The Last House Guest(81)

I dropped to my knees, ran my fingers over the chalky residue.

A corner stained rust brown. A spot missed. I rocked back on my heels, a chill rising, and scrambled out of the room, seeing everything clearly this time.

A fight behind a locked door; the phone knocked from her hand, the surface fracturing. A struggle taking her farther from the door, from the exit. A push in the bathroom. Falling, hitting her head. The blood pooling. Someone else trying to clean, desperately. Taking the spare towels and wiping up the mess. Needing to move her.

Searching through her purse, finding the keys. Peering out the window above the toilet, pressing the buttons on her key—seeing my car light up across the way.

Grabbing a blanket from the chest to cover her. Losing her phone in the process, in the chaos. Where it fell to the base and remained—waiting to be found.

Wrapping her up. God, she was so small. Peeking out into the hall and flipping the power at the circuit breaker. But who?

Had it all been to cause a scene in the dark? A distraction while someone had carried a dying or unconscious Sadie to the car?

If so, I had covered it up, all of it, when I’d come back the next day. Running the evidence through the washer with bleach, ordering a window replacement, closing the wooden chest—and leaving her phone inside. I had erased her, piece by piece, until she became invisible. And I needed to pull her back into focus.

My hand shaking, I used the camera on my phone to take pictures of everything: the spot behind the vanity with the rust-colored stain of blood, the chest of blankets, the hallway circuit breaker, the distance from there to the front door. Gathering proof of it all before I was barred from this place. The story I could see, that only I bore witness to—the ghost of her moving in the gaps between my memories.

I could see it all playing out. Three steps back, three steps forward. A girl in blue, spinning in my room, to a flash of color in the sea, a pale leg caught on the rocks—hanging on until she was found.



* * *




ON THE WAY BACK, I veered away from the harbor—away from the coast. Toward the mountains instead. Found myself winding down a small back road that I hadn’t traversed in years.

It was a long half-paved road, forking off into packed-dirt driveways leading to older homes, surrounded by trees.

I slowed until I was in front of the last house on the street: a ranch home tucked out of sight from the road, the ground covered in pockets of grass and dirt. The Harlows still lived next door, an outside light just visible through the trees. I parked my car at the wide mouth of my old driveway, under the low branches of a knotted tree.

The details weren’t visible in the dark, so I could only imagine the colored pottery on the front porch, the hand-painted Welcome sign that once hung from the door. The wooden chairs that had been built by my mother, the dull green paint chipping, and a low table between them.

I could picture my mom reading on the front porch. My dad with a drink and her feet in his lap. Both of them peeking up every few moments to check on me.

My own life had forked in the dead of night, right here.

But this—this was the life that should’ve been mine. My dad catching me around the waist as I ran inside—You’re a mess, he’d say, laughing. My mom shrugging, So let her be.

Memories and imagination. All that remained of the life that was taken from me.



* * *




I MUST’VE DRIFTED TO sleep in the car—the buzz of my phone jarring me awake in a panic.

I took a moment to reorient myself, curled on my side in the driver’s seat. In the daylight, this home was no longer my home. Wind chimes in place of colored pottery, the hand-painted Welcome sign replaced with a wreath of woven vines. Bright blue metal chairs on the front porch, pops of color in the mountain landscape.

My phone buzzed again—two texts from Ben Collins.

Pick you up in a half hour.

Still need your address.

A man exited the front door, walking down the porch steps, heading for the car parked at the side of the house—but he stopped when he saw me. Changing directions, heading this way.

I responded to Detective Collins: Sorry, something came up. Meet you at the ceremony.

The man walked slowly up the drive, and I lowered the window, a thousand excuses on my tongue.

“We just moved in,” he said with a smile. He was maybe the age of my dad when he died. But he always seemed younger in my memory. “It’s not on the market anymore.”

I nodded. “I used to live here when I was a kid. Sorry. I just . . . wanted to see how it looked now.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Lot of history to the place.”

“Yes. Sorry to bother you. I was just in the area . . .”

The sun caught off the wind chimes over their porch, and he rocked back on his heels. I rolled up the window, starting the car.

Parker had taken everything from me, and I still couldn’t prove it was him. But I knew there was one more place to look, and there would be only one last chance to do it.

My heart pounded against my ribs. It was time to go. Sadie’s dedication would be starting soon.

Everyone would be there.





CHAPTER 28


I was four blocks away from Breaker Beach and barely able to find a spot. Everyone was here, I was right. The dedication would be starting soon. I took the first spot I found, then stopped inside the Sea Rose to gather everything I had—all the evidence that had led me to this point. Keeping everything in one place so I could present it all to Detective Collins after the dedication.