Ruby had been at this meeting the last time, when it was Chase up there laying out the ground rules. Before a woman who looked an awful lot like Ruby was identified on the Seavers’ security camera—and the investigation, and Chase, turned their focus on her.
Back then Ruby was still one of us, getting in line, signing her name. Split with me, Harper? We can go out together.
“If that’s everything,” Charlotte said, placing the paper on the white rectangular folding table in front of her, “let’s let everyone get back to their evening.”
We formed a line, just like last time, the very picture of civilized community. I slid into place, inching forward, wedged near the front between Charlotte and the Seaver brothers.
Mac, sensing me, stepped back slightly. “How’d you manage to sneak out?” he asked, speaking from the side of his mouth, like this was all a game.
“She’s gone,” I said.
Preston, facing forward, let out a noise—something between disgust and amusement. Mac raised an eyebrow but was next in line and never had a chance to respond.
“I think we should all take the first week, that okay with you guys?” Charlotte was saying to them now.
We were our street. Our group. Our clique. We were the people who overlapped at work and at home, conversations and jokes spilling over, with no defined boundaries. We were the row of homes, from our court to the pool, who had caught Ruby on camera. We were the people who had testified.
We were the people who might pay.
“Good idea,” Preston said, and I lost the rest of their conversation under the sound of Margo Wellman attempting to calm a squirming Nicholas.
When it was my turn next, Charlotte’s expression did not falter. “Harper, thanks for coming out. What evening works for you?” She held the pen over the sign-up.
“Put me down wherever there’s a gap, Charlotte. Also, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I stopped by the house today.”
Her finger slid down the list of dates, eyes focused on the page. “Molly told me. Sorry, it’s been chaos, I scheduled a bunch of appointments for this week. Is there something urgent?”
I leaned in closer to get her attention. Pressed my fingers into the plastic table until she met my gaze. “I think I know why she’s here.”
Charlotte blinked twice, then brought her long hair over one shoulder, like I’d seen Molly do earlier in the day. Her gaze flicked to the gate and back, her lips pressed together. I followed her line of sight, worried I’d see Ruby, that she had caught me here. But it was Chase, leaning against the black iron bars.
“We haven’t done coffee in a while,” she said. “Can you make it to my house early tomorrow? Say nine?”
I nodded. She scratched my name down in an empty slot, then smiled at Margo behind me. “Margo, truly, you don’t need to do this.”
“He’s up every few hours teething. I’m awake anyway.”
“I remember that stage,” Charlotte said with a sympathetic expression as I walked out of earshot.
I looked for Chase on the way out, but he’d disappeared in the last few minutes. He wasn’t in the line or on the pool deck. I started to think I’d manifested him from nothing. Déjà vu from the last time we did this, a cycle repeating itself. While we grasped for the illusion of safety with structure and routine.
Chase’s house was in the other direction when exiting the pool, toward the left, at the opposite corner from Margo and Paul Wellman’s home. Before the Truetts’ deaths, Chase had a career and good standing in the community. Authority and reputation. Power. I wondered if people here ultimately blamed him for Ruby’s release.
The evening had turned overcast, like it might rain, even as dusk was settling in. The streetlight on the corner flicked on automatically, illuminating me.
I walked faster than I needed to. Imagining Ruby waiting at home, with free reign over the place. Waiting for me.
* * *
I SHOULDN’T HAVE WORRIED. My car wasn’t back. Even if she could’ve fit the car inside the garage, the lights were off inside, as I’d left them. Even the porch light was off; I fumbled the key into the lock in the shadows. As I pushed the door open, a paper skittered across the entrance floor.
I flipped the foyer light, then bent for the paper. It was simple printer paper, folded in half, black ink visible through the other side. Something slid onto the floor as I unfolded the page, a message in bold ink staring back:
YOU MADE A MISTAKE.
One line, that was it. No name. No indication whether this was meant for me or for Ruby.