She recalled a few words of wisdom her father had told her long ago, something she was sure she’d repeated to Wade. Something about digging where you’re not wanted. Because most people have secrets. And most of them should be allowed to stay hidden. No good had ever come from poking a stick down a hole. Because sometimes you got a garter snake, but sometimes you got a rattler.
She thought she could see Dixie hovering at the edge of the woods, facing the house. Sugar blinked twice and the dog was gone. She turned around and placed her hand on Wade’s arm as he held the phone, speaking to another person on the other end.
“Let it go,” she said, her voice quiet. “Let it go,” she said again, thinking about another time, another death.
He took her hand as if she hadn’t said anything at all, and continued to talk into the phone.
• • •
MERILEE
Merilee took the cup of coffee from the detective and sipped it without blowing on it, unaware that she was burning her tongue until she’d swallowed.
“Careful—it’s hot,” Detective Kobylt said. She’d been escorted to the interview room and introduced to Detective Scott Harrell of the Sweet Apple Police Department, who would be assisting with the investigation. They’d explained that the two detectives would be working the case together, since Lake Lanier was in a different jurisdiction from Sweet Apple, where everybody involved lived. And where the Blackfords knew everyone, including the chief of police and the mayor, according to Sugar.
Detective Harrell sat casually on the table behind where they’d placed Merilee, the other detective leaning against the wall. She was the only one drinking coffee, and she wondered if that was supposed to mean anything.
“Thanks for coming in, Ms. Dunlap.”
She smiled at the detective, trying to move her frozen cheeks before they cracked. “You’re welcome. Although I’m not quite sure why I’m here. I already told the police everything I know about . . . that night. I’ve thought about it and thought about it and I haven’t come up with anything new that I could add. If I had I would have called.”
The two detectives exchanged a look, and then Detective Harrell spoke, his voice kind and his Georgia accent oddly reassuring. Like she was among friends. And she couldn’t help but wonder if this was intentional. “Ms. Dunlap—can you think of any reason why someone might want to harm Dr. Blackford?”
“Harm him? No. He was the nicest man. Everybody liked him, as far as I knew. I never heard a bad word said about him.”
“So you’d never heard anybody threaten him or argue with him?”
“Never. Like I said, he was very well liked. A big contributor to the community and to the school. I considered him my friend.”
The detective clasped his hands over his knee, which was bent over the edge of the desk in a studiously casual pose. “Ms. Dunlap, have you ever been arrested?”
She wondered if the hot, icy feeling rippling through her chest was a sign of a panic attack. Or a heart attack. She almost asked them how they knew that, but she didn’t. They were detectives. It was their job to dig. But why would they have focused on her? Because she was the one who’d found Dan’s body? Something nudged the inertia in her brain, something telling her that an important piece was missing from this puzzle, and she seemed to be the only one who didn’t know what it was. Or where it might fit.
“Yes,” she said. “But, as I’m sure you’ve already discovered, it was an accident. A horrible accident.”
“But charges were brought against you?”
A spark of anger elbowed aside a large slice of her fear. “Yes. And then dismissed. I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with Dr. Blackford’s death?”
The detective leaned nearer to her. “Your first husband drowned when you were the only person present. It just seems odd that a second man would drown in similar circumstances. And we understand your younger brother also drowned when you were a teenager.”
She put down the coffee. “They were all accidents. Horrible, awful accidents.”
The detective studied her for a long, silent moment. “The coroner’s final report has been kept out of the news, so it’s not common knowledge yet, but Dr. Blackford’s death does not appear to have been the accident that was originally assumed. Which is why we need to ask more questions of you, and other people at the party who might have witnessed events.”
“What ‘events’ are you talking about?” She was almost relieved at this point, because whatever else they had discovered could have nothing to do with her. She’d heard the dog barking and gone down to investigate and had found Dan. There was nothing more to her story.
Detective Kobylt pushed away from the wall and walked toward her. “Ms. Dunlap, were you and Dr. Blackford having an affair?”
“What?” She almost tipped her chair back as she attempted, and failed, to stand. “Excuse me? No. Of course not. We were friends. Why would you ask that?”
Again the two men exchanged looks. Detective Kobylt pulled out a chair and sat across the table from Merilee. “Didn’t you spend a weekend with Dr. Blackford at his family’s home on Tybee?”
Oh, God. “No. I mean, I was supposed to be there for the weekend, but he didn’t realize I was there . . .” She stopped, knowing there was no way she could go over what had actually happened that wouldn’t sound like one huge lie. “Heather—Mrs. Blackford—can explain all that. She’s the one who invited me to stay at the house.”
Without comment, Detective Kobylt slid a manila folder on the table toward himself and opened it, flipping through papers for at least a minute. Merilee wondered if it was a tactic to unnerve her, the sound of papers rustling in the dead silence of the room meant to shatter whatever sense of calm she might still have claimed.
Finally, he spoke. “You were on the gala committee, correct?”
