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“Move on,” she said and opened the Explorer’s door, the cool of the evening fresh against her face. She used to love the darkness when twilight bled into night, but that was before her sleep was interrupted by night terrors.
As she was walking into the house, her phone went off and she recognized her father’s number on the screen.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, letting herself inside the back door only to hear a rapid-fire click of toenails as Reno scrambled down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Hi.” He spoke in his usual low tone as she took the time to pat Reno’s head, then let him outside.
“I didn’t hear that,” she admitted as she watched the dog streak into the backyard. “Just got home. Reunion meeting. Had to let Reno out.” She flipped on the back porch switch, illuminating part of the yard while the rest remained in shadow. She dropped her bag on a kitchen chair.
“I was calling to say I’m sorry to hear about your friend. Violet.”
She imagined him in his house seated in his recliner facing the flat-screen that dominated one wall. He’d put on weight since he’d retired and had quit shaving every day. More than that, he seemed to have lost his drive, his will to get up every morning and face the day. With the divorce and retirement, he seemed to have lost direction. “Thanks. It’s . . . it’s sad. Beyond sad. Weird, y’know, and there I was with a bunch of kids from the class—well, I guess we’re not kids now—and we all talked about Violet. No one can believe it.”
“I know. It doesn’t make any sense, but then what do I know?” He hesitated and she knew he hated not being a part of the investigation, no longer being a cop. “They’re not saying much on the news about what happened.” And then she heard it—that click of a beer tab being pulled. “Just that it looks like foul play was involved, a homicide.”
“You know how the police work. How they don’t say everything.”
“They’ve already asked the public to come forward.” A pause, and she imagined him taking a long swallow from his can. Then, “You’d think that someone might know something. Hell, everyone and his dog has a phone with a camera in it. And with all the security cams on buildings or for home protection and traffic cams, someone probably caught an image.”
“Edgewater isn’t Chicago, Dad, or even Portland. Lots of people around here don’t even lock their doors.”
“Damned fools.”
“They think they can protect themselves.”
“As I said, damned fools.” She slid her gaze to the backyard, watched the dog sniffing the bushes, trotting in and out of the light cast from the porch lamp. “So . . . how’re ya holding up?” he asked. “Tough day.”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” Well, that was a little bit of a stretch, but no reason to worry her father. He had enough and this day was hard on him, too, having been the first officer on the scene to find that his daughter had shot her half brother. She still remembered him whispering into her hair, “We’ll get through this, honey, don’t you worry,” as he’d helped her into the back of the police cruiser. Although he’d been shell-shocked, he had taken charge. But things had never been the same. Never.
How could they be?
“Well, I just called to say I was thinkin’ about you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“See ya later.” And he clicked off, leaving her standing in the middle of her kitchen, staring out the window, phone in hand. The night of Luke’s death had been the beginning of the end for so many things, including her parents’ marriage.
So you not only killed your brother, you ruined your parents’ marriage.
“Stop!” she said aloud.
Besides, that wasn’t quite right. Rachel had sensed there was trouble between her mother and father before that night, an unnamed tension that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But it had been present in the sharp glances, long silences, and tight lips.
Looking into the darkened backyard, she watched the shadow of the dog as he sniffed around the fence, ferns, and firs before he came barreling back to the porch and whined to be let in.
“About time.” She opened the door and he shot inside.
She poured herself a glass of wine and savored the first sip of the merlot. What was it about her? She wouldn’t drink with friends but once she was alone . . . but then were her classmates really friends? Not for twenty years.
She wondered about Harper and Xander Vale. How far would they have gone had she not interrupted them? Surely they’d have put on the stops with the others in the room. But Dylan and Lucas had been wrapped up in their game . . . and that brought her to her son. Trouble at school. Then there was the Xanax—missing tablets or not? Was that the real reason Dylan had been in the altercation? Did it have to do with drugs? She’d been certain she’d smelled marijuana.
“Don’t do this,” she said aloud and took a gulp from her glass. The kids were with Cade now. Their father. She hoped to hell that Cade would talk to Harper and get through to her.
Yeah, right.
What were the chances of that?
And as for Dylan?
