“You have to fill me in on what you think you know,” Park says to Perry. “I’m a little lost.”
Perry is grinding his teeth; she can see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
“All right. Erica Pearl came to me a few weeks ago.” He lays out the story for Park, not accusingly, trying to be open. “I’d like to hear the truth from you. Tell me what really happened.”
Park nods once, almost to himself.
“I didn’t kill Annie. But I found her.”
The words linger in the air, an admission so heinous that Olivia realizes she isn’t breathing.
“You found her?” Perry asks incredulously. “Was she dead?”
“Yes, she was dead.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone? My God, Park.”
“I couldn’t. If I was the one who found her, everything they’d been saying was true. I didn’t kill her, you know I didn’t. When I found her…it had been a while since she disappeared. She was decomposed, bones already showing. I didn’t know what to do. If I went to Mom and Dad, they’d go to the police. No one would have believed me. Everyone was accusing me of hurting her, of lying. To be the one who found her? Even as a boy, I understood how the mob worked. I couldn’t take the chance.”
“So you did what, exactly?” Perry asks.
“I buried her.”
“You were ten. We were ten. How?”
“I was walking back from practice—I think you had a cold, and you hadn’t played that day. I cut through the field and practically tripped on her. She was mostly buried, but parts of her were sticking up out of the ground.”
“You knew it was her?” Olivia asks.
“She was wearing a red T-shirt the day she went missing. I could see the fabric, wrapped around her neck.”
“And then what?” Perry is pale but composed.
Park shrugs. “It had rained a lot that week. The ground was soft. There was a hole by the opening to the ditch. It was really deep. I think it was an old well. I put her down the hole and covered it with dirt. It started to rain, so I stood in the field and let the water wash me clean before I went home.”
“Jesus.” Perry’s face is white as bone, but Park’s is flushed.
“I felt terrible. Sick. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell Mom and Dad. But I couldn’t. Every time I tried… And the neighbors were being so awful. Mom and Dad sent me to therapy, and the therapist told me it wasn’t healthy to hold on to the secrets. But I never admitted that I’d buried her. I’ve let that eat me up inside for decades.”
“Why now?” Perry asks.
“The draft manuscripts that were stolen. One of the plots is about a kid missing for years who’s found in a well by a baseball field. I was stupid to write it, stupid. I wouldn’t have let it be published, obviously. I would have edited out those details. But now… I was afraid someone would put it together, and I went… I don’t know, I wanted to see if things were still obscured, I guess. And then all this craziness happened, and the reporter dragged me into it when she asked about St. Louis during the interview. After all we’ve been through, after all Olivia and I have lost, I realized it was time to give Annie’s parents some peace.”
Perry is looking at his brother with horror etched on his face.
“You just now figured that out?”
“You have to understand, they would have sent me to jail.”
“Maybe they should have,” Perry says darkly, his voice raw with emotion and loathing, and Olivia holds up a hand.
“So you called the tip line?” she asks. She is determined to get to the end of the story before Perry blows up entirely.
“Yeah. Crime Stoppers. Untraceable. I used a burner I bought in St. Louis and got rid of it immediately.”
“Good to know your job has given you the ability to avoid detection in a criminal investigation,” Perry says.
“Oh, for God’s sake, stop being such a Pollyanna. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Technically, criminally, yes, you did. Morally? You absolutely did.”
Park deflates. “Well, the moral high road has never been my battleground, so you might as well go ahead and turn me in now, brother.”
“And the flowers? On Melanie’s grave? Explain that to me.”
“Flowers? I don’t know anything about that,” Park says with a sigh.
“Really? A florist in Chapel Hill gets an envelope of cash every year, with instructions to put a bouquet of lilies on Melanie Rich’s grave. There are regular withdrawals from your bank account in the same sum every year on the same date.”
“Coincidence.”
“The florist kept the envelopes, you know. The police have them. They’re doing a DNA analysis on the adhesive. Will it match you, I wonder?”
Park shakes his head, though Olivia is shocked by how he pales.
“No. I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Melanie. I swear it. And I have no idea who is sending her flowers.”
“After what you’ve just admitted to, how am I supposed to believe you?” Perry puts an arm around Olivia, pulls her close to his body. “How are we supposed to believe you?”
“Honestly? Believe me, or don’t. I’ve made my peace with all of this.”
A slow clapping sounds from the corner of the room. The doors to the deck are open to let in the sultry breeze, and a young man emerges from the boardwalk, a gun in his hand.
“Hi, Dad,” Peyton Flynn says. “Good to know I got it honestly.”
47
THE HUSBAND
When a lion circles its prey, it seems almost playful. A big, silly cat, toying with a mouse. A mouse it will later rip apart.
Peyton Flynn might look like roadkill, but he is the hunter. He has the three of them at a major disadvantage, and he knows it.
Park stands.
“Peyton. You’re Peyton, right?”
“Very good. The resemblance is clear, isn’t it?” He’s being ironic; the bandage covers half his face. No one can get a good look at him, but he’s smiling, and Park can’t think straight. This is my son. My son has a gun pointed at me. Don’t shoot, son.
“Hi, Liv.” The gun stays trained on Park, which is good. He can’t let Peyton hurt Olivia.
“My name is Olivia,” she says, voice shaking.
“Never, darling. You’ll always be Liv to me. That’s what he calls you. It suits you. Olivia is such a proper name. And you aren’t a proper kind of woman. Not formal, I mean. You aren’t formal.”
“What do you want?” Park asks. He can sense Perry shifting next to him; he played enough ball with his brother over the years to recognize the muscles tensing. If there was ever a moment for their childhood ability to speak without speaking to one another like they did during games, now is the time.
“Olivia. I hate that we have to get to know each other like this. I’ve been trying to do all the right things for you. I saved you after the accident. I sent flowers. Lilies.”
“I hate lilies,” she says, and Peyton frowns.
“Hmm. That’s odd. I’d think you’d love them.”
Park realizes Peyton has a notebook in his other hand. One of his, from his office.