33. Beth

The engine sputters once, twice before finally turning over. Michael clutches the handle above the passenger-side window like he's bracing for a bumpy ride. He offered to drive, but I insisted. I was the one with Mom in her final moments, so I should be the one who collects her and brings her home. Nicole sits in the back, thumbing through papers.

At the park, I turn left onto Highway X and head toward Delavan where the funeral home is located. It's two towns over. In the rearview mirror, I watch Nicole. Her eyes sweep left to right as she reads, pausing every now and then to take notes.

I know Casey gave her more police files at the bar last night, but she hasn't brought them up. Is she hiding something? And if so, why is she hiding it from us?

"What are you reading?" I ask.

Her eyes find mine in the mirror. "Nothing," she says.

Michael watches her via the vanity mirror fixed to his sun visor. "What was Casey doing at the bar last night?"

"Just hanging out." Nicole shrugs.

Michael and I exchange a look. Maybe he was right. Maybe Casey is a bad influence on her. He thinks he's helping Nicole with research, but really, she's spiraling. The case files are like the lyrics of a siren's song about the past, a place she can no longer live or visit.

"Oh yeah? Casey normally hangs out at the Boar's Nest while on duty?" Michael asks.

She lifts her head and squints.

"You shouldn't be involving him in this," I add.

"Casey doesn't know anything. He thinks he's helping me with research for a book," Nicole argues.

"He's going to get suspicious, especially since you keep asking him for more," I say.

"And what if someone notices those files are missing? One could easily be written off as an accident, multiple... not so much." Michael cocks his head.

Nicole's eyes darken. I try to keep my attention on the road, but I can't help but look at her, studying her facial expression. It's a defiant one, or maybe it's more indignant. The highway is clear in front, surrounded by corn fields on either side, so I'm not too worried about watching the road. It's only what's behind us that scares me.

"They won't," she argues.

"They might," I say. "Now, what else did he give you?"

She huffs and flips through the folders in her lap. "He brought me the case file on Christie Roberts's disappearance."

"Why?" Michael groans.

"Because I asked for it."

"No, I figured that much. Why did you want it? You still think Mom and Dad had something to do with her disappearance?" He turns in his seat to look at her.

"I don't know."

"What does the report say?" I ask, glancing back at the road.

"Exactly what we found in the newspaper clippings. The police thought she was a runaway, so there wasn't really any sort of an investigation."

"All right then." Michael readjusts himself and faces forward. "It's settled."

"No, it's not. We still don't know what happened to Emma, and Charles Gallagher went missing too," she says.

I find her eyes in the rearview mirror. "What do you mean went missing?"

Nicole holds up a thin folder. "Casey cross-checked cases connected to Emma Harper's disappearance, and pulled this one. His mother reported him missing on December 28, just a few weeks after he was acquitted and released."

"He probably just skipped town," I say, pulling off the interstate into Delavan. Compared to Allen's Grove, this place looks like a city. It has a Walmart, Starbucks, Kohl's, and a McDonald's, all the staples of a Midwest town.

"That's what the police thought, so they never looked into it. But the statement his mom gave casts a lot of doubt that Charles just left on his own accord."

"What'd she say?" Michael turns to look at her again. I can't tell if he's actually interested or just humoring Nicole.

I park the car on the street in front of Monroe Funeral Home and kill the engine.

"She said Charles walked over to the Boar's Nest for a drink the night of December 27, 1999. It was the first time he left his house since his release. The next morning she realized he had never come home. His working vehicles were all accounted for and none of his belongings were missing. She said there was no way he just up and left because he would never abandon her."

Nicole looks up from the paper, her eyes seeking some sort of response from Michael or me.

I glance over to the funeral home. It sports the facade of a real house with brick exterior on the first floor and white panel siding on the second. There's a front porch and an American flag is mounted to the railing. It flaps and twirls in the wind. If it weren't for the large Monroe Funeral Home sign affixed in the yard, I would have thought it belonged to a family, like every other house in this neighborhood. But it doesn't. It's meant to look like a home, to appeal to the living, so that the business of death feels personal, not cold and commercial.

"Neither of you think it's odd that Charles Gallagher went missing?" Nicole asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

"No," Michael says. "From the sound of it, the only person that cared about him was his mother. Can you even be considered missing if no one misses you?"

"Yes, Michael, you can," Nicole scoffs. "What do you think, Beth?"

I let out a sigh and push open the car door. "I think today isn't about Christie Roberts or Emma Harper or Charles Gallagher. Today's about Mom, and I'm going in to get her, so we can take her home."

I slam the door closed behind me and breathe in the scent of fall—the crisp, sharp air mixed with the decay and rot of withering plants, dry leaves, and trees hunkering down for the season. It has a musky-sweet smell to it. Just like death, it's all-consuming.