“Yes. I was in charge of the auction items.”
He met her eyes. “And on the night of August eighteenth, you were late for the committee-head meeting because you were at the Blackfords’ house, where only Dr. Blackford was present. We understand that you claimed you thought the meeting was at the Blackfords’ house, even though all the other committee heads knew to go to the clubhouse.”
She took two deep breaths, remembering the calming technique shared with her by her old therapist. “Yes. I had it on my calendar that it was at Heather’s house. I must have misunderstood.”
“I see,” he said, nodding. “And when Dr. Blackford came to your place of work and kissed you, and when you received private phone calls from him while at your daughter’s cheerleading practice, those were just misunderstandings, too? Not to mention dozens of private texts to Dr. Blackford made from your phone.”
Merilee grasped the edge of the table. “I have no idea about the texts. I have no recollection of ever texting or receiving a text from Dan. For anything. And as for the other incidents, there’s nothing to misunderstand. Those were perfectly innocent. Dan came to my place of work to ask for my help in buying an anniversary gift for his wife. The kiss was a friendly kiss—on my cheek. Again, if you’ll just ask Heather, she can clear up all this.”
Detective Kobylt studied her closely, watching every move on her face as he asked his next question. “I understand that Dr. Blackford paid for a ball gown for you. From a shop called Fruition. I’d never heard of it, so I had to do a little research. Apparently, you can’t buy anything in there for less than a thousand dollars.”
Merilee wondered if someone had turned up the heat, because all of a sudden she found herself sweating. “Oh, no. That was Heather. She must have used Dan’s credit card—he’d left his wallet in her purse.”
“So Mrs. Blackford purchased the gown for you?”
“Yes,” Merilee said, sitting back in her chair, knowing exactly how that sounded, just as she knew that any explanation would only sound like a lie.
 
; Neither of the men said anything, and after trying to sit still and not make a sound, Merilee adjusted herself in her seat, bringing both their gazes to her. Detective Harrell stood and walked to the corner of the room, where a corrugated box sat on top of a row of filing cabinets. He brought it over to the table and opened the loosely sealed top before pulling out a plastic baggie and placing it in front of her.
“Do you recognize this?”
She peered through the clear plastic at the tube of lipstick. “It looks like the Revlon lipstick I usually use.”
“The color is Silhouette,” he said without looking at it. “Is that the shade you wear?”
She nodded. “Yes. And I think that might be the tube I let Heather borrow. I bought another one—I have it in my purse right now if you want to . . .”
“We found this in Dr. Blackford’s jacket pocket. And you’re saying Mrs. Blackford borrowed it from you?”
“Yes. If you would just ask her, it would save you a lot of trouble.”
The detective nodded. “We’ve already interviewed Mrs. Blackford, Ms. Dunlap. Her recollections are quite a bit different from yours. I’m sure we’ll get this all straightened out—we’ve just got a few more questions.”
Without looking up from the folder, Detective Kobylt said, “Were you aware that Dr. Blackford was drinking more than usual the night of the gala?”
She took another deep breath, trying to get her heart to slow down. “To be honest, I don’t really know how much he would usually drink. Heather made sure our server kept our wineglasses topped off all through dinner, but I didn’t notice how much he was drinking.”
“Dr. Blackford’s blood-alcohol level was almost two and a half times the legal limit when he died. Surely you noticed that he was intoxicated?”
“To be honest, we all were a bit drunk—except for my date, because he was my designated driver. I didn’t notice Dan specifically, although he certainly wasn’t acting normally. He sat at the dinner table without really contributing to the conversation, which wasn’t like him at all. Maybe that’s how alcohol affected him. I don’t know. I did know he’d started drinking early—way before the party started. His wife had given him a bottle of expensive scotch earlier in the day that he’d already been enjoying when I saw him in the cellar.”
“Where you were holding hands and kissing,” the detective said, reading from the folder again.
She sat very still, afraid to move. “He was my friend. I’ve told you that. He was talking about how all he wanted to do was spend quiet time with his family. The whole party scene wasn’t really . . . him. He preferred fishing, or watching a movie with his kids. That sort of thing. He was kind of sad when we spoke, so I reached for his hand as a friend would. And the kiss . . . it was just a misunderstanding.” She winced at the word, at the way she sounded. As if she were guilty of everything they were assuming. Except she wasn’t.
Detective Kobylt studied her without comment, his silent perusal interrupted by the other detective. “Why were you down in the cellar?”
“Heather asked me to go find Dan. She’d sent him down there for wine and he’d been gone longer than expected. She didn’t want to leave the receiving line, so she asked me to go get him.”
“Why didn’t she call or text him?” the detective asked, his neutral voice probably meant to be soothing, but it filled Merilee with terror.
“I have no idea. I don’t remember seeing her purse, so maybe she didn’t have her phone. You should ask her.”
