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This time Ryan concentrated instead of answering right away, picking a piece of nearly nonexistent lint off his dress pants. “Small talk.”
The big show didn’t impress Ginny. “You engaged in small talk about violence during your real estate lunches?”
Ryan lifted his head and stared at her. “We all have our interests.”
And now he had her attention.
Chapter Twenty-Three
SHE HAD TO BE MISSING SOMETHING. SOMETHING OBVIOUS.
Aaron had hidden a phone and those videos. Once she found those, she didn’t go hunting because she couldn’t handle finding one more thing. But now Lila was convinced another piece of evidence existed somewhere in the stupid house that would point to where Aaron waited right now. A place he could crawl away to, hole up and plan. Because if he didn’t have that special location set aside, that meant he absolutely had an accomplice. The list of possible suspects for that was too short, and the people too close to her, for peace of mind.
Part of her still believed at least one other person at the school knew about Aaron’s sick games. Teen girls weren’t exactly known for being quiet. One might view him as a conquest and brag. A teacher might have seen a glance that lasted too long or struck them the wrong way. The possibilities kept her from disclosing everything right away. The conspiracy grew in her head. Brent could be in on it. Other teachers. Maybe even some of the dads.
“Peel that shirt off nice and slow. Let your hair down... that’s good. Just how I taught you.”
“Do you like what you see?”
“I’m rock hard for you. Sometimes it happens during last period while I’m sitting there, thinking about how good you look stripped bare. How you smell on my fingers... and I can’t wait until that bell rings so I can take you somewhere.”
The stray memory punched into her chest. She could go days without thinking about the videos, but then a line or a stray image would pop into her head and push her back.
Last period. He had a seminar last period. Juniors. Sixteen, seventeen. Kids. Too damn young to be making dirty videos and having sex with him.
Inhaling, drawing in one slow breath then another, she kept the anxiety percolating inside her from growing into a dark ball of self-hatred that would double her over. She needed to think. Concentrate.
She’d searched every inch of the house while Tobias was out or asleep in her renewed belief that Aaron had a secret place to hide. This was the last stop. She reached up and tugged on the cord hanging from the ceiling. One pull and the ladder to the attic unfolded in front of her. The only access was through this removable square piece in the hallway ceiling by the bathroom. She never went up there. Aaron sometimes did, if he was looking for something from when he was a kid, which was almost never.
The last time he ventured up there that she could pinpointwas almost six months ago. But if he were going to squirrel something away, it would make sense to do it out in the open and where she rarely went. The most likely spot for that—the dingy attic.
Her sneakers thumped on the rungs as she climbed. The second she stuck her head into the dark space, a wave of heat hit her. She blinked into the darkness and choked on the still air. Another step, and she ended up on her knees on the wooden flooring, which creaked and dipped under her weight.
She aimed the thin beam of the flashlight around the cramped space. The ceiling height barely measured seven feet, adding to the suffocating feel. It took a few seconds to find the light switch. She flicked it and bathed the room in harsh yellow. A thin layer of dust covered everything. She could make out lines on the floor where it looked as if Aaron had dragged boxes or furniture from one stack to another.
An old rocking chair that had belonged to Aaron’s dad sat in the middle of the space, set off from the blankets and boxes. Aaron had told her once that his dad kept it on the front porch of their house growing up. Aaron remembered him sitting out there, rocking as he waited for dinner each night. Six o’clock sharp. Aaron’s mother was expected to have it served at that time every day, and not one minute later.
She looked at the handmade rocker now. At the broken spindle on the left side. The wood reflected the years of hard use. Long gashes here. A divot taken out of the arm there. Someone had carved a tiny circle on the left armrest, rightwhere Aaron’s dad likely rested his hand before curling his fingers over the edge. The marks inside the circle were small and hard to make out.
She picked up the flashlight and shined it straight on the carving. A bear. Not a great depiction of one, but a bear standing on its back legs with its front paws in the air. Possibly something carved to entertain the boys, even though their dad didn’t seem like the type. All irrelevant to her task now.
She turned to the boxes. Most were taped shut except for a few tops, and most of those had the wordKITCHENwritten on the side. Others had been ripped open, and random items like a lamp and a rusted screwdriver stuck out of one. Digging, she found old pamphlets for campgrounds up and down the East Coast, likely long closed. Papers that looked like old report cards for Aaron. As expected, he’d aced math.
Not one photograph anywhere.
What felt like hours later, her back ached from bending over, and the pounding in her head would not stop. If there was something here to find, she’d lost the ability to see it. Her eyes refused to focus, and a cup of coffee called to her.
She turned off the light and shimmied back down the ladder. As her foot hit the hallway floor again, she heard a noise. She spun around, flashlight raised as a weapon as a scream raced up her throat.
“Stop!”
Lila blinked at the sound of a female voice, trying to figure out what she was seeing. “What the hell?”
But she knew. Cassie. Her nosy neighbor stood in thehallway with her hands raised in panic. One held a plastic-wrapped bundle that looked like banana bread.
“It’s me.” Cassie repeated the phrase over and over.
“Get out!” Lila knew there were other things she should have and could have said, but that came out first.
