The Last House Guest(72)

I had missed Faith. She was fierce and honest—how had I not seen her there in the shadows? What was happening at the properties this year had all been about Parker and what the Lomans stood for—not Sadie.

As we emerged into the clearing of the parking lot, she headed toward the back of the house, overlooking the sea.

“Faith. Please. Hate them all you want, but they lost their daughter last year. Is that not enough?”

She looked off to the edge of the cliffs, but I knew how it could be—how you could become so lost in your own anger and grief and bitterness that you can barely see anything else. When she turned back, her eyes were watering, but I didn’t know if that was from the sting of the saltwater wind. “I know you were close to her, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry she’s dead.”

She walked back toward the house, and I headed for my car, the rest of the lot currently abandoned. But all I could think was that Parker’s car had been parked at the B&B the night Sadie died. He could’ve left, sneaked back home, and returned.

“Faith,” I called just before she disappeared from view. “You said a car pulled in to the lot that night, after Parker was here. Who was it?” I wondered if it was Connor who had parked there.

She shook her head. “I didn’t get a good look. There were two people walking to the party. I only know that one of them was in a blue skirt. I could see it in the moonlight.”

Faith continued inside, the sound of her footsteps echoing on the wooden steps out of view.

I tried to think who had worn a blue skirt that night. Most people were in jeans, khaki shorts, a few sundresses with jackets over the top. It was impossible to remember what clothing people had worn. I could barely remember my own. There was only one person I knew by heart.

I closed my eyes and saw Sadie spinning in the entrance of my room. What do we think of this? Her blue dress, shimmering. You know you’ll freeze, right? Pulling on my brown sweater over the top.

Goose bumps rose in a rush.

From behind, from where Faith had stood, it would’ve looked like Sadie was wearing a skirt.

And suddenly, I saw Sadie take out her phone, seeing the message I sent: Where are you? And then: ???

I saw her with the clarity of a memory instead of my imagination. Saw it with a fervor that made it perfectly true. Frowning at her phone, sending me that message—the last one, the one I never received. The dots lighting up my phone:

I’m already here.





SUMMER


?????2017





The Day After the Plus-One Party


I didn’t sleep. After I returned to the guesthouse, I sat by the window, numb, waiting for something to make sense. But the world had shifted, and nothing registered. Time kept jolting in fragments. I’d seen, from the window, Grant and Bianca return in the middle of the night. I watched various police cars come and go before daybreak. But my mind kept circling back, picturing Sadie standing in my doorway. Hearing her calling my name, an echo in my memory.

I saw the two men coming before they knocked, saw them quietly speaking to each other as they approached.

The police. Here to question me about the night before. About Sadie.



* * *




WE SAT AT MY kitchen table, four chairs pulled around the clean white surface. I took a seat across from Detective Ben Collins and Officer Paul Chambers as they introduced themselves—though I heard the detective call the younger man Pauly when they were taking out their notepads.

“Avery, I know this must feel unnecessary,” Detective Collins said. “Cruel, even, given the circumstances.” His voice dropped lower, as if someone else might be listening. “But it helps to go over things right away, before people forget. Or before they talk to others and the stories start to mix.” He waited for me to respond, and I nodded. “Yesterday, when did you last see Sadie?” he asked.

My eyes drifted to the hallway, to my open bedroom door. I knew the answer, but my thoughts lagged behind, as if they had to travel through some other space first. “Around noon, maybe. She came over when I was still working.”

He nodded. “Did she tell you anything about her plans for the rest of the day?”

I pictured her spinning in my doorway. Grabbing my sweater. Her hands fidgeting with the ends of her hair. “She didn’t say anything, but she was supposed to meet us there. We go to the party every year.” What else could she be getting ready for, if not that?

“So she never said she’d be at the party.”

She hadn’t, but it was just assumed. Wouldn’t she have told me otherwise? “She told Parker not to wait for her.” My voice sounded raspy, even to me. “That’s what Parker said.”

“And you? Did she tell you not to wait, too?”

I shook my head. “She knew I was going early, to open up the house and set things up. But she always came to the Plus-One party. I texted her. See?” I held out my phone so he could see the sent messages—the lack of response. “She was texting me back. I saw the dots.” Officer Chambers took down my number, made note of the time and content of my messages.

“How many drinks had you had by then?” Detective Collins asked.

“Two,” I said. Three.

They shared a quick look. “Okay. We haven’t been able to locate her phone yet. It appears it was on her when she . . .” Here, he trailed off, but I leaned closer, trying to understand. When she fell? Jumped? Was pushed?