The Neighbor's Secret(41)

“Hats,” she said. “All knit by my sister and itchy as heck. She gives them as gifts.”

“Thanks?”

“I’m happy to get rid of them, actually. So. I assume everyone heard about the Donaldsons?”

“What about them?”

“The vandal cut up their Frosty the Snowman inflatable. Snipped off the little carrot nose like a psycho.” Harriet scissored her gloved fingers. “Their grandkids found the remnants this morning and are traumatized.”

“Don’t the Donaldsons have that doorbell camera?” Deb said.

“It didn’t catch anything.” Harriet eyed the boxes they’d stacked in Jen’s trunk. “Is someone moving?”

“These are Lena’s donations,” Annie said. “Most of it still has tags. She snuck two brand-new pairs of gloves to Laurel, and I’m like, thank you, Lena, for teaching my fourteen-year-old about cashmere.”

“She’s always been very generous,” Harriet said. “Money’s never been her issue. They sold the family’s company for hundreds of millions, apparently.”

Annie peered fruitlessly down the street. “I should call her.”

“I wouldn’t count on her coming, dear,” Harriet said.

“She had fun last month!” Annie insisted.

“She’s different now. Tentative.”

Jen was unable to stop the exasperated sigh that escaped from her mouth in a puff of vapor.

She was too cold and irritated to care about the shocked looks. Everyone had their shit: Jen certainly did, and she’d brought her own donations and managed to come early, thank you very much.

“I’m sorry,” Jen said impatiently, “it’s tragic that her husband died, but wasn’t it like years ago?”

“He didn’t just die.” Deb sounded scandalized. “He killed Bryce Neary in a hit-and-run. He went to jail for it.”

“That’s horrible.” Jen frowned. “Was Bryce—did he live here too?”

“How do you not know this, Jen?”

“I thought I did,” Jen said.

“Apparently not,” Deb said.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



“First of all,” Deb said, “I’m not the best person to tell the story. Annie went to high school with Bryce.”

“A million years ago.” Annie’s lower jaw spasmed, which briefly altered her face into something ugly.

“And Harriet was literally at the accident,” Deb said. “It happened in her front yard.”

“About fifty yards up the hill,” Harriet demurred. “I didn’t see it.”

Deb paused for either of them to pick up the story, but when neither did, she shrugged and continued.

“Bryce’s dad lived in the Yung’s house, you know, the gray cape on Wildcat that backs up to the red rocks? No? God, Jen, next weekend I am going to give you a personal tour of the neighborhood, it’s like you don’t even live here sometimes.

“Anyway, Bryce had just graduated from college a few weeks before, and was about to move to Chicago. The night was supposed to be a reunion of sorts for a bunch of them who’d gone to high school together, and they started at the Meekers’ party before moving the celebration to a classmate’s parents’ house just across Highway Five.

“Meanwhile, after the Meeker party ended, Lena went to sleep and Tim drove off to God knows where to do God knows what. When he drove back—at the same time Bryce was walking home from the house party—”

Deb pushed the tips of her fingers into the other hand’s flattened palm, to indicate the crash.

“Tim didn’t even stop. Lena woke up when she heard his car, saw the cracked windshield and managed to, I don’t know, interrogate him successfully enough that he admitted he hit something near Harriet’s. When Lena knocked on your door in the middle of the night, her eyes were like a wild animal’s. Just filled with pure grief and shock, right, Harriet?”

“It was forever ago,” Harriet said briskly.

“You told someone that, Harriet. I couldn’t make up that detail, it’s so chilling.” After a shudder, Deb continued. “Lena screamed at Harriet to call the police, that it was Tim, and you did, right Harriet? And they came for him a few hours later. He had a record, which we don’t think Lena knew—DUIs—I think even an outstanding warrant or something. The police dumped Tim in a cell and he had a heart attack that night, they think from alcohol abuse. Anyway, he died in the jail cell, only a few hours after he hit Bryce.”

“Oh my God.”

“Awful, I know. And Lena’s daughter, Rachel, fled for boarding school after that, and as far as we know, she’s never deigned to come back, not for Christmas, or her mom’s birthday or anything, she’s just frozen out Lena, and oh my gosh, Harriet are you okay? Do you need some water? There’s a cold going around, Sierra’s started just like that with the gunk in the throat and—oh, hello Lena! I didn’t hear you walk up, how are you? So glad you came! We were just talking about all your fabulous donations, weren’t we, girls?”

Deb finally stopped talking, slammed her lips together. Even in the dim moonlight, Jen could see her face flush with embarrassment.