Better left buried, p.18
Better Left Buried, page 18
Or maybe not.
I snap a picture and think of Veronica’s heels, clicking against her living room floor.
She has to be smart enough to wash her shoes if she did step in the mud at her husband’s crime scene. Still, I have the picture. It’s not proof, but it is something. On the other side of the base is the red stain where Pierce Anselm fell, but he would have had to start climbing from this side, would have had to walk through the mud here to reach the first step.
I stare more closely at the footprint of the man’s running shoe, at the footprints I have been assuming were Pierce Anselm’s. There is a clean line of him walking from the edge of the concrete toward the steps. Was he found wearing running shoes? I had imagined him perpetually in a suit.
I shrug my jacket tighter around my shoulders, staring out at the lengthening shadows. It’s nearing the evening, and there is no freaking way I’m going to be in this creepy place after dark. I haven’t learned much—the earring and the footprints are all clues that lead in different directions, footnotes in a story that remains too broad for me to grasp.
The earring haunts me as I begin my long walk back to Haeter Lake.
I don’t have answers, real answers, from Audrey, about Friday night.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want them.
I hunch my shoulders under my jacket as clouds obscure the sun and the first few drops of rain begin to fall, the earring as heavy as a boulder in my pocket.
Audrey. 5:31 p.m.
Despite the fact that it’s the dinner rush—if you could call what we see in Mickey’s Diner in Haeter Lake a rush—I find myself glancing out the window every five minutes to see if Lucy is walking down Main Street toward the cafe.
Where the hell is she?
It started to rain, slow, steady droplets about thirty minutes ago, and I expected her to dash in, hood up over her shoulders, maybe to trip over the front step and stagger in, blushing furiously when I catch her.
And I will catch her.
But she isn’t here.
And I’m beginning to worry.
I pull my phone out of my apron pocket and shoot her a text. Everything okay?
It doesn’t deliver.
If she was in town like I assumed she would be, she would have service, even if it’s only one bar.
So why hasn’t she seen my text? There are only two other places she could be—well, three, but there’s no way she would go back to the murder motel, as she calls it. The park or the mansion.
And both of them are dangerous, especially after what she did last night. Gus had told me in a tone of something akin to awe, but I had listened in growing horror. Because anyone who pisses off the Anselms the way she must have pissed them off last night pays the price.
Lucy. 5:45 p.m.
A bar of service appears on my phone and wavers as I round yet another bend in the trees. I must be approaching town by now. How many more curves do I have to round to find more trees instead of the familiar, dilapidated buildings of Haeter Lake? I must have been walking for at least a hundred years by now.
The rain is falling more heavily now, large droplets landing on my hood with a slap-slap-slap.
Maybe that’s why I don’t hear the car pull up behind me until it’s right beside me. Maybe that’s why I hardly notice that it slows until it is nearly blocking my way, until the window rolls down and a familiar voice says firmly:
“Why don’t you get in, Lucy? It looks like you need a ride.”
Langley stares at me, her face unreadable.
I climb into her car slowly, dripping onto the worn seats of her Civic. “Um,” I say. “Hi?”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “What are you doing all the way out here by yourself?”
I could ask her the same question, because as far as I know the park and the mansion are the only things on this road.
“I was…” I begin. “Um, walking?”
Yeah, I’m very bad at this.
But why is Audrey’s mom out here, and what does she want with me?
Haeter Lake is turning me into a suspicious person. Up until this week, if a friend’s mom offered me a ride because of the rain, I would have blithely hopped into the car without a second thought.
I buckle my seat belt with cold, shaking fingers.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yea,” I say. “Why…Why are you out here?”
She doesn’t answer, just puts the car into drive and takes off down the rain-slick highway faster than seems safe. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
“Where should I take you?” she asks. “Back to the motel?”
“No,” I say, way too quickly. “The diner? Please?”
Again, she doesn’t answer, and my stomach flip-flops.
Finally, Langley pulls over in front of the diner, but she doesn’t turn off the car, and the doors don’t unlock. “I hear that you’re helping your mom with the investigation.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Is that true?”
“No,” I say. “I mean, I’m not supposed to be. I mean, I maybe am paying attention but—”
Langley holds up her hand, and I fall silent. She leans across the seat so that she’s closer to me, and I shrink back. “I want you to know,” she says—and though her voice is quiet I feel she could explode on me any second—“that my daughter is not part of this. She will not be part of this. Make sure your mom knows that.” Her hand closes over my hand.
“I—What?” I’m frozen in the seat, staring back at Langley.
“I’m saying,” she continues fiercely, “that Katy does not get to come back to this town and mess with my family. Tell her for me. I have a daughter, too, and I’m prepared to fight for her.”
She puts the car into park, and I fumble on the door handle as soon as the doors unlock, launching myself out of her car so quickly I stumble to the ground, staining my knees muddy.
Langley stares at me coldly, unmoved, her eyes the same shade of blue as her scrubs. “I’m not fucking around,” she tells me, and then she swerves out into the street so fast her tires squeal on the packed gravel.