Detective Harrell smiled gently but it did nothing to erase the pit of fear that grew in her stomach. “Ms. Dunlap, why were you at the dock? According to witnesses, you were on the dance floor and then left when the band started packing up and walked toward the dock—even though everybody else was heading up toward the house.”
“I was looking for my shoes—Heather had told someone that my shoes had been spotted on the dock—although I have no idea how they might have gotten there. So I headed that way, and that’s when I heard the dog barking. Look, I already said all this to the Gainesville police . . .”
“We know. And we appreciate your patience. But there are still a few things that need clarifying.” He reached into the corrugated box again and pulled out a larger clear plastic bag and placed it on the table directly in front of Merilee.
“Is this yours?”
Sitting on the table in front of her, nestled inside the bag, was one of the outrageously expensive evening shoes she’d worn the night of the gala. “Yes. It’s mine. Do you have the other one, too? I thought I’d lost them both at the party.”
“How did you think you lost them?” Detective Kobylt asked, his expression somehow making it clear that he thought she was stringing together lie after lie.
“Because I took them off before heading down to the cellar. The steps were steep and circular, so I took them off so I wouldn’t trip. They’re pretty high, as you can see.”
“And where did you leave them?”
She was confused for a moment, wondering if they were trying to make her stumble on her own words. “On the top step. That’s where I took them off. But somebody must have moved them, because when I climbed back up the steps, they were gone.”
“They were just gone?”
Merilee felt the anger again and was glad. It gave her something besides fear to latch onto. “Yes. At the time, I thought maybe someone thought they were a hazard and stuck them in a closet to get them out of the way—I had no idea. I just knew they were gone. Where were my shoes found?”
The detectives looked at each other for a long moment in a silent understanding, making Merilee want to squirm. But she sat perfectly still.
It was Detective Harrell’s turn to talk. “This one was found on the dock, near where Dr. Blackford’s body was found in the water.”
“And the other one?” It barely sounded like her voice.
“Missing. We haven’t been able to locate it.”
“Do you think it might have fallen in the water?”
“Anything’s possible. We’re sending in a team of divers to see if we can locate it.”
They were both studying her a moment before Detective Harrell turned to her again, his voice still gentle but his words like bullets. “It’s important we find it. Although the official cause of death is drowning, it appears that Dr. Blackford was helped into the water with a blow to the back of his head. According to the coroner’s report, the injury to his head is consistent with the shape of a stiletto heel.”
For a moment she thought she might throw up and could tell that the detectives were thinking the same thing, as they both took a step back. Breathe. Breathe. She never thought she’d be thankful for her previous experience with law enforcement, but she was now. She stood slowly, leaning on the table. “This interview is over. If you’d like to talk with me again, you’ll need to go through my attorney.”
Since all three of them knew that she was free to go, she walked out of the interview room, Detective Harrell holding the door open for her—this was Georgia, after all—and almost made it to her minivan before she threw up.
Thirty-one
MERILEE
Lily and Jenna practiced their cartwheels at the public park while Colin climbed on the jungle gym with another boy around his age he’d met on the swings. It was warm for early November, and both boys had discarded their sweaters, hanging them over the pretty picket fence that divided the play area from the grassy one. But Merilee shivered inside her own sweater. Ever since the interview with the police detectives, she’d felt exposed. Laid bare. She was all too familiar with the feeling and remembered how long it had taken to recover the first time. She wasn’t sure if she had the energy to survive it again.
Lindi had met her at home when she’d returned from the police station, and Merilee was too numb to be angry with Wade for calling her. Too upset with herself for cal
ling her parents, which had done nothing except magnify Merilee’s helplessness. Her aloneness. She was on the brink of another depression, like the horrible darkness that had descended after John’s death and her arrest. She’d even considered calling her old therapist but had been unable to break through the inertia to even look for her contact number. She’d thought she’d recovered from John’s death and the aftermath, had moved on, with fading scars. But the wounds she’d sustained were like driftwood from a wreck, resurfacing again and again no matter how much she tried to push them away.
Despite Merilee’s protests, Lindi forced her into an outing to the park, saying the fresh air would help clear her mind as they figured out what to do next. It hadn’t occurred to Merilee until she was parking her minivan at the park that Lindi had included herself in the planning.
Lindi sat next to her on the bench, scribbling in a small notebook everything Merilee told her about the police interview, her handwriting as neat and precise as she was. As if to test Lindi’s limits of friendship, Merilee had told her about John and his death and the accusations that had led to her arrest. But Lindi had just taken notes and nodded when Merilee told her all the charges had been dropped.
“Why are you doing this, Lindi? Your life would be a lot easier if you didn’t associate with me.”
Lindi looked up from her notepad. “Who said I wanted an easy life? People with easy lives are boring. They haven’t had any reason to build their character. And it’s good for Jenna to see me stand up for something I believe in. And to see what real friends are.”
Merilee felt her lips tighten, reminding her of Sugar when things were getting to the point where she might have to show emotion. “Stop or you’re going to make me cry. You don’t even know me, Lindi. Not really.”