What Lies in the Woods(36)

“I’ll let you know when we’re finished here,” Bishop said to Dougherty.

“Well, that’s your call,” Dougherty said, nodding. Friendly as anything. Condescending as hell. “Did you know, I’ve known these girls since they were yea high?” he added, leveling a hand below his hip. His tone was warning, and his message was clear. Bishop was a newcomer. For all my faults, I belonged to Chester. “Damn shame, all of this. But it’s pretty clear-cut.”

“It is?” I asked. The corner of Bishop’s mouth twitched with annoyance.

“It’s a tragedy, is what it is,” Dougherty said. “Any time someone takes their own life, it’s a tragedy.”

“You think she killed herself,” I said. “Then why—” I cut my eyes to Bishop, who was sitting with her lips pressed together. I looked between them in confusion. “I thought—the questions you were asking—”

“If she shot herself, the gun should be at the scene,” Bishop said. “We haven’t located it.”

“We don’t know where exactly she was standing when she died,” Dougherty said. “The body would have drifted some. We’re checking the bottom of the pond, but it’ll take a while.”

“In her previous attempt, she overdosed on prescription pills,” Bishop said. “Using a gun is a lot more unusual for a woman. Especially one who isn’t comfortable around guns.”

“A determined person will use whatever they can get their hands on, in my experience,” Dougherty said, and that false friendliness was wearing off, revealing the burr of irritation beneath. “And the pills were locked up.”

“In the same safe as the gun, which doesn’t seem to have been properly secured one way or the other, Officer Dougherty,” Bishop said. Dougherty lifted his hands as if in surrender, ducking his head.

“So you don’t know it was suicide,” I said. I felt like I was lurching to and fro. I couldn’t tell which answer I wanted. Which one would be worse.

“Hon, there was a note,” Dougherty said. “Her mother found it about an hour ago.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a clear plastic bag. Bishop made an abrupt gesture as if to stop him, fury in her eyes, but I had no attention to spare for their power struggle. A single sheet of white paper was inside, creased at the center like it had been folded. He set it gently onto the table beside me. The letters were shaky, oversized, and slewed across the page so much I barely recognized Liv’s handwriting.

I’m sorry. I know that I should be strong, but I can’t anymore. I’m tired of feeling like this. I’m tired of lying. I can’t keep doing it.

I’m going to be with Persephone now. We never finished. That means this makes seven. It can finally be over. I’m sorry.

Liv

I reached out, my fingers brushing the cool plastic. There was a note. That was that, then. Liv was gone. She’d broken her promise to me. And I’d broken my promise to be there for her when she needed it.

Except this wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t have used the gun. And if she was going out to the woods to be with Persephone, why had she been at the pond?

“Who is Persephone?” Bishop asked.

“It was a game we played that summer. The Goddess Game,” I said, voice distant. I didn’t have to say what summer I meant. Dougherty nodded gravely. Tell them, I thought. Tell them the truth. But the words wouldn’t come. Twenty-two years of silence weren’t that easy to break.

“What did Liv lie about, Naomi?” Bishop asked. She gave me a steady look. Not angry, not suspicious. Not content.

“Monica, cut the girl some slack,” Dougherty said gruffly. “She probably just meant she was lying about being okay, something like that. We might never know. Let me get Naomi on out of here. Mayor Green wants a word with you anyway.”

Bishop’s look was brimming with irritation. “You might have started with that,” she said, standing. Big Jim didn’t like being kept waiting. The Chief served at the pleasure of the city council, which meant at Big Jim’s pleasure, and Bishop couldn’t afford to be on his bad side. She gave me one last considering look and then waved a hand. “See her out,” she said, and stalked from the room.

I stood, leaving the blanket puddled on the chair behind me. My borrowed shoes squeaked on the tile.

“I’m sorry about that,” Dougherty said, hand on my shoulder as he shepherded me toward the front lobby. It was all I could do not to shrug it off. “She’s not from here, you know how it is. She doesn’t know the way things ought to go.”

Not from here. Not one of us. That was all that mattered in Chester—who belonged and who didn’t. I’d been born here and I still ended up on the wrong side of that equation more often than not.

Ethan Schreiber was waiting in the lobby. He’d had time to change, apparently, because he was wearing fresh, dry clothes. He looked up with an expression of worry as we entered.

“Can I leave you here?” Dougherty asked. With him went unspoken. I answered with a nod. Dougherty shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’m real sorry about Liv. After all you girls have been through…”

“Thank you, Officer Dougherty,” I managed.

“Call me Bill,” he said. I just nodded again and walked toward Ethan, who watched with his hands in his pockets. We didn’t say anything as we headed outside. My car was waiting for us in the lot. Ethan pulled my keys out of his pocket.