Chapter 16

The drive to Astoria (in Bobby’s SUV) was a blur of darkness, wind-stirred trees, and the oil-paint texture of the ag fields. I tried to keep my attention on the road, but my mind was racing, turning over everything, trying to make the pieces fit. Twice, I caught myself doing 90 on roads that were like black ice, slick with the night mist that gathered along the coast, and I had to force myself to ease off the gas.

I was still in a state somewhere between excitement and stupefaction when I turned onto that familiar street outside Astoria. In a few of the little white bungalows, light showed in the windows, but Arlen’s house was dark, and so was Neil and Jane’s. I parked, reached for the door, and stopped as a second realization hit me—this one like cold water.

I had driven out here in a frenzy, determined to confront this family and learn the truth. But in my excitement, I’d overlooked one important detail: someone had tried to kill me. Someone didn’t want the truth about Richard’s death coming to light. Someone was willing to do whatever it took to stop me. And that person was here, I was sure—one of the people I was about to face.

My hesitation only lasted a moment. I was exhausted—physically and emotionally. I was exhilarated by that feeling of the pieces of a puzzle falling together. And the aftermath of my fight with Bobby was evolving from grief into a low-grade fever and the need to sink my teeth into somebody.

I dropped out of the SUV and jogged across the street.

When I knocked on Neil and Jane’s door, only silence answered. I counted to thirty and tried again. I’d lost track of the time, so I checked my phone. At some point, I’d missed a call from Indira, and the group text had blown up. I ignored all of that. It was 9:30. I knocked again.

This time, on the other side of the door, footsteps came toward me, and then Neil asked, “Who is it?”

“Dash Dane. I need to talk to you and Jane.”

The deadbolt thunked back. The door opened. Neil was dressed in blue-striped pajamas, and his hair was sticking up in back; out of uniform, he looked older. Behind him, Jane was cinching the belt on her robe.

“I need to talk to you right now,” I said. “About Richard. I know what happened.”

Something changed on Neil’s face. Just a flicker, but I was sure I’d seen it. He didn’t look back at Jane, but I could tell he was fighting the urge. Then, with forced heartiness, he said, “Well, I don’t know about that. But if you’ve got something to say, I guess we’d better hear it.”

He put his hand in the pocket of his pajamas as he stepped back.

This was my chance to turn back, I knew. I could run to the Pilot. Call Bobby. Do the sensible thing.

But what I wanted to do was bite the sensible thing right in the heinie. So, I stepped inside.

Jane was turning on lamps, and the little click of each switch was the only sound. The lamps left deep shadows, and the house smelled like something floral, and there were fresh vacuum lines in the carpet. Neil motioned me to the sofa, and I sat. Jane took an armchair. Neil stood behind her, one hand still in his pocket.

“Is it true you and Vivienne were lovers?” I asked.

It wasn’t surprise that flashed across Jane’s face. It was pain. The realization left me off-balance; after all these years, the fact that it could still hurt her so much.

All she said was “Yes.”

I took a deep breath and dried my palms on my jeans. I looked at Neil. “I wondered why the four of you were so close. It’s not uncommon; I know that. A tight group of friends, especially in high school. Even, in a small town, for a group of friends like that to remain tight after they graduate. But the more I learned, the more I started to wonder. You were so close. Even after the divorce, when by all rights, the relationships should have soured. Even after Richard’s death. And there was all that business about Vivienne’s relationship with Neil, how quickly they realized it wasn’t going to work out, that kind of thing. Your comment, Neil, about how Candy was oblivious to the fact that she didn’t have a chance with you. And then I realized what it all meant. You—”

“I’m gay,” Neil said quietly. “Richard was my boyfriend.” His dark eyes were lost in shadow, and he gave a strange half-laugh. “He would have hated me using that word.”

“Okay, here’s the deal. I was right about to do my thing where I reveal—” I blew out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, all the fighting, those nasty fights between you and Richard, were because—”

“I wanted him to come out. With me.”

“Seriously? Could you just let me have, like, one thing?”

“I was insistent. In high school, it had been easy enough to—to pretend to be something else. People were happy to see what was on the surface, and we were all still figuring everything out.”

“It was Vivienne’s plan,” Jane said softly. “She was always the smartest of us. We’d keep doing what we’d been doing. We’d get married. We’d be friends. We’d live our lives without anyone having to know.”

“She was always smart,” Neil agreed. “But she was a child. We all were. She didn’t understand what it would be like to live a lie forever. She didn’t know what it would feel like to be in love, and to never be able to let anyone know.”

“Richard—” I began.

“Didn’t want to come out, of course,” Jane said.

“You too?” I asked. “Try this: just wait until I finish a sentence.”

“I think that’s why Vivienne came up with the plan in the first place. She loved Richard. She thought she was helping him.”

“He was terrified of coming out,” Neil said. “Terrified of his father’s reaction. Terrified of what the town would say. Terrified—” His mouth twisted, and he put his hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Terrified I would ask too much.”

“Like Vivienne,” I said.

Jane nodded.

When Neil spoke again, his voice grew tight with frustration. “He was too afraid to take a chance. He thought everything could stay the same, that we could go on the way we always had.”

“But things never stay the same,” I said. “Do they?”

“No, they don’t. I certainly didn’t. Richard didn’t, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. After Vivienne and I had tried to—tried to make a go of it, I knew we couldn’t keep it up. But the more I tried to push Richard, the worse it got.”

“You loved him,” Jane said. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

Neil shook his head. It was hard to tell, with most of his face lost in shadow, but I thought he was crying. His voice was clear enough, though, when he spoke. “I didn’t understand, then, that there are some people who will choose being safe even if it means being unhappy. They might even manage to believe everything’s okay, so long as they don’t have to face the truth.”

The floral smell was gone now, and in its place, creeping through the dark of the house, came the stagnant smell of the slough.

“But you two—” I began.

“We decided to live together,” Jane said.

(I couldn’t even be mad about the interruption.)

“After a few years,” she continued, “when it was obvious neither one of us was going to…to move on, I suppose, it seemed the obvious thing to do.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why?” Jane met my question with a blank expression. When I turned to Neil, I thought I heard him draw in a breath. “You were going to come out. I thought you were done hiding. Why didn’t you—” I almost said find someone else , but I heard how callous it sounded, and I managed to stop myself.

Neil must have heard the words anyway, though, because he said, as though stating a simple fact, “Richard was gone. There wasn’t anyone else.”

In the distance, an engine rumbled through the night.

Jane reached over her shoulder to pat Neil’s hand, but her eyes stayed on me. “There you go, Mr. Dane. Did you ask what you wanted to ask?”

I nodded, but I said, “Richard wasn’t murdered, was he? Richard—”

“Say one more word—” a crusty voice said, and then a footfall came from the hall, and Arlen stepped into the room. He leveled the old shotgun at me. “—and I’ll blow your head off.”