“Well played.” I tip my head to Carol. “I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes.”
Carol gives a satisfied nod and then gets to the night of the hurricane. As she hits play, we all lean in, watching with such intensity I’m not sure any of us takes a breath.
The video rolls at double speed to make quick work of scanning for cars. I get home, Simon arrives, and then Ardell. It happens in staggered intervals.
Around 9:40p.m., Ardell’s car leaves the neighborhood. But as the time stamps elapse, no one else comes into or out of the street—neither by car nor on foot. We run the tape up to 2:00a.m. and then past it. There’s rain and wind and a few branches hitting the street as the storm gains momentum, and then, the storm abates when the sun starts to rise. I know we’ve reached the end of any possible evidence when I see the first police cruisers racing down the street in the morning, coming to answer my 911 call.
Ardell definitely left. And he definitely didn’t come back. Fuck.
“No,” I say out loud, not wanting to believe it. “But it has to have been Ardell.”
Nora puts a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever happened to Simon, Ardell wasn’t there.”
Then, something dawns on me. “Carol, can you go back to the video of Polly and me?”
Carol obliges with smug satisfaction, like she’ll never tire of showing me the footage that proves we TPed her house.
“A little after, though,” I direct once she’s had her fun.
We watch as Tippy’s SUV rounds the corner onto Isle of Sicily Road and into her driveway. We can see Polly and me hiding in the bushes.
“Jesus, Carol. Is this 4K?” I ask. Tippy appears on the screen, tumbling out of her car. “Can you zoom in on who Tippy’s with?”
“What?” Nora asks, as I wait for Tippy’s mystery man to come into sharper view. And then, when we all see it, there’s a collective gasp.
“Holy shit!” Carol says, but I’m already moving.
“I have to go. Now. Call the police.” I’m out the door with Nora at my heels, but I shout back a thank-you to Carol as we go, Ms. Dowling’s warning about the things people get up to ringing between my ears like a siren’s blare.
I bark at Nora to call the police and wait for me at my house, then I take off. Unable to shed the collection of Gemma evidence I’ve been carrying, I throw my purse over my shoulder, and the jar of tees smacks at my side with every step.
Fuck. I hate running.
But I can’t handle being in a car. I need to get where I’m going.Now.
Chapter 38
I must set some kind of record cutting down the street, because in what feels like seconds, I’m pounding on Tippy’s front door.
“Este.” She’s surprised to see me, leaning forward to look past me, like maybe I’ve brought a police escort, and then back to my face. “I heard about Beau. Are you okay?”
“Tippy.” I push my way into the house, my thoughts tripping over each other. “I need to talk to you about Gemma.”
Tippy’s features turn cold. “What about her?”
“That night I saw you? Before the Lemon & Fig party? I said I didn’t want to know your secret, but I think I kind of have to know now.”
She walks toward the living room, making herself busy with the throw pillows on her sofa, fluffing them up and then karate-chopping them down the center. “I don’t know what that means, Este.”
“I saw you,” I press, wanting her to admit it. Wanting her to finally cop to what she’s been hiding. “Gemma was my friend, Tippy,” I plead.
“She was my friend, too,” she says innocently.
Fine. If you’re going to be a coward about it.
“Tippy, I saw you with her. I know you were together the night before she died.”
Tippy’s eyes narrow.
