Including me.
When everyone is done speaking, the pastor says, “Let us pray,” and people bow their heads. “God of merciful love, help Terry’s friends and family remember the joyful times they shared while he was still on this earth. Teach them the forgiveness that was exemplified by Jesus as he said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’”
He’s not done praying, but I’m done listening. I open my eyes.
I’m not going to forgive. Someone murdered my parents and left them underneath the cold sky and thought they got away with it.
They were wrong.
CHAPTER 9
WATCHING EVERYONE
I take a sip of lemonade. It tastes like chemicals. I’ve stationed myself in the corner across from the tables of snacks that have been set up in the lobby. The homeless guy scurries away. Clutched to his chest is a paper plate piled high with crackers, cheese slices, baby carrots, and Oreo cookies.
“Benjy!” Nora calls out, waving at him as people’s heads turn, but he keeps going until he’s through the doors. He’s not as old as I first thought. Did he know my dad, or does he just crash funerals, hoping to score free food?
The tears people cried earlier seem to have freed them to smile and even laugh. I hear talk about the upcoming football season, how hot it is, and who’s having a baby.
On paper, these people are my dad’s friends, relatives, old girlfriends, coworkers, and neighbors. But is one of them also his killer?
Carrying a plate heaped with food, Sam comes away from the table. Maybe she wanted my dad back, and my mom was standing in the way. Only my dad hadn’t appreciated Sam’s problem solving, and she’d had to kill him, too. But she’s so skinny. Would she even have been strong enough to stab my mom so many times?
I look around the room. Who else might know what really happened? Nora is deep in conversation with Jason, my dad’s old best friend. She’s got one arm around his back like she’s comforting him.
In the opposite corner, Frank is talking to Richard Lee—or rather at him, shaking his finger.
I’m so busy watching everyone that I don’t see the cute guy I noticed earlier until he’s a few feet away. He holds out a paper plate with a stem of green grapes, two slices of cheese, four strawberries, and a half dozen Ritz crackers.
“Here. This is for you.”
“What?” I take a half step back until my shoulders brush the wall. “Why?”
“I thought you might be hungry.” Some guys would say that like there’s a double meaning, but I think he means just what he says. Plus I am hungry. It’s after three, and I haven’t eaten since I grabbed some Lucky Charms this morning. Just looking at the cheese makes my mouth fill with water.
“My name’s Duncan.”
I have to juggle the plate and cup so I can stick out my hand. “Olivia.”
Duncan looks a bit flustered but finally shakes my hand. “So how did you know Terry?”
“Actually, I didn’t.” It hurts me that this isn’t even a lie. “I just gave the old lady over there a ride.” I point at Nora.
One side of his mouth turns up in a lopsided grin. “Nora? An old lady? It’s kind of weird to think of her like that.”
“Sorry.” I know what he means, though. Even though she is old, she doesn’t seem like other old people. I try to turn it into a joke. “I mean, that honored citizen in her golden years.” Nora now has her arm looped through Jason’s, and they’re singing what sounds like a Christmas carol, more or less in harmony. Duncan and I exchange a smile, and some of my sorrow lifts.
“Did you know Terry?” It’s kind of a silly question, since Duncan looks about my age. Then again, he is at my dad’s funeral.
“I grew up next to Terry’s dad, Mr. Weeks, but my parents knew Terry. They bought our house before I was born, while Terry was still in high school.” He bites into a cracker and adds, “He and his girlfriend had a little girl, you know.”
I keep my eyes steady on his. Duncan’s eyes are beautiful, gray with a black ring around the edge. “I heard about her.”
“My parents said Terry used to bring her over to play when we were little.”
Mud houses, I think. Mud mixed with grass clippings and left to dry in the rough shape of walls. Only I just don’t think it—I know it. I can feel the texture between my hands. The memory is so unexpected it steals my breath. I manage a nod.
“How do you know Nora?” he asks.
“I’m thinking of renting the house next door. Nora saw me looking at it and came over. Since she wasn’t feeling well, I offered her a ride.”
Could I really rent it? The rental-management company still transfers the money to Ariel Benson, and through some magic at the bank, the payments show up in my account. As far as I know, the rental people don’t even know there is an Olivia Reinhart.
“So you might move into the house Terry’s girlfriend lived in?”
I nod. “That’s the other reason I came today. I got curious after Nora told me about what happened. Which is sort of wrong, I guess.”
My face is calm, but my thoughts are racing. If I rent the house my grandma left me, the money will eventually come back to me, less the management company’s fee. By giving up my apartment in Portland, I’d actually end up several hundred dollars a month ahead. I’d just need to work enough for gas and food. And Top Ramen doesn’t cost that much.
Duncan waves his hand at the room. “I don’t think a lot of these people knew Terry that well. It’s more that they’re curious. This is a pretty big deal in Medford.”
