No One Can Know(72)

The woman who opened the door looked little like the Daphne she remembered and yet exactly the same. She’d gotten taller and gained weight, of course, but those were small details—her eyes still had that intensity that JJ remembered so well, but whereas before that intensity had a flitting, hummingbird feeling to it, she seemed immediately grounded now. Steady in herself. Her hair was cropped pixie-cut short, lightened to platinum blond. She wore high-waisted caramel-colored trousers and a black sleeveless top, cat’s-eye eyeliner giving the look a playful edge.

“You’re late,” Daphne said neutrally. On the phone, her voice had sounded thinner, and JJ had been more able to match it to the bird-boned girl she’d left behind. In person, it was rich, a little deep.

“Took me a few minutes to decide whether to come at all,” JJ said. She glanced at her surroundings. When Daphne had texted her the address this morning, she hadn’t known what to expect. “You live here?”

“This? It’s more of a vacation house,” Daphne said. “You’d better come in.”

The interior of the house was spare. The furniture looked dusty but otherwise almost untouched. The shelves were bare except for a few simple white display vases, and there were none of the small touches from outside that made it look like a home. All the walls were painted a simple white that JJ suspected had been done before the house was sold—here and there were flecks on the trim of far more garish and interesting colors.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? I don’t have coffee.”

She was acting like this was a normal social visit. JJ swallowed. “Nothing. Thanks.” She stood in the space between the small galley kitchen and the living room. There was a faint scent of bleach in the air.

“Sit down. I’ll get you some water,” Daphne said firmly, in a tone that had JJ moving to the couch before she even realized what she was doing. Daphne brought her the glass and sat down across from her in a gray armchair. Her nails were painted bright red; JJ’s eyes fixed on them. “How’s Emma?”

“Okay, I guess. Given the circumstances,” JJ said. Her right hand gripped the opposite biceps tightly.

“What did you tell her?” Daphne asked. She sounded so calm, but that was nurses for you. Vic was the same way when something had to get done. It didn’t matter if you were scared or squeamish or overwhelmed, you did what needed doing.

JJ had never been like that. “Listen. Emma didn’t kill him. Christ, if you’d seen her—she was so broken.”

“I know,” Daphne said. “Emma’s not capable of that kind of violence. She never has been.”

“No. Not Emma,” JJ agreed, splinters of memory digging under her skin. “Daphne. The gun—it—”

“It’s gone.”

JJ startled, then nodded slowly. “That was you—the woman with the dog.”

“I’ve been checking up on Emma,” Daphne said. Something in her tone made JJ give her a sharp look. Her sister shifted uncomfortably. “I haven’t been able to talk to her directly, but I’ve kept tabs on her. On both of you. And when she came back to town I was worried, so I’ve been kind of … watching her. I was keeping an eye on things and I saw Emma outside the carriage house. I knew the police would search it, so before I left I went in. The gun wasn’t there.”

JJ’s mind raced. “You’re sure it was in the carriage house? And you’re sure it was gone when you checked this morning?”

“I left it in a toolbox under the floorboards in the northeast corner,” Daphne said. “When I went in this morning, the toolbox was open and empty.”

“Are you absolutely certain of that?” JJ asked. “Could it have been inside?”

“I looked at the gun case. The one from back then was a revolver with a white grip. None of them matched,” Daphne said.

“It was Logan’s,” JJ said. “Logan Ellis. I don’t think it was registered or anything. He said he had it for security when he was…”

“Selling drugs?” Daphne said mildly. At JJ’s look of surprise, she shrugged. “I overheard him talking to someone on the phone one time when we were over at the Ellis house.”

“You always were a little eavesdrop,” JJ said, without acrimony, and Daphne grimaced.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” JJ said. “I treated you like shit back then. Both of you.”

“Is that how you remember it?” Daphne asked. “Because I remember all three of us doing whatever we had to so we could come out the other side alive. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then neither did you,” JJ reminded her, and Daphne gave a strained chuckle.

“Funny how easy it is to forgive everyone else,” she said.

JJ looked away. There was so much she didn’t remember about that night, obliterated by a haze of alcohol and pills.

How she’d gotten from the woods to the house.

What had happened after she left.

There were only those splintered moments in between, memories she had tried for years to convince herself were nothing but a nightmare.

Yellow wallpaper.

She’d sat in her room, crumpled on the floor by her bed, her mind swirling with panic and anger. She understood at last that Emma had always been right. There was no waiting it out, biding her time. She couldn’t keep doing this—hiding herself behind a mask, surviving by destroying herself. She had to get out. She would die if she didn’t get out.