Chapter 13

Michelle rapson Lynn’s kitchen screen door.

“Come in,” a voice—not Lynn’s—shouts from inside.

She pushes open the door and crosses the threshold, pausing to pet Whiskers, who winds around her ankles purring.

Lynn’s preteen, Talia, glances up from the kitchen table where she’s seated; her fingers are flying over the keys of her Chromebook. “Hi, Michelle.”

“How’s school going, kiddo?”

She sighs. “They’re killing us with homework.” Then she yells toward the front of the house, “Mom, Michelle’s here!”

“Tell Mrs. Boland I’ll be down in a minute,” her mother calls back.

Michelle and Talia roll their eyes at each other. Michelle’s known Talia since she was born. She was at the hospital when the girl entered the world and probably changed almost as many of her diapers as her mother has. Talia’s been calling Michelle by her first name since she could speak, but that’s Lynn. Always trying to be proper.

Lynn jogs down from the second floor and into the room, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Her bright purple walking shoes are laced up, double-knotted, and she grabs a water bottle and her hand weights from the counter.

“Mrs. Boland and I are going to take our walk now,” she tells Talia. “When you finish your homework, you can help yourself to some brownies. They’re cooling on the stove.”

She kisses her daughter on the forehead. Talia smiles up at her. “Double chocolate?”

“Of course. Dad’s in his office on a videoconference until eight o’clock, so try not to disturb him. I don’t know where your brother is. I’ve got my phone if you need me.”

Lynne hands Michelle a bottle of water like she always does even though they both know Michelle will leave it unopened like she always does, and they head for the door.

“Bye, Mom. Bye, Michelle,” Talia calls, putting emphasis on Michelle’s name.

Michelle laughs, and Lynn shakes her head.

“That girl.”

“That girl is just fine,” Michelle tells her as they crunch down the gravel walkway to the front of the house.

They try to take an evening walk three times a week after dinner. Some nights they do it near Michelle’s house and sometimes they walk around Lynn’s development or the nearby park that’s home to a large lake.

“Lake?” Lynn asks.

Michelle nods and they turn toward the lake. They fall into a rhythm—quick strides, arms pumping.

“Well?” Michelle says. “Did you listen?”

Lynn gives her a look. “Of course I did. You?”

“I finished up in the car on the way over. And Diane is either full of crap or completely clueless.”

They both laugh.

“She does usually have a sort of constipated look on her face, but I think in this case, she’s genuinely clueless. She was out of the house by the time Heather started getting wild.”

“Not just that, though. All this stuff about what a happy family they were,” Michelle says.

Lynn cuts her a look. “Weren’t they?”

They stop at the crosswalk and wait for a car to pass. Michelle notices, not for the first time, that the driver barely glances at them. For years, they endured catcalls and wolf whistles during their walks, but for the past eighteen months or so, it’s been like they’re invisible. She thinks she’s probably supposed to be upset or at least sad to know she’s past her prime. But honestly? It’s a freaking relief to be able to take a walk without worrying about being harassed—or worse.

She sighs and turns back to Lynn’s question. “Well, I guess I don’t know if they were unhappy, but they were kind of weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Strict. Remember the eighth grade camping trip?”

“Yeah. It rained the entire time.”

“Do you remember that Amy didn’t come?”

“I thought she had some sort of gymnastics meet or a softball game or something. I don’t know.”

“My aunt was working in the middle school office then. Her mom called and said they couldn’t afford for her to go.”

Lynn gives her a confused look. “Wasn’t it like twenty-five bucks?”

“Yeah. And my aunt said there was a fund for kids who needed help. She told Mrs. Ryan the school would cover it, and she refused. Aunt Beth got the sense that the money was an excuse.”

“Maybe they didn’t like the idea of one of their girls going away overnight. It’s not that strange.”

“Not now,” Michelle agreed. “But in 1989?”

She shrugs. “So they were a little overprotective. But they might have had their reasons.”

“They might have, but it’s clear that at least Diana—if she’s being honest—didn’t know what Heather was up to.”

“Diana was away at school. She wouldn’t know that Heather was cutting loose unless Amy told her. But I don’t know why you’d dime your sister out.”

“Not to your parents, but you might call your older sister and say, ‘Look, I’m worried.’”

