The Passing Storm(74)

Hugging Quinn gently, his lean body slack in her arms, she proffered reassurance. I’m glad you told me. Really grateful. Now put that night out of mind. Quinn—it’s not your fault. You did great. You did all that you could when you heard the girls fighting. Lark was your friend, and you climbed over the wall to try to help her out. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.

A flurry of reassurances; he remained silent through them all, his gaze unable to meet hers when she released him. Head bowed, he’d trudged down the hallway with Shelby on his heels.

Now turmoil seared Rae’s thoughts.

Last October, eight teenagers had attended the slumber party. They formed Stella Thomerson’s crew of popular girls. Most of the girls were casual acquaintances of Lark’s. She hadn’t known most of them well enough to be at odds regarding anything of importance. Certainly nothing so earth-shattering as to lead to a shouting match outside on a snowy autumn night. In the popular crowd, Lark was an outlier. A second-tier friend, a tagalong.

She’d been surprised that Stella had invited her at all.

Wheeling her thoughts back to Monday, Rae dissected the conversation with Yuna, when she’d stopped by in the early afternoon while Quinn and Connor were hanging the decorative lights. Rae picked through everything they’d discussed with the thoroughness of a detective sifting through clues. How she’d described making a fool of herself at Griffin’s firm that morning. How the conversation veered to Lark as Yuna launched a further shock when she placed the keepsake—which Rae had assumed was forgotten, a relic hidden in her attic—on the table between them. And then described Lark’s plan.

Rae, if Lark was bragging that Griffin was her father . . . it probably didn’t go down well with Stella.

Was Lark quarreling with Stella that night? Having an argument that became so heated, they took it outside? Of the popular girls, Stella was the Queen Bee. The others did her bidding whenever she liked. She was also more reserved than some of her friends—not the sort to engage in a shouting match. At least not in Rae’s experience. In all the years she’d known Katherine’s daughter, she couldn’t recall a time she’d witnessed Stella even bicker with one of the other girls.

Rae turned and tested the possibilities racing through her mind, rearranging them like the pieces of a Rubik’s Cube. Perhaps Stella held back. If she was furious with Lark, she could’ve asked one of the other girls to do the dirty work. Argue with Lark outside, without witnesses. Any one of them would’ve jumped at the chance. A way to earn brownie points with the Queen Bee.

The quiet descending upon the house felt oppressive. Her stomach in knots, Rae flicked off the TV. A gust of wind rattled against the windows before hurrying off, allowing the silence to flood back in.

Sifting for clues secondhand would never uncover the truth. All Rae had was a trail of pure conjecture based on the events Quinn had described. There was only one reliable fact: Lark was gone, her life cut short in the most tragic way. There was no proof she’d been fighting with Stella—or anyone else, for that matter. Over Griffin, of all things. Because Griffin was dating Katherine at the time, and Stella may have reacted badly to Lark’s boasts.

Am I the one who’s overreacting?

Assuming Lark had argued with one of the other teens, it probably meant nothing. They fought, and then the other girl went back inside. Lark stayed outside, dangerously near the icy, empty pool—alone.

Or did she?

Snatching up her smartphone, Rae thumbed through the texts. Her daughter’s final message leaped onto the screen.

Should’ve stayed home.

After sending the text, Lark slipped on ice and fell into the pool.

Or someone pushed her in.

Dread gripped Rae’s throat. How would she ever know for sure?

Grimly, she sighed. There was only one way. She needed to talk to each of the girls who’d attended the party. Sit them down, one by one, then compare each of their stories. Yuna could help her contact each of the families—Yuna got along with everyone in town and had better diplomatic skills than Rae. They could begin by contacting the girls in Stella’s posse, and leave the call to Katherine for last. If Stella was behind Lark’s accident—directly or indirectly—it made sense to talk to the others first.

Rae’s heart sank. All the girls were loyal to each other—and to Stella especially. If they’d lied as a group to the PD on the night of Lark’s death, what chance was there of garnering the truth now? They’d simply lie again.

I need an inducement, something to pry one of the girls loose from the others. Something to encourage one of them to stand apart and substantiate Quinn’s version of events.

The solution was suddenly obvious. Groaning, Rae hid her face in her palms.

I need Griffin’s help. Lowering her hands into her lap, she drew a steadying breath. There really was no other option.

Griffin’s niece, Jackie, had not only attended the party, she was Stella’s best friend. If Griffin could impress upon Jackie the seriousness of the situation, she’d do the right thing. Perhaps not immediately. But Rae was confident he’d get his niece to open up. Jackie would verify the true version of events. Which would leave Rae—if the worst-case was the actual scenario—dealing with a more awful situation than she’d bargained for.

Don’t even go there. The worst-case scenario is only a remote possibility. Very remote, and not worth considering. Stella and the others were typical fourteen-year-old girls, with their love of fashion and the latest music and their catty disagreements. A little spoiled and certainly indulged by the parents who loved them—Rae had been no different when it came to Lark’s wants, and her needs—but every one of the girls was grounded by a core of decency. Good kids, all. Not one of them would’ve intentionally harmed Lark. It was unthinkable.