Everything We Didn't Say(85)

“Yes.” Juniper pulled into the driveway of the bungalow and called Cora. Willa tried to insist that she’d be okay alone for a while, that this was Jericho after all, but that was exactly what Juniper was afraid of.

A few minutes later, Cora pulled up in front of the house and met Willa in the driveway. They hugged like old friends, and Cora waved over Willa’s shoulder and gave Juniper a knowing wink.

Juniper watched until Cora and Willa disappeared inside the house and had enough time to turn on the lights and lock the doors. Willa swept the curtains shut and then she was finally blocked from view.

There was so much Sullivan in the girl. Juniper could see it now. The lightheartedness, the innate desire to laugh and have fun. Willa was fearless and bold, with just a hint of her mother’s learned watchfulness. She was no dummy, that was for sure. And though there were things about her daughter that were wholly unknown and even a little scary, Juniper felt feverish with the desire to know her. To make up for all the lost years between them.

But first: this.

The number Cora had given her was now saved in her phone. She thumbed through her contacts until India Abbot was highlighted, then punched the call icon.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “It’s Juniper Baker. From the library?” It wasn’t a question, but she couldn’t stop her voice from tipping up at the end.

“Juniper! Hey! Cora said you might call. What’s up?”

What’s up? Juniper didn’t know if she was more irritated by the fact that Cora had warned India about her or that India made it sound like a social call. They weren’t buddies. Still, Juniper decided to push on. “I was hoping I could talk to you about the Murphy murders. Cora says you’re kind of a true crime buff and that you might have some insight into the case.” What she didn’t say was: I want to know what you know. I want to know if it’s you who’s hell-bent on proving that Jonathan did it.

“Oh my gosh. This is like a dream come true. I mean, I’ve wanted to talk to you about Calvin and Elizabeth Murphy for years. Years. I never imagined I’d get the chance. Can you come over? Like, now? My husband is at a Beer and Hymns night at the Admiral and my kids are all in bed. I’ve just popped the cork on a bottle of pinot and it’s not going to drink itself!”

“Sure,” Juniper said, putting Barry’s car in reverse. “Now works great.”



* * *



India lived in a freshly constructed house at the end of an unpaved road that was part of a new subdivision in Jericho. Juniper hadn’t realized that new developments were going up, or that there was a market for the type of upscale two-story Craftsman that India called home. The lot beside her modern-farmhouse-styled mini-mansion was under construction, and across the street were two more lots with SOLD signs staked in the dirt. As Juniper turned off gravel onto the paved driveway, India came to stand on her bright, homey porch.

“Sorry about the mess!” India called over the distance between them.

Juniper clicked the locks on Barry’s car and jogged down the curved sidewalk toward the place where India waited, rubbing her arms against the cold. She was wearing a plush oversized sweater that fell off one shoulder and a pair of gray camo leggings. Clutching a delicate wineglass and sporting a perky grin, she made Juniper feel instantly frumpy and older than she was.

“It’s fine,” Juniper said, conscious of the snow and dirt that had accumulated in the tread of her hiking shoes. She couldn’t possibly wear them inside India’s new house.

But India already had an arm around her and was ushering her through the door.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” India said, pulling Juniper’s coat off her shoulders and hanging it with a flourish on a fleur de lis hook. “I mean, I’ve imagined it a dozen times. The chance to interview you, to hear what you have to say about what happened that night… The insight no one but you could provide into the case that was never solved.”

“Wait.” Juniper froze in the entryway, unwilling to take another step until she knew the truth. “I’m not here for an interview. And before we go any further I need to know: Are you working on a podcast about the Murphy murders?”

The question was abrupt, but it achieved the desired result: India’s reaction seemed genuine. “What?” she asked, eyebrows arching. “Someone’s doing a podcast about the Murphy murders?” Envy flashed across her features, and then she sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not me. But it’s a great idea—kinda wish I would have thought of it.”

The look in India’s eyes was too raw to be faked; Juniper believed her. She toed off her shoes and forced herself to smile. “How about that wine?”

India laughed. “I’ll make it a very generous pour. I’m a lot to take.”

The house was quiet and softly lit, and when Juniper followed India through to the kitchen and a cozy hearth room just beyond, she saw that a large-screen TV was on. But instead of HGTV or a charming Hallmark Channel romance, there was footage of a scruffy-looking man with dark hair and a quirky half smile staring straight into the camera.

“Is that Ted Bundy?” Juniper couldn’t stop herself.

“Oh my gosh. Yes! I’m watching Conversations with a Killer. The man was a total psychopath, but there was so much more to it, you know? No doubt that he was a narcissist, but I’d bet the farm we’re also dealing with some borderline personality disorder, possibly some schizoaffective disorder or bipolar. Where did that come from? I mean, what happened in his past to fracture his psyche to the point where he could hardly even be considered human?” Catching sight of Juniper’s expression, India trailed off, then grabbed the remote control from the arm of an artfully distressed leather sectional and clicked off the TV. “Sorry. Weird stuff. I know.”