She sang a song she’d written, said it was her first time singing it in front of someone else, which made me a little sad. Her voice was breathy and light and sent a tingle across my skin when she hit certain notes. She blushed when I clapped at the end.
An hour or so before I knew we had to leave, I asked her what she wanted. Before she would have to go back to her regular life and me to mine and we’d have to pretend we didn’t know each other beyond being neighbors.
She’d smiled and said she wanted to be asked what she wanted.
A life without corners.
Just a choice.
I told her she had it.
She smiled and pulled me close, and we stayed that way until it was time to go.
Yellow crime scene tape flapped obscenely up the street. I shook my head and looked down at my phone, reading the text I’d written. Deleted it. Rewrote it. Hesitated.
It was the first text I’d ever thought of sending to Rachel. We never called one another on our phones, always communicating through Dad’s landline. She hadn’t wanted to risk anything more than that. Nothing David could find and become suspicious of.
I deleted the text and set my phone down, hand shaking. Someone must’ve tried calling her by now. Many someones, I guessed. If they weren’t getting through to her, I wouldn’t, either, and in the process might make things worse for both of us. Especially if the cops were tracing activity on her account.
Instead I changed recipients and wrote another text, hit send. Regretted it immediately. All this technology in the world and you still couldn’t unsend a text. Pathetic.
Dad was sitting in his recliner. I settled onto the couch and looked at him. “What?” he asked.
“Did you see something last night?”
A pause. “No. I don’t think so.”
“You had a funny look on your face when the officer asked you.”
He mulled something over for a second. “I went to bed early since you weren’t here for supper. Woke up after only a few hours. Couldn’t sleep. I came out here and mixed a drink, thinking it might help. Didn’t turn on the TV or anything, just sat in the dark.” He hesitated. “I might have drowsed off for a minute, but then I heard a bang. Not too loud, like a car backfiring on the next street. I got up and looked out the window. Didn’t see anything.”
He stopped there. “And?” I prompted.
“A car started up way down the street near the cul-de-sac and drove by.”
I leaned in. “Did you recognize it?”
“I . . . I don’t know. It was dark colored when it passed under the streetlight.”
“Did you see who was driving?”
“I did, but then I fell back asleep. When I woke up, I didn’t think about it. Not until the officer came over and asked if we’d seen anything.”
“Who was driving, Dad?”
“See, that’s the problem. I keep thinking it was George Nell.” He looked at me with an apology in his eyes. “But George is dead, isn’t he?”
I settled back into the couch. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”
My phone rang in response to my text.
“Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on?” Kel’s voice was shrill and loud. I pulled the cell away from my ear. “What happened?” I told her what I knew, which wasn’t much. Again the urge to spill my guts came and went, a fleeting draft of cold air. “So we don’t even know if he was killed, right?”
“No, I guess not. But if it was an accident, I don’t think Rachel and the boys would be missing.”
Kel sighed. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. Jesus.”
“So since we don’t know a lot, I was hoping you could get a little more info. Could you talk to Seth?” I asked with a wince.
Seth Goddard was the leading investigative journalist for the Sandford Review. He and Kel had dated on and off since she and Mark split, and I had the suspicion they still had a tangential relationship.
“I mean, I can ask him, but there’s no guarantee he’ll tell me anything. Especially if he hasn’t printed the story yet.”
“I know. I was just hoping you could check with him.”
Long pause on Kel’s end. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, I just . . . want to know, that’s all. They’re our neighbors.”
Longer pause. “Okay. I’ll call him. No guarantees.”
“None expected. Thanks, sis.”
We hung up, and I stared out the window at Rachel’s place, willing her into reality. Willing the boys to be there playing in the yard. Even willing David to be alive again because the fact that I loved his wife didn’t mean I wanted him dead.