Chapter 21

Brett’s dealingthe hand when Chris returns from the fridge with six beers and passes the cans around the table. Rich is cracking his open when Frank leans over and says, “What’s the idea with your wife and her sisters going on that true crime podcast?”

The question has the effect of a record scratch sound effect on an old sitcom. The conversation screeches to a halt. Andy, Frank’s brother, turns down the music as five sets of eyes settle on Rich.

He takes a swig of cold beer before answering. “Did you listen to the trailer and the first episode?”

“Yeah,” Frank says.

Four grunts of agreement follow.

“Well, then you don’t need me to explain it to you.” He checks his hand and pushes a stack of poker chips into the pot.

Mikey, who’s a couple years younger than the rest of them, sits to Rich’s left. It’s his turn, but instead of calling, raising, or folding, he cocks his head. “I don’t know anything about a podcast. What’s going on?”

Rich flares his nostrils and says nothing, but Brett answers. “You remember Heather Ryan? Amy’s sister.”

“Yeah, sure. She went missing my freshman year.”

“It’s coming up on thirty years, and the Farley Files is investigating her disappearance for its second season. Rich’s wife and her sisters are giving that blonde podcaster interviews.”

As irritated as he is by the discussion, Rich approves of the way Brett’s framing the podcast. It makes it sound like Maisy Farley instigated reopening the case rather than Amy and her sisters.

“Oh. Why now?” Mikey asks.

Brett looks at Rich as if he’s going to field the question. Rich ignores him.

Chris pipes up, “They need to have Amy declared dead so they can close their parents’ estate.”

Rich cuts his eyes toward Chris, then he asks, “Are we gonna play or what?”

“I’ll call.” Mikey adds his chips to the pot.

“Shoulda told Amy to let it go,” Frank says through a mouthful of potato chips. He spews crumbs on the table, which Brett brushes to the floor with a disgusted look.

“Tell us you’re single without telling us you’re single,” Andy ribs his brother. “The surest way to make a woman dig in her heels is to tell her to let something go.”

He’s not wrong. Rich nods and a few of the guys chuckle.

Brett’s laughter fades quickly. “But this podcast’s a problem. The Ryan girls shouldn’t be running their mouths.”

“Those three?” Rich scoffs. “They don’t know anything.” He folds his hands over his cards and leans in. “You idiots are worried about the wrong women.”

His statement has the intended effect of turning their attention away from Amy, Kristy, and Diana.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chris wants to know.

Rich shrugs. “Somebody yapped to Maisy Farley about the fight with Allderdice. And it wasn’t Amy because she didn’t know about it. She asked me about it last night.”

The table falls silent. Andy reaches for the speaker again. This time, he turns the music off entirely with a worried shake of his head. Rich can see Brett’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Frank is cracking his knuckles. Chris pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s staving off a headache.

Only Mikey is unfazed. “What fight?”

“It’s not important,” Rich tells him. “What is important is that someone’s talking. I assume it’s nobody in this room.”

He looks around the table at five men he’s known almost his entire life. One by one, they meet his eyes with steady gazes. They haven’t talked to Maisy. He didn’t think they would, but now he knows for sure. It was one of the girls.

“It was one of the girls,” Chris says finally, giving voice to Rich’s thought.

“But which one?” Frank asks.

“Or ones.” They turn their attention to Brett, who elaborates, “You know they still run in a pack, like we do. No way one of them went off on her own and gave Maisy information.”

“I’ll talk to Rachel,” Andy volunteers. “She’s in a group chat with a bunch of the girls. Lynn, Becky, Gina?—”

“Michelle?” Brett asks.

Rich side-eyes him. “You still got a thing for Michelle?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brett snorts. “The same way you still have a thing for Heather.”

Rich clenches his hands into fists. He can feel the heat rising on his skin. He’d told Brett and Frank about Heather, but nobody else. Brett’s eyes go wide as he realizes he screwed up.

“Just jerking you around,” he says lamely.

It’s too late. Rich can see Mikey and Andy pretending not to react. Chris is a better actor than the other two, or, more likely, he already knew. Frank or Brett probably told him long ago. Now, Rich is backed into a corner. He can’t lie—Frank and Brett definitely know he fooled around with Heather his senior year; they covered for him a few times when he was cheating on Julia with her. The only thing to do is to own it, and try to spin it.

“Listen, I was a bonehead in high school. We all were.” He pauses for effect and to give them time to reflect on their personal boneheadedness. “Sure, I messed around with Heather a few times. Before I started dating Amy. Amy didn’t know at the time, and with Heather missing, it seemed cruel to tell her. So she still doesn’t know. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Yeah, man.”

“Of course.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Finally, Brett says, “There’s no reason she ever needs to know, Rich.”

“Appreciate it.”

“The reason I asked about Michelle is she used to tell me she felt guilty about lying to the police.”

“Did she, though? Lie?” Chris pressed him. “We strategically withheld information.”

Rich nods along to this, and some of the other guys join him.

But Brett snorts. “To Michelle, that’s lying. I had to keep reminding her that my cousin would be in hot water, too, because Stacey’s the one who spread the word about the party at Allderdice.”

Rich drains his beer and crumples the can. He tosses it across the room and hits the recycling bin dead on. “You think Michelle’s the one who talked?”

Brett grimaces, then shrugs. “Yeah, maybe.”

“If she did, Lynn had her back,” Andy says. “Those two are still really tight. And Lynn works for that law firm. Probably thinks she’s Erin Brockovich.”

“What are we gonna do about it?” Frank wants to know. “If that podcaster comes around asking questions, I mean?”

“We do what we’ve been doing for the past thirty years—keep our mouths shut,” Rich tells him.

“Yeah, okay. But what if the girls keep talking?”

“I’ll go see Michelle,” Brett volunteers. “I’ll tell her I wanted to warn her that Maisy Farley knows about the fight with Allderdice and remind her we all agreed to keep that a secret. I’ll be able to tell by her reaction if she’s the one who snitched.”

Rich pushes out his lower lip while he considers this idea—Amy calls it his concentration pout. After a minute, he shakes his head. “It’d be better if it came from one of the other girls, not you.” He gives Andy a meaningful look. “Talk to your wife, would you? Have Rachel keep the others in line.”

“You got it,” Andy says.

Rich has had just about enough of this conversation. He turns the music back on, full volume, and pushes back his chair. “I’m getting another beer, and then let’s play some cards already. Anybody else need a brewski?”

This group of guys has had Rich’s back for thirty years. They won’t let him down now, not after all this time. He tells himself this as he crosses the man cave to the fridge in the corner. Over the years, he’s told himself some version of this more times than he can count. And he’s always been right. This time, though, he’s not sure he believes it.