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Jamie shot him a withering look. “Great, we know you’re popular, Rob. But Skyler thinks her sister might have left with someone, and we have to figure out who. Can you call some of the people who—”
“But first,” I interrupted. “Since we have no evidence of her ever leaving, I think we need to search the house. It’s possible she, like, passed out somewhere drunk and has been there all this time, too sick to even move.”
I was trying to stay positive, thinking “too sick to move” instead of anything worse. If my mind went other places, I wouldn’t be able to keep going. But even as I said it, I knew a hangover going into the second day was unlikely. I ran my gaze over the walls of the huge hall, as if clues awaited me, and when I glanced back at Jamie and Rob, I saw they were wide-eyed with alarm. This might all blow up in their faces.
“You think she’shere?” Rob exclaimed. “We’d definitely know if she were. The house is big, but there aren’t a ton of rooms.”
Oh, come on, your parents have a fucking mansion, I thought, but then I remembered from my wanderings Friday night that, although the rooms were big, there wasn’t actually an endless number of them. Still, there were plenty of places to tuck yourself away.
“We just have to look,” I insisted. “Every single room.”
Because it was seeming more and more possible that she’d never left the premises.Unless someone had forced her into a car against her will, I thought, and shuddered.
“Okay,” Jamie said. “I’ve been through most of this floor cleaning, but do you want to see for yourself?”
I told her I did but took a minute to text my stepfather to let him know I was in Dover and about to search the house.
The three of us began a circular loop—moving through the living room, library, and dining room, all of which appeared clean and empty. I know it probably looked absurd to Jamie and Rob, but I peeked behind curtains and couches, too.
The kitchen was next, and it was still a major pigsty. In the center of the space sat a jumbo-sized gray trash can overflowing with garbage, and the granite countertops were littered with red plastic party cups, empty bottles, and wet tortilla chips. Despite the mess, it was easy to see Chloe hadn’t passed out in one of the corners, somehow unnoticed until now. The adjoining breakfast/family room was also in need of a cleaning but didn’t harbor any sign of Chloe.
“There’s one more place to check downstairs,” Jamie said. “The morning room.”
We circled back to the living room, and then traveled down a short passageway to a small, pretty space whose two large windows overlooked the backyard. It was so removed from the rest of the house, I suspected that no one from the party had even ventured in here—I certainly hadn’t.
As the three of us turned in unison to leave, something outside caught my eye.
“Wait,” I called out. Past the border garden that lay just beyond the window, I could see the edge of the flagstone patio and one end of the swimming pool.
A terrifying image exploded in my mind. What if Chloe had gone out to the pool Friday night, had fallen in when no one was looking, and been too drunk to save herself?
19
Now
I’D BEEN STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF MY LIVING ROOM WHEN Icalled Caroline Whaley, so anxious I couldn’t sit down, but now I take a couple of steps backward and lower myself onto the couch.
“I can handle it,” I say. “I-I just need to know.”
“The one thing I insist is that you never reveal where this information came from,” she says, her tone authoritative. It’s not hard for me to imagine her running her own successful company. “Do I have your word?”
“Yes, you have my word.”
She clears her throat. “Shortly before his diagnosis, Chris learned that Jane was having an affair with a very close friend of his. He confronted her, and she apparently called it off, but he felt horribly betrayed—not just by her infidelity but the fact that she’d chosen one of his oldest friends. Transferring the trust to you, I believe, was his way of delivering the reproach he felt his wife deserved.”
Wow, pretty vindictive, especially for a man who hadn’t seemed to think twice about hooking up with a grad student in Boston.
“If he was that angry, why did he stay married to her?” I ask.
“It’s a good question. At first he did plan to divorce Jane, but once he received his death sentence, he changed his mind. His kids were devastated about the prospect of losing him, and he didn’t want to make things any worse for them, especially during their last year of college. As far as Jane knew, he was trying to patch things up in their marriage, but that was never the case.”
“So giving me the trust was his way of telling her that she hadn’t been forgiven after all, huh?”
“Exactly. I know this makes Chris seem very bitter and vengeful, but consider what it would be like to live in that kind of marriage during the last months of your life.”
I feel a sudden prick of sadness. What a dark, ugly family drama I’ve found myself swept up in. “I should let you go,” I say. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“I hope it wasn’t too upsetting for you. It doesn’t change the fact that you must have meant something to Chris. But other motives were driving his decision.”
