“I saw that on the news,” Gwen says.
“Was it you?”
“Me? No. I didn’t see anything.” She leans forward and says gently, “You want to know who the witness is, to talk to them yourself. I’d be the same. I wish I could help you.”
She seems to really mean it. Erin nods.
Gwen asks, “Can I get you something—a cup of tea?”
But Erin shakes her head and rises to go. “I have to find this witness. I have to know if what they’re saying is true.”
The other woman rises with her and says, “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.” She adds, “It looks like you could use a friend.”
* * *
? ? ?
Al Blanchard is sitting in his car, parked, of all places, behind the dumpster in back of the Breezes Motel. He couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. He’d sped down the highway out of town, his heart darker than the pitch-black night, and when he saw the motel, it seemed to call to him. There’s a kind of strange comfort being where he’s been so many times before, back where it all started. It feels familiar, almost safe. He feels a sort of nostalgia. Because back then, when he used to spend afternoons behind this dumpster, he knew only that his wife was cheating. His son wasn’t suspected of kidnapping and murdering a little girl, and his wife didn’t suspect him of the same heinous crime. He sits there for a long time, sometimes staring sightlessly into the night, sometimes weeping against his steering wheel.
Stiff with cold, he thinks about what he should do. He feels like he’s losing his mind. What he’d like to do is go home and put his large hands around Nora’s long, lovely throat, and squeeze until she’s gone. He imagines it, her eyes staring wildly back at him, pleading, as he snuffs the life out of her. And then he’ll put her in the car and bring her here and throw her in that dumpster. After that, he doesn’t know. His mind stutters—he can’t see past the act of throwing her body in the dumpster, which has been witness to what she’s done, and to his shame. It’s where she belongs.
* * *
? ? ?
Marion is in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. She hears a knock at the door, and freezes. What if it’s the police, back again? The lights are on; she can’t pretend she’s not home. She leaves her tea on the kitchen counter and makes her way to the front door. She opens it. It’s not the police. It’s worse than that.
“May I come in?” Erin Wooler asks, shivering on the doorstep, her wan face starkly illuminated by the porch light.
Marion feels the blood drain from her own face. She can’t have Erin Wooler here. Her daughter is in the basement.
“Are you okay?” Erin asks, looking at her closely.
Marion calls on her training as a nurse and pulls herself together. Treat it as an emergency. It’s just an emergency. You can do this. “I’m sorry,” she says, bringing a hand up to her forehead. “I have low blood pressure and got up too quickly to answer the door. I thought I was going to faint there for a moment.”
“Can I come in?” Erin repeats.
Marion tries to put her off. “Um—I was just going to run a bath.” But Erin doesn’t take the hint. She stands there on the front step, resolute, staring at her. “But sure, come in for a minute.”
Marion turns away and leads her to the kitchen at the back of the house. If they keep their voices down, Avery might not even know her mother was ever here. And even if Avery does realize her mother’s right upstairs, Marion tells herself, she won’t reveal herself. She’ll stick to the plan.
But what if she doesn’t?
The kitchen is at the back of the house, rather than over the bedroom where Avery is hiding. There’s less chance they’ll be overheard here. Marion doesn’t offer to make Erin a cup of tea. She finds herself looking at the door to the basement and quickly tears her eyes away. She pulls out a chair for Erin.
“I recognize you, of course,” Marion says in a quiet voice. “You’re Dr. Wooler’s wife, the mother of the missing girl.”
Forty-one
Marion keeps her eyes on Erin, and—she can’t help it—on the door to the basement, over Erin’s left shoulder. She is suddenly terrified that the doorknob will turn—but the door is locked. Avery might have heard her mother’s voice on the doorstep; she’d heard the police officers. Marion watches it, irrationally fearful that it might rattle and thump as Avery tries to get into the kitchen, afraid that she might call out.
“Seriously, are you okay?” Erin asks, with concern in her voice. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Actually, I don’t feel well,” Marion says, dragging her eyes away from the door behind her, focusing on Erin’s face. She tries to corral her fears. She must not let her nerves get to her. She just has to hold it together and get Erin out of here as quickly as possible. Even if Avery heard her mother’s voice at the door, she’ll stay quietly in her bedroom. She’s not going to blow everything now. Though she’ll want to know everything they talked about, afterward.
What flits through her mind next is whether Erin knows her husband has been sleeping with Nora Blanchard. She and Erin have that in common—they have both been callously rejected by the same man. He has chosen Nora Blanchard over both of them. She finds herself studying Erin’s face, her hands, drawing the inevitable comparisons. Erin has not weathered this crisis well, Marion thinks, rather pleased. It’s obviously taken a terrible toll on her.
“I won’t stay long,” Erin says. “I just want to ask you something.”
Marion tries to focus on what the other woman is saying. What can she possibly want to ask her? “What?”
“Are you the one who called in the tip about Avery getting into Ryan Blanchard’s car?”
Marion starts in surprise, feels her heart accelerate. She didn’t expect this. Erin is staring at her.
“Are you?” Erin asks again. Her voice is louder now, suspicious.
“No,” Marion says. “It wasn’t me.” She thinks she sounds convincing. She has always been a good liar, but she is off balance here, unprepared. She is too aware of Avery, hiding in the basement.
But Erin is staring at her now. “It was you, wasn’t it? You called the police about Ryan.”
Oh Christ. She watches Erin rise, the chair scraping loudly against the tile floor.
“You’re lying,” Erin accuses. “I can tell. Why are you lying?”
Erin’s voice is louder now, and Marion gets up, too, and retreats, her lower back pressed against the counter as the other woman approaches her. Erin looks like a woman possessed. Marion remembers that she attacked Ryan in his own home, because of what she’d done.
“I’m not,” Marion protests. She must handle this and get this woman out of here.
But Erin clearly doesn’t believe her. “Why? Why are you denying it?”
Marion looks back at her, trying to think. She’s always meant to come out publicly as the witness—once Avery is gone. She’ll enjoy it. She’s even looking forward to it. She speaks very quietly, “Okay, yes, it was me.”
“Why deny it?” Erin asks. “Is it true? Did you see her get into his car?” Her voice is wild now, too loud.