Such a Quiet Place: A Novel(77)

Molly swallowed, saying nothing.

“I know Whitney was out that night,” I said. And Molly must’ve known, too. Charlotte knew. They all knew. Casting suspicion outward to protect someone else.

There was a duffel bag packed up to get her daughters out of here after Ruby’s return. To keep them away. Just like they’d been sent to their father’s after the Truetts’ deaths. Not just because of the dangers Charlotte feared for her daughters. Because of what she feared they might have done.

Molly lifted one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “She goes out, meets friends from the other side of the lake. So what?” But her eyes cast to the side.

“Molly… what did you do?”

“Me? Nothing.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, don’t act like Ruby was so innocent. Don’t you dare. She was an ex-con.” I heard an echo of her mother then. “She had you all fooled. But you know what she’s been doing? Messing with you all.”

No, I thought, she’s been watching you. Trying to work out what happened. Coming to terms with the truth. And now she was dead.

“Ruby lies about everything,” Molly continued. “My mom told us that. And she’s still doing it. You know she’s got a car, right?”

“What?” A chill ran through the room, and Molly smiled. Like she knew she finally had me. I had forgotten what seventeen was like. So close to adulthood, you could taste it—the freedom of it, the power.

“She’s got a white car, parked off the road, down by the pit. Whitney saw it there. Ruby could come and go whenever she wanted, but I heard she took your car anyway. She was messing with you,” Molly said. “Because she could.”

I closed my eyes, shook my head. Of course it had been Ruby. Of course. “I didn’t say she was a good person,” I said. “But that doesn’t make her a killer.”

Her face turned hard. “My mom said they’re going to retry the case. It has to be Ruby.” Her voice cracked midsentence.

I felt for her then. Even after everything. The things you would do to protect your sibling. The ways you weren’t sure whether you were helping or hurting, but you tried anyway because doing nothing seemed worse.

The little lies we told our parents—No, he wasn’t out—that became like second nature. The way I’d lie awake at night, listening for the sound of him returning home.

A fear that fueled the bigger lies, deep at the heart of a family.

I left her there, in her empty house, all alone. Knowing, one day, she’d have to come face-to-face with who she was—and what she had done.





CHAPTER 24


A WHITE CAR.

According to Molly, there was a white car, off the road, down by the pit.

But it was dark, and the investigators from the state had been going door-to-door, and the arc of a flashlight swept across the sidewalk in the distance, coming closer. It passed Tate and Javier Cora’s house, then paused briefly in front of my own.

I remained perfectly still—a shadow in the dark, looking out. Feeling like Ruby must’ve felt, watching as each person walked by the Truett house, unaware that someone was inside, seeing everything.

His face turned briefly toward the front porch light—Preston—before continuing on, moving slowly down the sidewalk. Maybe he was patrolling again tonight. Maybe he was watching for something. Some threat that he knew was out there but couldn’t find.

I SEE YOU.

Did any of us ever see each other here for what we truly were?



* * *



AS SOON AS HE was out of sight, I left through my back gate, carefully locking up behind me. I kept to the fence line, hearing the nighttime routines of each house I passed, the homes winding down to silence, the drone of the air-conditioning units churning in the night.

When I rounded the corner, the sounds of the outside gained force, the cacophony of the lake growing louder as I darted across the street. The crickets, the call of the frogs—beckoning me closer, into the trees, thick with the promise of something.

Inside the tree line, I was fully disoriented at first. There was no clear path here, just trees and branches and things moving through the underbrush. It was easier on the way back, when you could see the lights from the neighborhood guiding your path.

I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds to orient myself. The water lapped at the shore in front of me, so I headed left, deeper into the trees. It was impossible to get lost—the woods were not that deep here. Eventually, I’d hit either a road or the water. I could feel the breeze coming in off the lake, from my right.

Every few steps, I turned on the light from my phone to guide the way, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself, in case other people were out here. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the woods. The moonlight was crisp and clear, and the shadows became more distinct—the shape of trees, of branches, of dense underbrush scratching at my legs.

And then, abruptly, I was out. The trees gave way to nothing. To openness.

I shone my light around the space: a flattened circle of dirt, the ash pit in the center. Little signs that others might’ve been here in the past: cigarette butts where the flame had once been; a bottle of beer at the border of the clearing; drag marks across the dirt, like someone had pulled a boat through the woods.

There was no car that I could see. From where I stood, to the right, was the water—where the kids must’ve been launching their boat. I headed to the left, where the clearing gave way to the dirt access road. The path was narrow and rocky, dipping and swerving with the terrain, not the place for any vehicles. You’d easily lose a tire or worse.