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Meredith remarried (some trucker named Chuck) at age twenty-four, then again at thirty (Benny, an auto mechanic), and her latest marriage (John, a shoe salesman) ended three years ago. Her longest marriage lasted eight years.
Next, I click to another page and am shocked to discover that Meredith has a criminal history—anextensivehistory. Over the course of her adult life, Meredith Nichols has had multiple DWIs, a few public intoxes, one indecent exposure, and one assault charge.
Assault.
I recall how she almost slapped me after barging into the house. My stomach sinks.
What if I hadn’t awoken last night when Meredith went to Nina’s bedroom? Did I avert a devious plan?
The thought makes me sick.
I close the browser and replace the laptop on the dresser. I want so badly to ask Nina about Meredith. Learn more about what appears to be one hell of a love triangle. But I don’t want to upset her, and it’s not like she can talk anyway.
“Well,” I say, “Mrs. Carrington, what would you like to do now?”
No response.
“I was thinking we could go on a walk later.”
Nothing.
“Are you cold? Would you like a blanket?”
Her finger taps a little faster. I take that as a yes.
I open the hope chest located at the foot of the bed and retrieve a soft, fuzzy blue blanket. Then I grab a pillow from the bed and stop cold.
Sitting on Nina’s nightstand is a framed photograph of her son, James.
I blink, look over my shoulder at Nina, then back to the nightstand.
The photo was not there yesterday. I am one hundred percent sure of it.
“Nina?” I cross the room. “Has this picture always been here? The picture by your bed?”
Her finger taps faster.
“Who put it there?”
Faster.
I follow Nina’s gaze outside.
Tristan is sitting on a bench facing the mountains. He appears to be studying something in his hand.
I grab the binoculars from the rolling table that holds Nina’s pills and zoom in.
In his palm is a small gold pocketknife. I recall Mariana telling me about the small gold pocketknife that Tristan gifted his son before he disappeared, and how Tristan has a matching one.
His thumb trails the edges, stroking it over and over.
And he is crying.
13
Lavinia
Iam downstairs making Nina’s lunch when Mariana walks in.
