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Josie took out her credentials and turned them toward Brooke.
“The police?” she said. “Why are you here?”
“Are you Brooke Sullivan?” Josie asked.
She scratched at her temple, her wrist jerking in a repetitive movement. Instead of answering, she turned away and moved deeper into the house. Josie put her hand on the grip of her gun and followed Brooke inside. The house didn’t have much in the way of furniture. In the living room, an old, sagging blue couch sat in front of an entertainment center. It held a small television that was turned off. There were no photos or even wall art anywhere in the room. The coffee table, instead of being in front of the couch, had been pushed across the room, up against a bare wall. Two lamps stood behind the couch, casting circles of light over its worn fabric. Josie followed Brooke.
In the kitchen doorway, she froze. Josie caught up to her and, peering over her shoulder, saw all the Post-it notes that had been stuck to almost every surface in the room. On the fridge, one read:Close the door. The kitchen faucet had two Post-its on the wall behind it, indicating which was hot and which was cold. The toaster and coffeemaker were labeled. All the cabinets had notes taped to them with a list of their contents. Brooke stopped walking when she came to an island countertop.
“Mrs. Sullivan,” Josie said. “Is there anyone here with you?”
Brooke turned back to Josie, smiling uncertainly. “I stay here alone because I have to. He used to come sometimes but now he is never here. Unless I’m not remembering.” Her chin dipped to her chest. When she lifted it again to meet Josie’s gaze, her brow furrowed. “Who are you?”
Josie stepped forward and offered her credentials again. Brooke stared at Josie’s ID but Josie got the distinct impression that she wasn’t seeing it at all. “Brooke,” Josie said. “Do you live here alone?”
“I have to,” she said. “He said I have to live alone because of what I did.”
“What did you do?”
Brooke pulled a stool out from under the countertop and sat on it. She spent several seconds balancing herself just right on the top of it before noticing Josie again. “Did you say you’re with the police?”
“Yes,” Josie said. “I wanted to ask you some questions.”
“About the accident?”
“No,” Josie said. “About Beau Collins. Do you remember him?”
Something passed over her face, a shadow, but she shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“Are you married?”
“I’m not sure. Wait. Yes, I think I am, except he doesn’t come back as much now. Maybe I’m not.”
Distress gnawed at Josie’s insides. What was this woman doing out here in the middle of nowhere living by herself when she couldn’t even remember if she was married or not? Josie touched a nearby Post-it that saidEat at this table. “Who puts these up for you?”
“They’re so I remember not to burn the house down,” Brooke explained.
“Whose house is this?” asked Josie.
“It’s mine. It’s always been mine. That’s why he left instead of me. He said I could stay here because I got a…I got…a settlement! That’s it!” She clapped her hands together triumphantly. “I remembered!”
“That’s great,” Josie said. “Do you know what a settlement is?”
Brooke frowned. Several seconds passed. “No. I don’t. I only know he waited years and years for it so he would have enough to leave me here finally and go live…in town? I think that’s what he said. I have a lot of trouble remembering since the accident. I’m sorry.”
She had most likely received an insurance payout after her accident although, being the only driver involved, Josie wasn’t sure how she had managed to get a settlement unless her attorney had been able to prove negligence on the part of the township in terms of de-icing the bridge, or some sort of defect in the bridge itself that had not been cured. But for Josie’s purposes, it didn’t matter. She asked, “Who takes care of you, Brooke?”
“I do everything now,” Brooke said proudly. “I get dressed myself and take a shower and I can even make some kinds of food now.”
Sadness stabbed at Josie’s heart. “Right, but who comes to this house and brings you food? Makes sure you’re okay?”
“He does,” Brooke said simply.
Josie swallowed down her frustration, wondering if Brooke even remembered Raffy’s name. “Who is he?”
Brooke said, “My…I’m so sorry. I can see him in my mind. I know his face. I just can’t—” She squinted as if light was being shone directly into her eyes.
Josie took her phone out to pull up a photo of Raffy but realized she didn’t have a photo of him. He hadn’t been a suspect up to this point in the investigation.
