The Last House Guest(15)

My head darted up. “You were there?”

He nodded. “I took the call. Walked in, looked around, made them feel safe.”

“Why didn’t you call me last night?” My only missed call had been from the Donaldsons.

“Wasn’t worth waking anyone up over,” he said. “Honestly, I couldn’t see any evidence that someone else had been there.”

“Well,” I said, my shoulders relaxing, “we’re not going to be filing a claim either way. The tenants decided to leave. No need to write up a report.”

He watched me carefully for a long beat of silence. “I know how to do my job, Avery.”

I looked away, that same feeling taking root again. Like there was something he was searching for, hidden underneath my words.

“Oh, there’s Parker,” I said, watching him enter the room with Justine McCann and another woman. When they got closer, I recognized the third person but couldn’t put a name to the face. She looked about my age, light brown hair in a French braid, red-rimmed glasses that perfectly matched her lipstick.

Parker leaned down and air-kissed my cheek, which was surprising. “Sorry if you’ve been waiting long,” he said.

“Not at all.”

He shook the detective’s hand and finished up introductions. “Justine, you know Avery Greer?”

“Of course,” Justine answered, polite smile. She was the oldest person in our group by at least two decades, and she commanded attention with that fact alone. “Glad you could join us, Avery. This is my assistant, Erica Hopkins.”

“Actually, we’ve met before,” Erica said, her hands curled on the back of a chair. “You and your grandmother used to live next door to my aunt. Evelyn?”

“Right. Yes. Hi.” That was how I recognized her. Erica Hopkins hadn’t gone to school with us, but she’d visited her aunt in the summers. I hadn’t seen her in years, though.

She smiled tightly. “Nice to see you again.”

“How are your parents, Parker?” Detective Collins asked as they took their seats around the circular table.

“All right.” Parker ran a hand through his hair, his thumb down the side of his face. A nervous habit, scratching the faint shadow of a beard. “They’ll make it up for the dedication after all.”

“That’s wonderful,” Justine said, hands clasped together. As if we could pull a positive out of this. A tribute to a dead girl. A visit from her grieving parents, who had wanted to blame this whole thing on the people in town. I didn’t even realize I was shaking my head until I noticed the detective looking at me curiously.

“A few requests, though,” Parker added, rubbing his hands against his pants under the table. I watched as he became business Parker. Readjusting the sleeves of his button-down, a warning of what was to come. It would be easy to attribute his position to nepotism alone, but I had to concede that he was startlingly effective, making us all believe we were on the same side, wanting the same thing—and he knew just what we needed.

Eventually, I zoned out as they discussed the press for the Lomans’ new foundation. A suicide-prevention community outreach program, dedicated to providing mental health services and screenings. I knew all about it already, had read the pieces, the public interest stories. Sadie’s death had somehow only made the Lomans more interesting, more worthy. As if they had been humanized by tragedy. Leveled by Sadie’s death and slowly emerging once more, re-formed from the ashes of their lives. The whole thing was nauseating.

I focused on the lobster salad that had been served to the entire table, light and satisfying, trying to recall the last time I’d joined the Lomans here.

I remembered in a sudden jolt: Sadie’s birthday. Late July of last year. Her parents and Parker and Luce and me. She’d been unfocused. Jumpy. She’d recently changed roles at her job. I’d thought she was preoccupied. Distant and detached, was how the police described it after. As if this was the first sign we had missed.

“Avery?” Parker was looking at me like he’d just asked me a question. “Will you handle the newspaper piece? Find the right photo?”

“Of course,” I said. And then I understood my role. Justine had brought her assistant, and Parker had brought his. I was an employee of the Lomans, a set piece, a show of clout. I’d even dressed the part.

We stood from the table, saying our goodbyes.

“I’ll be in touch soon,” Erica said as we stepped outside, handing me her card. She walked down the wooden steps before the rest of us. When she reached the car, she stared back up, but I couldn’t read her expression.

I could only imagine what Evelyn had told her.



* * *




PARKER STOOD BESIDE ME as the others drove away. He touched my shoulder, and I flinched.

“Are you upset? Avery, I’m sorry. My parents sent me here, thinking I could handle this. But I can’t. I really need your help with this.”

I crossed the street to my car, wedged between two expensive SUVs, and he matched me stride for stride. “Jesus, Parker. A little heads-up next time? Also, I didn’t realize Detective Collins would be part of this. God.”

He put a hand on the roof of my car, leaning over me. “I know. I know it isn’t easy.”

I was guessing he didn’t. By the time Parker had given his statement, the family lawyer was with him. His father was probably in the room as well, overseeing everything. Parker was the victim’s brother and was treated accordingly. I was a product of Littleport, a piece severely out of place, and Detective Collins didn’t trust me from the start.