Chapter 18

Jess

I pop the clutch and roar out of Bill's sleepy neighborhood on my motorcycle, heading back into town.

Sammy's Bar is set in Black Lake's historic downtown, next to a yoga studio and across from a pretty clapboard church and a dead-end street that leads to a sandy beach. I brake, wheels crunching over gravel, and slide my motorcycle into my old parking space. When was I last here? August, maybe. Before rehab, definitely. The sun was out, every day an oppressive heat like a smack to the face. The neon sign has been fixed, the roof is cluttered with snow, but other than that, it looks mostly the same.

I yank the lever for the side stand, snap my cane out, and climb off the motorcycle. The icy gravel is slippery, so I'm careful as I walk, more precise with my movements. My leg is cramping, an ache so deep I wonder if I'll ever shake it. I stare up at the bar, my mouth watering.

"You shouldn't go in there," Isla says.

She's just behind me, but I feel her presence, feel the chill of her in my hands, ice trickling down the back of my neck, an uncomfortable pressure in my head.

"I know, baby. But I'm strong now. Stronger. I can do this."

I turn and she is there, my beautiful daughter. But Isla isn't looking at me. She's staring over my shoulder past Sammy's, a strange expression on her face.

"Go home, Mommy."

Music pulses as someone exits the bar. It's a couple, young, midtwenties, out for a date. Second or maybe third date. I can see it in the way they look at each other, how she slides her hand into his butt pocket, how he gently tucks her scarf around her throat. I scan the dark behind them, the yoga studio, the clapboard church. A little farther away is a bakery, a tea shop. A handful of people bustle along the darkened street, hurrying to get home, out of the chilly winter night.

When I turn around, Isla is gone, and I'm alone once again. I push through the bar's heavy front door, trying not to drag my bad leg as I make my way inside. The place is an assault on the senses: the sweet, heady scent of whiskey, of stale beer and old cigarettes, of body odor and old men all being absorbed into the cracked vinyl booths.

Behind the bar, Sammy waves at me, his face lighting with a surprised smile. He's an aging hippie with wild gray hair and a full-on wizard beard. I return his wave, then scan the half-empty bar.

My dad's waiting at a table near the back, his thick woolen scarf and old tweed flat cap on the booth beside him. I limp across the bar to him.

"Hey, Bug." Dad stands, gives me a hug. His hugs have gotten tighter, I've noticed. Like he's worried I'll slip away.

A busty waitress with soft, kind eyes comes over, a new one I've never met before.

"Back again, Quinn?" she asks.

Dad grins sheepishly and tells me he was here yesterday for lunch as well. We both order Diet Cokes and plates of fried chicken with fries. My stomach rumbles.

"You know Mac's in town?" Dad says when the waitress has left. "I saw him at Java Jane earlier."

My eyebrows hike. I flash back to seeing the heart stone on Isla's grave. "It makes sense. The anniversary."

"You think you'll meet up?"

My dad loved Mac. Loved us together. I think he's felt our separation as much as we have. He looks at me, his whiskey-colored eyes filled with hope.

"I don't know, Dad." I don't want to break his heart, but the shame and guilt I feel about the accident has erected a barrier between my husband and me, too thick to penetrate. For me, at least.

The waitress leaves tall, sweating glasses of Diet Coke on the table. I take a long sip and change the subject.

"Christmas is coming up. What are your plans?"

"Why, you inviting me round?" Dad grins.

"You know you're always welcome." I don't tell him I'll probably work. The thought of sitting at home, the pull of the whiskey, the memories, the loneliness, it's too much.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What's that?"

"I'm thinking of moving to Seattle."

"What?" I'm shocked. "Why?"

"You know Riley moved there a few years ago."

My fun-loving, outgoing baby sister is a free spirit who's spent most of her life traveling. She worked on a cruise ship for years but settled in Seattle with her boyfriend when the pandemic hit. They have an adorable little boy I haven't even met in person yet.

"Something doesn't feel right," he says. "Something with Zeke. I don't think they're getting along very well, but she won't leave him."

I take a sip of Diet Coke. "Is that really any of our business?"

Dad scowls. "It is if he's hurting her."

"Is he?"

"I don't know," he admits.

"Is that what's been bugging you?"

"You noticed, huh?"

"Jeez, Dad, give me some credit. I'm a detective."

He chuckles. "Yeah, it's been on my mind. I don't want to move too far from you."

"I'll be okay," I say, even though I don't know if it's true. My dad and my job have been the only constants in my life the last year. Dad visits every other month or so; he calls every week. He's been supportive when I've needed it but leaves me alone when I need that. I'm not sure what I'd do if he were all the way across the country.

"It sounds like Riley needs you right now."

"Nothing's decided. I'm just ... thinking."

The waitress arrives with our fried chicken, and we dig in. The bar fills up around us. A couple of cops I know enter. Their voices drift over to me, followed by laughter.

Shane . . . spilled water . . . reamed him!