“People don’t get killed here?”
He shrugs. “Oh, they get killed all the time, but it’s the usual: drunk people arguing, men killing their girlfriends or wives, maybe something gang-related. But not two people mysteriously murdered in the woods years ago. Plus, my parents say the whole town feels guilty. For years, everyone believed Terry killed Naomi. And for years, everyone was wrong.”
CHAPTER 10
I REMEMBER
“I’m going to grab a couple more cookies,” Duncan says. As I follow him over to the table, I find myself looking at everyone and wondering.
He has just picked up an Oreo when a woman’s voice raps out, “Hey—you put that back!”
He drops the cookie as if it’s on fire.
But it’s just Nora. She’s standing across from us, grinning. “I already called dibs on it,” she says.
I’m not used to old people joking around. Most of the senior citizens who shop at my Fred Meyer store are as bland as pastel sweaters.
“Finders keepers, Nora.” Duncan retrieves the cookie. It’s gone in two bites. He turns back to me. “Where are you from?”
Another answer pops out of my mouth. “Seattle.” Not thinking things through is working for me. I’ve been to Seattle on the train a couple of times, so I can fake it.
br />
“Cool. What neighborhood?”
What neighborhood, what neighborhood? “Pretty close to the Space Needle.” Except a view of the Space Needle is probably expensive, so I add, “Not that you can see it from my apartment.”
Luckily, my answer seems to satisfy him. “So why’d you come down here?”
“The cost of living is a lot cheaper.” That part’s not a lie. “I’m taking a year off to save for college.” My patchwork of answers is getting thin, but Duncan doesn’t seem to notice.
Nora saves me by saying, “Ready to take me home, Olivia?”
“Sure. Just let me go to the bathroom first.” I turn to Duncan. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Maybe I’ll stop by next time I’m over at Nora’s.”
“Okay.” I feel a little thrill. He grins at me and then goes over to talk to Frank.
Nora puts her arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “Oh, so you’ve decided to stay? I’m so glad. It will be wonderful being neighbors.”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping back. I’m not used to being touched. “I’ll be right back.”
As I’m going into the bathroom, Sam is coming out. Her face is flushed and blotchy, as if she’s been crying. The bathroom is otherwise empty. Right after I slide the bolt in the far corner stall, two women come in.
“Everyone was asking me about the holes in your face.” I recognize Carly’s voice. And it’s not hard to guess who she’s talking to as they go into the stalls.
“It’s my face,” the girl retorts. “Not yours, not theirs. Mine.”
Carly’s voice is tight. “You could have honored your uncle by at least taking off that ridiculous chain.”
“From what I remember of Uncle Terry, he would have thought I was badass.”
“Lauren!”
“It’s not like I showed up pregnant or something. And besides, that’s why people are here. So they can gossip. So what does it matter what I wear or what color my hair is? It doesn’t hurt Uncle Terry, and it gave them something to talk about.”
“It matters because it affects people’s opinions of you,” my aunt says.
“If they can’t look past a six-inch-long sterling-silver chain, then I don’t care what they think.”
They both flush at the same time, and then I hear the sounds of hands being washed and the main door opening and closing. After that it’s quiet, so I flush and come out.
But Lauren’s still there. Her eyes look wet. She bites her lip and turns away.
There’s no use pretending I didn’t hear them arguing. “I like your hair,” I say. It’s the truth, too. “I like that shade of purple.”
Her expression softens. “Thanks. You know moms. They’re never happy.” Her voice turns singsong. “‘What did you do to your hair? When’s the last time you ate something healthy? Who’s that boy I saw you talking to?’” She rolls her eyes.
“Yeah,” I echo. “Moms.” I nod and then leave.
When I come out, Nora’s sitting in a chair, her head hanging low. She brightens when she sees me. I loop her big black purse over my shoulder and help her to her feet.
“I’m so glad you’re going to be next door,” she declares. “You’ll love that house.”
“I’ll call the rental company today.”
We both fall silent as we walk out the big doors.
“So,” she finally says. “Duncan.”
“What about Duncan?” Just saying his name makes my heart beat a little faster.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” Nora raises one eyebrow.
“I just met him.” I try to tamp down my smile. “He seems nice.”
“Nice,” she echoes. “That’s like when the best thing you can say about a girl is that she sews all her own clothes.”
“But I don’t know him.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Nora says, but it sounds as though she’s really disagreeing with me.
Back at her house, I park and help her out. As she goes up her walk, I stand in front of the rental sign and dial the number for Lee Realty.
The phone rings three times before a woman answers. I take a breath, but then I realize it’s just a recording. After the beep, I say, “My name is Olivia Reinhart, and I’d like to talk to you about renting the property at 1707 Terrace Drive.” I end with my cell phone number.
