Chapter 7

Michelle Boland chopsvegetables for dinner while she half-listens to internet radio streaming through her smart speaker. A name catches her attention, and she tunes in, listening more closely:

“… sixteen-year-old Heather Ryan.

Heather disappeared that night and has never been seen or heard from again. No body was ever found. No suspects were ever identified, at least not publicly. The girl seemingly vanished without a trace. For three decades, her case has remained an open missing person’s case. Ice cold, and without a single apparent lead.”

The knife slips and slices the tip of Michelle’s finger before she can pull it back. A bright red line of blood wells up instantly.

“Shit.”

She drops the knife on the cutting board and hurries to the hall bathroom, where she rinses the cut then digs a box of Band-Aids out from under the sink, tears open the paper package of one the small ones, and bandages her index finger.

Heather Ryan. She hasn’t heard that name—hasn’t thought about Heather—in years. Has it really been thirty years since that night in the woods? She doesn’t feel old enough to have graduated from high school three decades ago. She glances in the mirror. The lines around her eyes and the silver streaks in her hair confirm that she is.

She returns to the kitchen, but instead of picking up the knife, she picks up her phone. She swipes open the group chat labeled McKeesport Bitches.

Bubbles are already blinking to life as the women she’s stayed in touch with since high school weigh in.

Becky: Did you guys hear?

Rach: OMG. Maisy Farley?! I love her.

Gina: I can’t believe they’re going public after all this time.

Lynn: Their parents died last fall, one right after the other. I bet the girls are trying to get the estate wrapped up.

Gina: What’s that have to do with anything?

Michelle rolls her eyes. Lynn’s a legal assistant. She knows what she’s talking about. Leave it to Gina to question her expertise.

Lynn: Amy literally said Mr. and Mrs. Ryan didn’t have Heather declared dead in court.

Rach: That’s sweet.

Michelle enters the chat: It may be sweet, but it sounds like they left a headache for the rest of the girls.

Lynn: Exactly. ???? Are you going to tell them?

The question isn’t addressed to Michelle specifically, but she knows it’s meant for her. She hits the icon of the telephone and calls Lynn, who picks up on the first ring.

“Why would I tell them? What is there to be gained by saying, after the party broke up, I saw Heather kissing some guy who went to a different school?” she demands without preamble.

Lynn goes silent for a long moment, so Michelle presses, “We talked about this. We agreed I shouldn’t say anything.”

“I was seventeen and a moron. You shouldn’t have listened to me,” Lynn tells her.

Michelle laughs despite the finger of worry jabbing at her. “Well, I did.”

“Don’t you think they deserve to know everything—after all this time?” Her best friend says in an utterly reasonable tone.

Michelle rubs her forehead. “I don’t know. But, the police knew those city kids were there. I’m sure they looked into everybody.”

“They never found that guy,” Lynn reminds her.

“That guy, we don’t even know his name. Besides, I’m sure the cops tracked him down eventually.”

“How could they have?” Lynn asks.

Michelle sighs. There was a big group from Taylor Allderdice High School in the woods that night. There were kids from other schools, too. But most of the kids from other schools were from Allderdice. The guy Michelle had been dating at the time, Brett Shulman, had a cousin who went there, and she spread the word about a big party in Dead Man’s Hollow. When the police interviewed Michelle, they asked her for the names of everyone who was there. Brett asked her not to give them his cousin’s name, so she didn’t.

She wasn’t the only one who’d held back information, she knew. People didn’t want to be kicked off athletic teams, lose scholarships, get in trouble with their parents, or be cited for underaged drinking. So while she hoped nobody flat-out lied to the police, most people intuited that giving a sanitized version of the events was best for everyone. She’s always told herself that even if there hadn’t been an explicit agreement to stonewall, most of them probably would have anyway.

Besides, she reminds herself now, at the time, nobody realized how serious the Heather thing was. They thought she’d taken off and would turn up in a few days. By the time it was clear she wouldn’t, they’d all already committed to their stories. At that point, it was too late. They couldn’t tell the police that they hadn’t been completely honest.

Rich Marino’s brother Jimmy was on the force, and Rich had warned everyone that they’d get in a lot more trouble for changing their stories than if they’d just told the truth in the first place. It would make them look guilty. She notes bitterly that Rich didn’t tell any of them that before they gave their statements to the cops. As a result, the cleaned-up version she provided in her statement, which she signed under penalty of perjury, was the one she’d stuck by for the past three decades.

For the most part, Michelle didn’t even think about it. But every so often, she’d lie awake at night and wonder if the police would have figured out what happened to Heather if everyone was in Dead Man’s Hollow that night had been forthcoming.

“Well?” Lynn prompts.

Michelle grits her teeth. They’ve been friends for a long time, but Lynn can be a judgmental bitch when she wants to be. She says, “You know, I’m not the only person who didn’t tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

Lynn goes quiet, and Michelle waits a beat. Then she shrugs.

If Lynn wants to make her say it, she’ll say it. “You’re the one who knew Rich and Heather had something going on. You never told.”

Lynn mutters, “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Come on, Michelle. Sure, we all played stupid games that summer, keeping things from the cops. But by the time we realized Heather wasn’t coming back, Rich and Amy had started dating. Her sister was missing. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t add to that by saying, by the way, your new boyfriend used to bang your little sister.”

“You don’t think she knew?”

This part, Michelle realizes with surprise, they’ve never talked about.

“No way,” Lynn’s adamant. “Have you forgotten was a goody-goody Amy was? Not as bad as Diana, but come on. She would never have gotten involved with Rich if she’d known. She’d have viewed it as a betrayal of her sister. And could you imagine the mess if she found out now after she’s been married to the guy for twenty-five years and has three kids with him?”

“Yeah, I guess. Or maybe it wouldn’t matter. It’s been a long time. She might laugh it off as water under the bridge.” Michelle knew she wouldn’t, but Amy might.

“Not unless she’s changed a lot. Did you know she called Julia to confirm she and Rich had broken up before she started talking to him? Who does that?”

She hadn’t known that. And, yeah, that seems extreme for a teenager. She doesn’t let it go, though. “People do change, Lynn.”

“And what if she hasn’t? I can’t risk it. I’ll never forgive myself if I blow up Amy’s marriage now, just because I couldn’t tell the truth thirty years ago.”

“Okay.” She relents at the anguish in her friend’s voice, even though Lynn could have told the truth back then, just like Michelle could have. Just like they all could have. They could have faced the consequences.

“They have an anonymous tip line, you know,” Lynn says suddenly.

Michelle’s confused. “Who does? The cops?”

“No, the podcast.”

“I didn’t hear that, but I missed part of the trailer. I cut my finger and had to run to get a bandaid.”

“You shouldn’t be permitted to own sharp objects. You’re so distractible.”

They both laugh, the tension between them already forgotten.

“So, an anonymous tip line?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t in the trailer, but I read the show notes.”

Of course she did.

“I’m sure they’ll publicize it once the season starts, but the link’s already live. You can either leave a voice message or fill out a form.”

“Anonymously?”

“Anonymously,” Lynn confirms.

“Maybe we should say something,” Michelle suggests as her heart thumps wildly.

“Maybe,” Lynn agrees.

Michelle swallows hard and then warns, “But if anyone comes forward, everything will crack open and the stories people told will fall apart.”

Lynn goes quiet again for a long moment. Then she says softly, “Maybe it’s time.”

“Yeah, maybe it is.”