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“You live in this world, you collide with others. That’s the way it is. We collide and sometimes someone gets hurt. They just wanted to steal a silly pair of boxers. It went wrong. For a short time, I hated them. But when you think about it, what good does that do? It takes so much to hold on to hate—you lose your grip on what’s important, you know?”
Wendy felt tears push into her eyes now. She picked up the tea and sipped it. The peppermint felt good sliding down her throat. Let the hate go. She couldn’t reply to that.
“Maybe they hurt someone else that night,” Wendy said.
“I doubt it.”
“Or maybe someone else wants revenge for you.”
“My mother is dead,” Christa said. “Marc is happily married to another woman. There is no one else.”
Dead end. “What did Dan tell you when he first came?”
She smiled. “That’s between us.”
“There has to be a reason why they’re all being ruined.”
“Is that the main reason why you’re here, Wendy? To help them get their lives back?”
Wendy said nothing.
“Or,” Christa continued, “are you here because you’re worried that you inadvertently set up an innocent man?”
“Both, I guess.”
“You’re hoping for absolution?”
“I’m hoping for answers.”
“Do you want my take on it?” Christa asked.
“Sure.”
“I got to know Dan pretty well.”
“Sounds like it.”
“We talked about everything at this table. He told me about his work, about meeting his first wife, Jenna, about how it was his fault the marriage didn’t work, about how they remained close, about his loneliness. It was something we both shared.”
Wendy waited. Christa adjusted her sunglasses. For a moment Wendy thought that she was going to take them off, but she didn’t. She adjusted them and it seemed as though she was trying somehow to look Wendy in the eye.
“I don’t think Dan Mercer was a pedophile. And I don’t think he killed anyone. So, yes, Wendy, I think you set up an innocent man.”
CHAPTER 33
WENDY BLINKED AS SHE STEPPED OUT of the darkness of that kitchen and onto the lawn of the dean’s house. She watched the students in the sunshine. They walked past this house every day, probably having no idea how thin the line was between them and the scarred woman in that house. Wendy stood there for another moment. She tilted her face up to the sun. She kept her eyes open, let them water from the rays. It felt damn good.
Christa Stockwell had forgiven those who hurt her.
She had made it sound so easy. Wendy pushed away the larger philosophical underpinnings—the obvious link to her own situation with Ariana Nasbro—to concentrate on the matter at hand: If the person most wronged had forgiven and moved on, who hadn’t?
She checked her cell phone. More messages from reporters. She ignored them. There was a hang-up from Pops. She called him back. Pops answered on the first ring. “A bunch of reporters keep stopping by,” he said.
“I know.”
“Now you know why I’m against gun control.”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Wendy laughed.
“So what do they want?” he asked.
“Someone is spreading bad rumors about me.”
“Like?”
“Like I’m sleeping with my boss. Stuff like that.”
“And reporters give a crap about that stuff?”
“Apparently.”
“Any of them true?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Could you do me a favor?”
“Rhetorical question,” Pops said.
“I’m in a pretty bad mess here. Some people may be after me.”
“And I’m heavily armed.”
“No need for that,” she said, hoping it wasn’t true. “But I want you to take Charlie somewhere for the next couple of days.”
“You think he’s in danger?”
“I don’t know. Either way these rumors will start rippling through town. The kids in school may give him a hard time.”
“So what? Charlie can take a little razzing. He’s a strong kid.”
“I don’t want him to be strong right now.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll take care of it. We’ll stay at a motel, okay?”
“Someplace decent, Pops. Nothing with hourly rates or mirrored ceilings.”
“Got it, no worries. If you need my help—”
“Goes without saying,” Wendy said.
“Okay, take care. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
When they hung up, she called Vic again. Still no answer. Bastard was starting to piss her off. So where to now? Well, now she knew the secret of the Princeton Five, but she still didn’t have a clue why it had come back after twenty years. There was, of course, one person to ask.
Phil.
She tried his phone again. Waste of time. So she drove straight to his house. Sherry answered the door. “He’s not here.”
“Did you know?” Wendy asked.
Sherry said nothing.
“About Princeton. Did you know what happened there?”
“Not for a long time.”
Wendy was going to ask a follow-up, but she stopped herself. It didn’t matter when or what Sherry knew. She needed to talk to Phil. “Where is he?”
“With the Fathers Club.”
“Don’t warn him I’m coming, okay?” Carrot and stick time again. Well, stick time anyway. “If you do, it will just mean I’ll have to come back to your house. And the next time I’ll be angry. I will bring cameras and other reporters and make enough noise to attract your neighbors and even your kids. Do you get my meaning?”
“You’re not exactly being obtuse,” Sherry said.
Wendy didn’t relish threatening this woman, but enough with the lies and getting jerked around.
“Don’t worry,” Sherry said. “I won’t call him.”
Wendy turned to leave.
“One thing,” Sherry said.
“What?”
“He’s fragile. Be careful, okay?”
Wendy wanted to add something about Christa Stockwell, how fragile her flesh had been, but it wasn’t her place. She drove over to the Starbucks and pulled into a spot that required “Quarters Only” for the meter. She didn’t have any. Too bad. Again she’d live life on the edge.