Did she just threaten me? I’m staggering with confusion, the clues and leads running through my head in circles. It’s like I’m trying to solve a hundred different mysteries at once, some decades old, some recent, all strangely personal in ways I did not expect at the beginning of this strange, surreal week.
I push the diner door open, and I must look half-feral—dripping wet, mud up to the knees, hair matted to my shoulders, eyes wide.
“What the hell happened to you?” Gus asks, wiping his hands on his apron. “Uh, are you okay? Did Audrey find you?”
My heart sinks in my chest. “Audrey?” I ask him.
His eyes narrow, and then he glances down at the phone in his hand. “Shit. She stormed out of here a while ago,” he says. “She was looking for you. She looked worried, which is rare for her. Like, too worried to give me shit about anything. You must have just missed her.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“I’m not exactly her confidant,” Gus says. He approaches, and then crosses his arms and looks at me, head tilted. “What are you two up to? Are you hooking up?”
I cough and then choke on my own cough and cough harder. “What?” I say stupidly.
“So that’s a yes,” he says, sighing. “Well, I figured as much. But why would she think you were in some kind of trouble?”
“Did she say she thought that?” I ask Gus.
He shrugs, his blond curls flopping over his forehead. “No,” he says. He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “But you’re covered in mud and you look like you’ve seen a ghost. And just a few minutes ago, Audrey ran out so fast she forgot her phone.”
Shit, shit, shit.
She doesn’t even have her phone with her?
How am I supposed to find her now?
I glance down at my own phone. A text from her had arrived at some point during the fifteen minutes I spent in Langley’s car.
Langley and Audrey. Audrey and Langley.
Both of them with as much tying them to that park as I have.
Both with a lot of unexplained time there.
I shake my head. This is all too much for me. I pat my pockets, looking for my case notebook. It’s a little damp, but the deep pockets of my dress protected it from the worst of the rain. My hand brushes the small plastic bag with the earring, and I snatch my hand from my pocket as if the touch had burned it.
“Is there anything I can do?” Gus asks.
I know he’s an Anselm, but he’s looking at me with real sympathy in his blue eyes, and he’s helped us so far. It’s not his fault he was born into a family who destroyed mine.
Tears prick my own eyes. “Uh, no,” I say. “I don’t think so. I think I need to call my mom. I can take Audrey’s phone.”
He hands it to me, and I hesitate.
I shouldn’t look at it.
I know that.
But maybe it could give me a clue about where she went.
I type in the passcode I saw her type yesterday—1218.
The phone unlocks, and I scroll through her texts, opening the chain with her mom to see if she had mentioned anything about where she would be going.
There’s nothing but a few texts from earlier in the morning, when Langley asked her about her shift at the diner, and one about being home for supper.
Audrey doesn’t have many texts, period. There’s one text with Chris, the one friend she mentioned from school. One with her mom. One with me. One with Mickey, her boss at the diner.
One with Gus, which appears to be mostly trading insults.
And one with a number that says unknown.
I shouldn’t click it.
But what if this could help me find Audrey now?
The time stamp reads Friday 9:31 p.m.
I’m so sorry, the first text reads.
Who the hell is this? Audrey had texted back.
I swear I didn’t know, Unknown had responded.
Didn’t know what? Audrey had texted. Who are you and why won’t you leave me alone?
I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.
Tell me who you are, or I’m blocking this number, Audrey wrote back.
Meet me at the park tonight, the final text reads. I’ll explain everything then. Please.
Fuck off, Audrey wrote.
But she didn’t block the number, and she didn’t delete the text.
I know she went. I saw her, at the edge of the park, eyes wide in the dark.
But I didn’t know she’d had an invitation.
I shove Audrey’s phone in my pocket.
“Everything okay?” Gus asks. He’s still there, hanging at the edge of the diner, watching me closely. “You know, I could probably drive you when I get off—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I mean, no, it’s all good. I can call my mom. Thanks, though.”
I pull out my own phone and find Katy’s number. With another backward glance at Gus, I step out of the diner, pressing my back against the wall so that I can get as much protection beneath the awning as I can. Rain drips off the edge, splattering my muddy legs.
Katy doesn’t pick up the first time I call, but the second time she answers.
“What’s up?” she asks. “Everything okay?”
“Um,” I say, and then I start to cry.
“Lucille?” Her voice hardens with worry. “Where are you? Are you at the motel? Are you okay?”
“I’m at the diner,” I manage. “Katy, I’ve got to talk to you.”
I’m probably never going to be allowed to leave the house after this, but I have to tell Katy about this. About the footprints, about the earring, about Audrey being out there somewhere by herself, about Langley’s vague threat.
Maybe not that part.
“I’m on my way,” she says.
And then, tires screeching as she pulls up only five minutes later. “I was at the station,” she says. “Cliff and I are still putting together a picture of what happened Friday. But—anyway, are you okay? Jesus. You’re covered in mud.”
“Katy,” I say. “I saw some things. About the case.”
