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“Carly, it’s me. Callum MacRae.”
I cleared my throat. “Um.”
“I’m sorry. Were you asleep? It’s only six thirty.”
I glanced at the dark windows. Night came early this time of year. “I’m fine,” I said. “I work nights. What’s up?”
“I got some news,” he said. His low, pleasant voice was excited. “They found a body in an old barn just outside of town. It was just this morning. And I know you’re looking for your aunt, so I checked it out for you.”
I scrubbed a hand under my glasses, rubbing my eye. “It isn’t her,” I said. “I already asked. It’s a man.”
There was a beat of silence. “Oh, okay.” He laughed. “You’re good. I called some of my contacts, and the word from the Fell PD is that they have an identity and a cause of death.”
“Already?” We’d found the body just this morning.
“Well, it isn’t one hundred percent yet. They won’t announce it until they know for sure. But yes, they have preliminary findings already. Why don’t you come meet me?”
“Meet you where?”
“There’s a coffee shop just down the street from the central library. It’s called Finelli’s. It should be open for another hour or two. Come down and I’ll tell you what I know.”
I looked around the darkened apartment. Where was Heather? She’d gone to bed when we got home; I wondered if she was still asleep. Nick had said he was going back to the Sun Down to try to sleep, too.
“Carly?” Callum said.
“Yes,” I said, getting my thoughts on track. “Um, sure. Yes, I’ll meet you.”
“Great. Twenty minutes. I’ll see you then.”
I hung up and stood, stretching my aching neck. “Heather?”
There was no answer. I turned on a lamp and saw a note on the kitchen table.
Gone to see the rents. I need to retreat for a while. Don’t worry, I took my meds. I don’t really know when I’ll be back. But I left you this present, which I got from the depths of the Internet. Don’t ask questions. Here you go.
In my half-asleep state, it took me a minute to translate that Heather had gone to her parents’. I picked up the sheet of paper she’d left with the note. It was a printout of an old scan. A list of numbers.
I pulled out a kitchen chair and turned on the light, studying the page. I was looking at a phone record, I realized. Just like Viv’s roommate Jenny had said. The cops would get a big old printout.
Heather had circled the name at the top of the report: Sun Down Motel. And the date: November 1 to November 30, 1982.
I scanned the numbers. There weren’t many; the Sun Down didn’t make or receive a lot of phone calls in 1982, a situation that hadn’t changed in thirty-five years. Some of the calls were marked as incoming, others as outgoing. Near the bottom of the list were the calls made on November 29 and the early hours of November 30.
Just after one a.m. on November 30 was an incoming call. The record didn’t show which room it was routed to, if any. Heather had circled the number the call came from and written a question mark next to it. That meant she hadn’t been able to identify the number.
At 1:54 a.m. was an outgoing call. Again, there was no record of whether it came from the motel office or one of the rooms. Heather had circled this number, too, but next to it she wrote Fell Police Department.
There were no other calls that night.
I stared at the numbers for a minute. Someone had called in to the motel just after one. Maybe that was a coincidence, a fluke, or a wrong number. Maybe not.
But just before two, someone at the Sun Down had called the police.
Was it Vivian? Simon Hess? Someone else?
I put the note down.
My aunt Vivian killed Simon Hess.
She must have. There was no other explanation. Or was there? I didn’t really know what had happened that night in 1982. But someone—a woman—had warned Tracy Waters’s parents about Hess. And Tracy had been killed, her body found the same day Viv disappeared.
Had Hess killed Viv, then been killed by someone else?
Callum’s information would answer some of my questions. An ID on the body in the trunk in the barn and a cause of death, even a preliminary one, would put some of the pieces together. I went into the bathroom and cleaned up, then changed into clean clothes. I had a text on my phone from my brother, Graham, but I ignored it. My old life seemed so far away.
I texted Heather quickly so she wouldn’t worry. Callum has info from the police. Going to meet him. As I hit Send, the phone rang in my hand. I didn’t recognize the number.
I bit my lip for a second, undecided. Then I answered. “Hello?”
“You found him.” The voice on the other end was female, older than me, and familiar.
“Marnie?” I said.
Marnie sighed. “You’re a smart girl. We hid him good, and he stayed gone for a long time. But it looks like you dug him up after all these years.”
I shook my head. “You lied to us. But you took a photo of the barn where you left him.”
A pause. “Yes, I suppose I did.”
“Why did you take the picture?”
“I wanted to be able to find the place again. I don’t think I ever believed he’d stay buried forever. We thought maybe we’d have to go back and move him, but we lucked out. For a while, anyway. Now is as good a time as any for all of it to come out. It was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.”
“Who killed him?” I asked. “Was it you? Was it Viv?”
“It’s a complicated story.”
“Not really. Someone put Simon Hess in a trunk and left him in a barn. Was it you? Or her?”
“You didn’t find the notebook, did you?”
I stood straighter, my skin tingling. “Notebook?”
“It was left for you,” Marnie said. “You’re missing so much of the story. It’s why you’re confused. Read the notebook and you’ll understand.”
My mind raced. It was left for you. What did that mean? “Where is the notebook?” I asked Marnie.
“Tell me,” Marnie said. “Did you ever try to get candy out of the candy machine?”
I froze, remembering the broken candy machine. Nick saying, I can’t believe this even works.
“Read the notebook,” Marnie said again, “then meet me at Watson’s Diner.”
