“Awake.”
“I mean, did he ask about me? Can I go see him? When can I see him?”
Juniper paused in the blue light of the dashboard and regarded Willa. She looked much younger than her thirteen years in the pale glow, her lips parted in expectation and the forward slant of her shoulders pitched with hope. She was so pretty Juniper couldn’t speak for a moment.
“Soon,” she forced herself to say. “You’ll get to see Jonathan very soon. He misses you.” Whether it was true or not didn’t matter right now.
As Juniper navigated the dark streets toward the bungalow, she felt drunk with the bitter elixir of all she had missed. She wanted to stop in the driveway and tell Willa everything there was to know. About who her father was and how they had once been so in love. About what had happened the night that everything changed, and the role that her mother had played in it.
But the game wasn’t over yet, and as much as she wanted to leave the past behind and move on, seeing Jonathan with his eyes vacant and his body dependent on machines only underlined the fact that nothing had changed. Not yet. Jonathan was still the most likely suspect; Willa, the Butcher’s Girl. Juniper bore the weight of her flight and her exile, the abandonment of her daughter, who was nobody’s baby—not really—because teenage June didn’t have the courage to tell the truth back then. Did she now? Juniper snuck a sideways glance at Willa as she drove down the dark streets toward home. The girl was nibbling on the tip of one fingernail, brow furrowed as she studied the windshield. She looked small and uncertain and lonely.
I do, Juniper thought. I’m brave enough.
“Willa, I’m so sorry, but there’s someone I need to talk to.”
“Is it about Jonathan?”
“Yes.” Juniper pulled into the driveway of the bungalow and called Cora. Willa tried to insist that she’d be okay alone for a while, that this was Jericho after all, but that was exactly what Juniper was afraid of.
A few minutes later, Cora pulled up in front of the house and met Willa in the driveway. They hugged like old friends, and Cora waved over Willa’s shoulder and gave Juniper a knowing wink.
Juniper watched until Cora and Willa disappeared inside the house and had enough time to turn on the lights and lock the doors. Willa swept the curtains shut and then she was finally blocked from view.
There was so much Sullivan in the girl. Juniper could see it now. The lightheartedness, the innate desire to laugh and have fun. Willa was fearless and bold, with just a hint of her mother’s learned watchfulness. She was no dummy, that was for sure. And though there were things about her daughter that were wholly unknown and even a little scary, Juniper felt feverish with the desire to know her. To make up for all the lost years between them.
But first: this.
The number Cora had given her was now saved in her phone. She thumbed through her contacts until India Abbot was highlighted, then punched the call icon.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “It’s Juniper Baker. From the library?” It wasn’t a question, but she couldn’t stop her voice from tipping up at the end.
“Juniper! Hey! Cora said you might call. What’s up?”
What’s up? Juniper didn’t know if she was more irritated by the fact that Cora had warned India about her or that India made it sound like a social call. They weren’t buddies. Still, Juniper decided to push on. “I was hoping I could talk to you about the Murphy murders. Cora says you’re kind of a true crime buff and that you might have some insight into the case.” What she didn’t say was: I want to know what you know. I want to know if it’s you who’s hell-bent on proving that Jonathan did it.
“Oh my gosh. This is like a dream come true. I mean, I’ve wanted to talk to you about Calvin and Elizabeth Murphy for years. Years. I never imagined I’d get the chance. Can you come over? Like, now? My husband is at a Beer and Hymns night at the Admiral and my kids are all in bed. I’ve just popped the cork on a bottle of pinot and it’s not going to drink itself!”
“Sure,” Juniper said, putting Barry’s car in reverse. “Now works great.”
* * *
India lived in a freshly constructed house at the end of an unpaved road that was part of a new subdivision in Jericho. Juniper hadn’t realized that new developments were going up, or that there was a market for the type of upscale two-story Craftsman that India called home. The lot beside her modern-farmhouse-styled mini-mansion was under construction, and across the street were two more lots with SOLD signs staked in the dirt. As Juniper turned off gravel onto the paved driveway, India came to stand on her bright, homey porch.