She raises an eyebrow, her eyes flashing dangerously. “The case I told you to stay far, far away from?” she asks.
“Yep,” I tell her. “That one. I. Uh. I went to the amusement park.”
She slams her hand down on the hood of the Jeep in frustration, ignoring the rain that is already drenching her perfect hair. “Are you serious? You went to the crime scene after I told you to stay away from this case?”
“Katy,” I say. “I know you’re mad. I know. I’m sorry.”
“You said that when you were caught in Veronica Anselm’s closet,” Mom snaps. “And yet here you are, telling me you went to the fucking amusement park afterward.”
“But I have something important,” I tell her.
She hesitates, her eyes still flashing. “What is it?”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the bag with the earring. “I found this,” I say. “A few feet away from the bloodstain. Where Pierce fell.”
Katy snatches the bag out of my hand, her eyes widening. She has that look in her eyes, the sharp, bright thing that’s almost joy. She gets like this when she’s close to uncovering answers about a case. She forgets everything else, even how mad she is at me.
Now Katy lets out a breath, slow and deep. “Do you have pictures?” she asks. “Of this on location?”
I nod and hold up my phone.
“Text them to me,” she says.
I do, and then I look up at her. “Do you know who it belongs to?” I ask her.
She stares down at the picture. “That’s not possible,” she says. “I did a thorough sweep with Cliff when we arrived. I did another one alone afterward, just…just in case. And there was nothing there. So whoever dropped this was out there after we were. Still.” She hesitates.
“It could still be someone who was involved, though, right?” I press. “Mom, we have to—”
“No.” She talks over me, her eyes far away. “Honey, it won’t be admissible as evidence if anyone finds out that you found it.” She hesitates, and she won’t quite meet my eyes.
“What are you asking me to do, Katy?” I ask her quietly.
“Just don’t mention it to anyone,” she says finally. “I’m not saying I’m going to claim that I found it at the park during my search this morning. But if we interview a suspect who doesn’t know that the evidence is inadmissible, we might be able to use the jewelry as leverage to get a confession.”
“Which suspect?”
Katy opens her mouth, and for a moment I think that she’s about to tell me, but then she clamps her mouth shut, her teeth clicking. “No,” she says. “All right, that’s enough. We’ll grab dinner and then I’m taking you back to the motel. You can say goodbye to your friend in—”
“She’s not here,” I say. “Katy, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I found this at the park, but when I came back to the diner Audrey was gone. She left in a hurry—Gus said she was going to look for me—and she left her phone behind. We should tell her mom. We should…”
I pause. I don’t particularly want to see Langley again after the strange, threatening car ride.
“I’ll call Langley,” Katy says. She pulls out her phone and steps under the awning to join me. The phone doesn’t even ring once, just goes straight to voicemail. Either Langley has her phone off, or she was just quick to deny Katy’s call.
I’d put money on the second option, especially after what Langley said to me earlier today.
My daughter is not part of this. Make sure your mom knows that.
Or maybe Langley is back at work. She was wearing her scrubs, after all.
“Mom, can we please go look for Audrey?” I ask. “Please? She might have gone looking for me at the park. I don’t want her to be out there at night, especially because…it’s hard for her. You know. That’s where her dad died. She would only have gone out there to look for me. She hates being there.”
Katy looks at me strangely. “Does she?” she asks quietly. “All right. Let’s go look for her. Get in. But then we’re going back to the motel and you’re staying put all night, you understand me?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
But when she turns and gets into the Jeep, I can’t help but wonder if I really want Katy to see what we’ll find at the amusement park.
Meet me at the park tonight, the text had told Audrey.
And she had.
Lucy still hasn’t replied.
Maybe she’s just focused on her investigation. Maybe she’s so deep into her discoveries that she just isn’t paying attention.
But maybe she’s too deep.
Maybe she went so far that she found something she shouldn’t. Maybe she uncovered the wrong thing, and the wrong person knows about it. Maybe she was all alone out there, all by herself in that stupid adorable pink dress with the embroidered daisies.
So I toss my apron at Gus, who sighs with frustration but doesn’t argue with me.
“It’s Lucy,” I say. “I have to go.”
“Is she okay?” he asks, and if there’s mild concern there, I don’t want to hear it.
Everyone likes Lucy, okay? Even stone-cold assholes like August Anselm. He doesn’t get any special recognition for that.
“She’s fine,” I say. “I just have to…have to go pick her up.”
“Where is she?” he asks. “Should we call her mom?”
“She’s at the park,” I blurt, and his eyes widen. “She got turned around. Went for a walk from the motel.” I tack the lies on after, hoping for the best.
“We could still call her mom?” Gus says it like a question. He’s looking at me with those sad puppy-dog eyes, and it makes me want to kick him in the shins.
“Why are you always trying to call an adult to come fix a problem?” I ask irritably. “I told you, it’s fine, I’m just going to go get her.”
But it’s there in his eyes all the same, fear flickering like a dull streetlight in the dead of night. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Go get Lucy.”
