“Fine. I can concede in the possibility.”
“Then can’t you also concede in everything else that would come with God?”
“Vampires and haunted dolls?”
“A supernatural world. One we can’t see. One thattranscendslogic.”
He taps his finger against the table, as though considering my words. Judging by his expression, I’m pretty sure he thinks they’re ridiculous. “What’s your theory, then?” he finally asks.
“About the painting?”
“About my family.”
NowI’mcaught off guard.
We stare at one another for a drawn out moment—like a game of chicken. I hold his gaze, refusing to look away first. “You want to know whatIthink happened to your family?”
He inclines his head in a gesture of concession, as if to say,Have at it.
I don’t know where to begin. The Vandenberg cold case is the most fascinating cold case I’ve ever encountered. A prominent, wealthy family of four vanishes without a trace. One minute, they’re sitting down for dinner. The next, they’re gone, food still on their plates. Jude wants to hear my theory, but I don’t have a theory. Just a collection of intriguing facts. I point some of them out, starting with John, the shady patriarch.
“He was known around town for his volatile personality. According to inside sources, he was pretty controlling, especially when it came to his children. And there were some rumors of embezzlement and blackmail.”
Jude’s eyes narrow, as though contemplatingthis new-to-him information. “Enough to get his family killed?”
“There was never any physical proof that anyonewaskilled. No blood. No bodies. No smoking gun. The only lead police had to follow came from John’s brother, Luke.”
“My grandfather,” Jude mutters. “What was the lead?”
“He told authorities to look into a cousin named Thomas, Rueben, or Frank.” I watch him process the accusation, taking in the slow furrow of his brow. “Do you know them?”
He shakes his head, but then he says, “Thomas is Rafe’s dad.”
The back of my neck prickles.
“I’ve never met him, but after my grandfather died, Rafe offered condolences on his father’s behalf. He said his name was Thomas.”
“Do you know anything about Reuben or Frank?”
He shakes his head again.
I gaze at the archives—there are so many—and I wonder what secrets they hold, what stories they tell. “It’s a strange tip, isn’t it?”
“Accusing a cousin?”
“The wording.” I look at Jude. “He said to look intoacousin, but then he gave three names.”
“You don’t think it was a typo?”
“Probably.” And yet, the dissonance has always nagged at me. Like maybe there’s something there and we just haven’t put it together yet.
“Did anything come of it?” Jude asks.
“Not that I know of. There was nothing more about it in the investigation, anyway. At least not in the parts Twig and I had access to. There was some suspicious stuff about the teenage daughter though.”
“Suspicious how?”
“She got into a fair amount of trouble. Once, she was arrested for indecent exposure.” My face flushes, which is dumb. It’s not likeIwas the one caught swimming naked in haunted waters. “She went skinny dipping in the quarry.”
