The Accomplice(99)

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Frugal to her core, Luna forced herself to do the bare minimum. She’d make it to class a few times a week, shower occasionally, and cut herself off from TV after two a.m. Casey and Owen convinced her to see a shrink. She started taking meds. The progress was slow, but Owen noticed incremental changes. Most of Luna’s energy was devoted to not failing. She didn’t have much left for Griff, and she didn’t want him to know the state she was in. Every single time he suggested Luna visit him, she declined. The few times Griff offered to visit, she firmly said no.

Owen had been in the Hudson Valley just a month when Vera summoned him back home. She’d decided to put the family house on the market and gave her sons a week to clear out the junk in the garage and all their childhood crap from their bedrooms. Owen and Griff arranged to meet over the weekend while Vera escaped to a friend’s house on Martha’s Vineyard. She would not, under any circumstances, be under the same roof as her elder son.

Griff had expected to see Luna at the house. At least, that was the plan they’d made when he spoke to her a few days before. When Owen arrived, sans Luna, Griff was visibly upset. Griff finally realized that something wasn’t right. He asked Owen for advice. Owen told Griff to give Luna some space. The advice was not given with any sense of malice. Owen legitimately thought that’s what Luna needed.

The brothers worked through the weekend, trashing memories. Neither Owen nor Griff mentioned the subject of Vera and the missing pills. Griff had already been punished for asking, and he still had no means of getting a real answer. But there was another question lurking in the back of his brain. If he didn’t ask Owen, it would always be there. Griff took the opportunity when they were alone, since he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance.

The brothers were sorting boxes of files—taxes, bills, contracts, all of the boring shit that proves you exist. Griff had a separate box for the paperwork they needed to keep. Everything else got thrown into an aluminum bin. Griff and Owen had planned a bonfire for later that night.

“You know how Luna had your phone the night Scarlet died?” Griff asked, wading into the subject without a shred of delicacy.

Owen stopped sorting and glared at his brother, silently conveying, Why the fuck are you talking about this shit now?

“Yeah,” Owen said impatiently.

“So…did you see her the day she died?”

“Who?”

“Scarlet.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Just curious,” Griff said. “When someone dies, you usually remember your last interaction with the person. Do you remember?”

“She waved at me from across the quad,” Owen said. “I ignored her.”

“The day she died?”

“No. Maybe a few days before,” Owen said.

“Are you sure?”

“Griff,” Owen said. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Griff said. “This summer, you said something about what Scarlet was wearing when she…died.”

Owen waited for Griff to continue. Owen understood that he needed to be cautious. In fact, he had more sense of caution with his brother than he’d had with the police.

“How did you know what she was wearing?” Griff asked.

Owen shrugged, shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I guessed. We went out for a while. I knew what clothes were in regular circulation.”

“You guessed right,” Griff said.

Owen sensed the presence of a trap. “How do you know?”

“It’s in the police report,” Griff said.

Owen thought he might vomit. He wondered if Griff was recording their conversation. He heard a siren in the distance and briefly considered that Griff was working with the cops. It all became clear. Griff thought he killed Scarlet. Griff thought his own brother was a murderer.

“Sorry, Officer,” Owen said. “My lawyer has advised me not to answer any more questions.”

All Owen could think about was getting away from Griff and staying away. It felt dangerous being around that suspicion yet again. The fact that it was Griff made it almost unbearable. Owen packed up his car and trashed all his childhood crap that he was previously undecided about. He drove away before the bonfire, without another word to Griff.

When Owen returned to Markham, he expected that Griff would have spoken to Luna, poisoned her against him. She was already in bed. Owen wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or avoiding him. The next morning, she knocked on his door. He assumed they were about to have a talk. Instead, Luna asked Owen if he wanted to go to a movie. Duck Soup was playing at the local revival house.

“I really need to see it,” Luna said, sounding more burdened than enthusiastic.

Owen was surprised on a number of fronts. Luna wasn’t accusing him of murder and, after a summer of melancholy, she was suggesting an activity outside the house. He didn’t want to question it.

There was only one other person at the matinee. Owen and Luna never got a good look at him. He arrived shortly after the lights dimmed and left as soon as the words The End popped up on the screen. The man had clearly seen the movie before, probably more than once. He would laugh in anticipation of a joke or bit. Owen was on the fence about whether the man was more annoying or amusing. He glanced over to check on Luna a few times. She didn’t laugh until Harpo Marx showed up in the film. And she was sending texts, which was unlike her. She had stringent rules about phones on in a theater. He worried that she was texting Griff, but after she laughed a few more times, he knew that couldn’t be the case. Afterward, Owen suggested getting a beer. She agreed.