I cringe. I should've gone. Should've prepared him. It sounds like he didn't do such a great job in front of those reporters. I glance over my shoulder at the door, hoping Shane doesn't show up.

I tell my dad about the case as we eat, about Alice, that I hope to bring her some closure.

"How horrible to be the only one left," I say around a mouthful of chicken. "To think your father has killed your whole family. Honestly, I'm finding it hard to believe Pete Harper did it. It doesn't fit. I mean—" I pause, thinking. "It does, actually, but something's off. Maybe it's the body. Without an ID, it's just this huge missing puzzle piece. We don't know what it means yet. But also, Alice being left behind, it must mean something."

"Poor girl."

"She's so young. Only a teenager."

I dig out my phone and tap into Instagram, call up the picture Shane showed me on Alice's Instagram, the Harper family all squished together in front of a Christmas tree, a happy, smiling unit, Christmas baubles and twinkling lights sparkling around them.

Alice looks so much like her mother, the long, marmalade-colored hair, those bright blue eyes. How different she seems from the girl I met earlier, with her messy, tangled bob; her glassy eyes; the pain stamped between her brows.

She reminds me of ... well, me. The way grief can weigh on you, how it imprints on your bones like a graveyard etching, revealing itself in pieces over time. She's lost her family. The same as I have.

"They're such a normal-looking family." I slide my phone across the table, and my dad peers down at the picture.

"I never knew you to be surprised at how vile humans can be." Dad pops a fry into his mouth. "Humans kill indiscriminately every day. Their family. Their loved ones. Strangers. We kill for greed and for love. We kill for power and for hate. We have and always will have the capacity to be the very worst of our imagination. This family, they aren't any different from a thousand others."

"Maybe. But this case feels different."

He hands me back my phone, and I look again at the photo. Something snags my gaze. I zoom in, scanning every detail. Whatever is niggling at the edges of my brain flares again, then slides away. I'm about to put the phone away when it snaps into place.

A familiar face.

He's just off to the edge of the picture, his face a little blurry, gazing at something off-screen. But I know exactly who it is.

My partner. My friend. Detective Will Casey.

Will was at the O'Briens' Christmas party the night the Harpers disappeared.

"You okay?" Dad's voice floats at me from across the table.

"I ..." I'm not sure how to reply. "Yeah."

I shove my phone into my pocket, mind spinning. We finish our dinner, talking of casual things, a leaky faucet I need to fix, my little sister's upcoming birthday, her baby's newest tooth.

When we finish, Dad insists on paying the bill, then says he has to hit the road. I tell him I'm going to stay for a bit longer. I want to look through Liu's notes again, try to pull together a timeline. Truthfully, I want to figure out how Will fits into this case. And maybe, just maybe, I'm hoping he'll show up so I can ask him in person.

"You sure you're gonna stay here?" Dad asks as he hugs me goodbye.

"I'm assuming you aren't just talking about Sammy's?" I joke.

He laughs. "I'm talking about staying in Black Lake."

"I think I'm where I need to be right now."

Dad kisses my forehead. "All right, Bug. Just remember, no one on God's green earth can make you happy. They can make you a cup of coffee or make your bed or make you a bowl of soup, but they can't make you happy. And neither can solving more cases. Don't let it become a compulsion."

"I won't."

"And for God's sake, at least put up a tree. It's Christmas! You need some cheer in your life!"

When he's gone, I settle into the booth, nursing my Diet Coke as I make notes in Liu's notebook. I get lost in my work and lose track of time. The bar is packed now, a cacophony of noise. I decide it's time to go home.

There's something I need to do, something I do every night. Part of my routine.

I gather my things and limp toward the door, but before I reach it, Will enters.

And he isn't alone.

I inhale a sharp whoosh of breath, my heart ricocheting off my ribs. I can barely breathe.

Mac, my estranged husband, stands only a few feet away. I stare at him like someone who's been lost in the desert. His blond hair has grown a little, curling softly over his ears. He's shaved his beard, every angle of his face painted in sharp relief. His blue eyes soften as he catches sight of me. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the bar disappearing around us.

The yearning I feel is so intense it's physical, a fist squeezing my chest, a longing for then, for before.

I miss you. I need you. I love you.

The words tumble through my head, all true, but followed by one overshadowing truth.

I killed our daughter.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear the familiar sweet sound of Isla's laughter, and then my phone rings, breaking the spell I'm under, leaving me torn between confronting Will, talking to Mac, or answering my phone.

In the end, I do none of them. I brush past without a word and head outside. The freezing air hits my lungs like a scalpel. The ground is slippery. I pick my way across the snowy parking lot, away from Mac. Away from everything that was. Isla's death clipped the fragile thread that held us together.

My phone rings again. It's Shane. This time, I answer. "Hey, sorry I couldn't make it to the press conf—"

Shane cuts me off. "You won't believe this. The owner of the property where we found the body? It's Jack O'Brien, Alice Harper's uncle."