“I don’t know if Amy was worried. Did she know Heather had a whole secret life?” Lynn finally says.

Michelle turns to gaze out over to the lake while she considers the question. The setting sun glistens silver on the water. “She had to have heard about some of it, don’t you think? The entire school heard about the beef between Heather and Kelly Marcus. That was only, what, two months before the party in Dead Man’s Hollow.”

Lynn nods. “If she didn’t hear about it, she’s the only person in the whole school.”

Heather and Kelly had argued in the girls’ locker room. They were two grades behind Michelle, Lynn, and Amy, but word spread quickly. Allegedly, Kelly stole a tennis bracelet from Heather’s locker. Michelle never heard if it was confirmed to be true. But seeing as how Heather spray-painted ‘THIEF’ across the hood of Kelly’s VW Rabbit and Kelly claimed not to know who’d done it, she’d always assumed Kelly had taken the bracelet.

“But if Kelly did steal Heather’s jewelry, maybe Amy figured she got what she deserved.”

Lynn raises an eyebrow at that. “Some people might. But Amy?”

“I don’t know. We all did things that, in retrospect, were risky, foolish, and stupid.”

“We did. Not Amy. Think about it. Can you remember a single dangerous or dumb stunt that Amy pulled?” Lynn asks.

Michelle searches her memory but draws a blank. Finally, she shakes her head. “No. I can’t. Amy was squeaky clean.”

“Exactly. With Amy and Diana as older sisters, Heather had a lot of incentive to keep her recklessness on the down low.”

“So, we’re back to the same question—should we call the tip line or send an email?”

“I’m not sure. Do you think any of the stuff we know about Heather could be related to her disappearance?” Lynn asks, putting her training in the law and her work at the firm to use. “Because if it’s not relevant and all it’s going to do is cause more pain for her sisters, what’s the point? But if it could help find out what actually happened to her, then yeah, I think we need to.”

They fall silent as they come up on an older man walking two dogs. They pause to pet the pups, then wait until their owner is out of earshot to continue their conversation.

“I’m not sure that any of Heather’s shenanigans led to her disappearance. I mean, I don’t think Kelly Marcus did anything to her that night. But looking back, we probably should have told the cops everything. This is their job, after all—to examine all the evidence and decide what’s relevant.”

“Well, now it’s Maisy Farley’s job. And Heather’s sisters are asking for the information. So, if they’re willing to hear it, then we should probably tell someone,” Lynn says, suddenly decisive.

Lynn’s right. Michelle knows she’s right. She nods briskly. “That’s settled then.”

“So we tell Maisy everything we know?”

They exchange a look.

Michelle’s mouth goes dry, and she has to clear her throat to get the words out. “Everything. Including the fight.”

A long silence passes between them. The sun’s dipped down behind the hills and the lengthening shadows are ominous.

“If it was just a stupid fight between testosterone-hopped up teenage boys, then there’s no real harm in bringing it up now,” Lynn finally agrees. “And if it wasn’t just a stupid teenage fight—if it was related to Heather’s disappearance—then we should tell.”

They walk another quarter of a mile, huffing.

“We should give the girls a head’s up, though. We owe them that much.”

Lynn exhales heavily. “I guess. Not in writing, though. No texts. We have to call everyone. Or better yet, do it in person.”

“What about the guys?”

Lynn is silent for so long that Michelle thinks she’s not going to answer.

Then she says, “I don’t know. It might be better if they don’t know it’s coming. There’s a chance one of them will break with the others and tell the truth if Maisy ambushes them.”

She’s right. But the thought of the fallout makes Michelle’s stomach seize.

“Then we shouldn’t give anyone a head’s up. You expect Rachel to keep it from her own husband? We can’t tell the girls.”

Lynn senses her distress. “Do you want to wait and see what next week’s episode is? Maybe someone else will talk before then. If not, then we can reach out.”

Michelle considers this. Part of her says they’ve already waited thirty years. What’s another week? But she shakes her head. “No, let’s get it over with.”

She doesn’t want to live with this sick feeling in her gut a moment longer than she has to.

“Okay,” Lynn agrees.

Michelle manages a weak smile as she pushes down her worry about what the guys will do when learn that Michelle and Lynn have broken their silence.