If the rental company isn’t open on a Saturday afternoon, it’s surely not going to be open tomorrow. Now what? Maybe I can find a quiet road and lock the car doors and sleep there the next two nights. I don’t want to waste money on a motel.
Nora speaks, and I realize she hasn’t gone inside. “Can’t get hold of them?”
“The office is closed.”
“Then you should stay with me until Monday.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay. I’ll find a motel or something.”
“Nonsense. I have a guest room, and you’ll be my guest.” She turns as if it’s already decided. Without looking to see if I’m following, she goes inside. After a moment, I follow her.
Until today, I didn’t even remember Nora. And if you had asked me what the inside of Nora’s house looked like, I would have said I had no idea. It turns out I do and I don’t.
It’s like I’m in one of those snow globes. Somebody’s picked me up and shaken all my memories loose. Now they float around me, flickering in the corners of my eyes.
Just inside the door sits a blue flowered couch topped with a nest of afghans. An old wingback chair, upholstered in gold brocade, stands at a right angle to it. I don’t need to look to know its feet are carved wooden talons gripping balls.
Nora’s house is crammed with books, colored bottles, baskets, and hanging plants. The walls are covered with things in frames: photos, little paintings, shells, and a tiny ivory elephant, as well as an old silver-backed brush, a carved walnut on a miniature hook, and a brass clock that ticks in the hot stillness. Everything’s a little dusty, a little chipped. Stuffed with so many knickknacks, Nora’s house should be suffocating, but instead it’s like a mosaic, all the pieces coming together in a pleasing whole.
While I’m taking it all in, Nora sits down in a dining room chair and toes off her shoes, then gets up and puts them in a closet. Moving slowly, she walks to the couch. When she sits, it’s more like a well-cushioned fall. She pulls fake UGG sheepskin-lined boots over her socks and then arranges the afghans over her lap.
It’s got to be at least ninety degrees in here. But I remember what she said about her heart, how cold her hands were.
I take the brocade chair. “I was wondering, if Terry’s buried at that cemetery, is Naomi there, too?” I want to visit my mother’s grave.
“Naomi and Sharon are in Odd Fellows. The other cemetery.”
“Medford has more than one?” The city seems so small.
“Odd Fellows was here first. It’s just around the corner. Sharon always liked it better. People have picnics there, and it’s where every teenager learns to drive.” Nora’s eyes crinkle when she smiles. “You can’t kill anyone in a cemetery. They’re already dead.”
The word dead leads me right back to my parents. “Who do you think really did it?” I ask her. “Everyone there seemed to know you. You must have some ideas.”
“People in this town hold their secrets pretty close.”
“You don’t think it was a stranger, then?”
Nora looks at me for a long moment. “No.” But she doesn’t say anything more.
We watch the news together. For dinner, she has me heat up canned tomato soup and warm frozen rolls in the oven. She says she used to like to bake but doesn’t have the energy anymore. I remember, I want to say, but I keep the words stoppered tight.
We watch a documentary about birds of paradise. They’re like no birds I’ve ever seen, with crazy-colored feathers, beaks, and even feet. When the show ends at nine, Nora goes to bed, and so do I. I’m sure I’ll be awake for hours, but my eyelids are so heavy they close by themselves.
CHAPTER 11
r /> WICKED POINT
It’s cold. Next to me, someone is muttering under their breath, but I don’t look. I won’t. I’m curled on my side away from them, my eyes closed, my thumb in my mouth. I’m too old to suck my thumb. But it feels good. I like how it fits into the roof of my mouth like it belongs there, like the space was made special just to fit it.
I pull it out with a pop. When I open my eyes, my thumb is all wrinkled and wet. And past it, I see a knife lying on the carpet. It has a wooden handle and a blade that curves down to a wicked point. But it’s not the knife that makes me scream.
It’s the blood drying on the blade.
“Olivia!”
I have to get away. I scramble back until my shoulders hit a wall.
“Olivia!” Nora says again. Her silver hair brushes my face. “Olivia! You’re having a nightmare.”
My whole body is slick with sweat. My breath comes in gasps.
The knife. The knife, the blood, the muttering.
The knife.
I was dreaming about being in the killer’s car.
Or was it a memory, not a dream?
“Sorry,” I groan. I pull the sheet over my bare legs. I must have kicked it off.
“What were you dreaming about?”
Something about her gaze makes me tell the truth. At least part of it. “About that guy Terry and his girlfriend. It would be so awful to be murdered. To know that you’re dying and that the last thing you see will be your killer.”
Nora sits on the edge of the bed. She’s so thin the mattress doesn’t even dip.
She pats my knee through the sheet. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry if I made a mistake asking you to take me to the funeral. And as much as I would love to have you as a neighbor, maybe you shouldn’t rent that house. After all, Naomi lived there. I don’t want you waking up screaming every night.”