All the Beautiful Lies(59)

“And is Harry a suspect in his father’s death?”

“No, no. He wasn’t here. He was at his college in Connecticut. And he’s been very helpful to us.”

“You’re looking at his stepmother?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Caitlin, sorry. What can I do for you? Did you think of something we didn’t talk about yesterday?”

Suddenly, Caitlin couldn’t remember why she had come back to the station, then recalled that it was to find out if she could get contact info on Harry. She said, “I just wanted to find out if you had any new information.”

“Just that your sister’s body will be released later today, and we’re hoping to get autopsy results anytime now.”

“But you know how she died?”

“She most likely died from trauma to her head. It was very fast, like I told you.”

“Okay.”

They were each quiet for a while. Caitlin’s eyes went again to the whiteboard, erased now of all words, although there was a faint trace of two drawn boxes, arrows going back and forth between them.

“Can I ask you to do me a favor?” the detective asked.

“Sure.”

“If you do wind up talking with Harry—and I’d rather you not talk about the details of the case—but if you do, will you consider giving me a call and letting me know what you talked about? I’m sure he won’t say anything he hasn’t already told me, but he might.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said.

“And one more thing. Please don’t talk to reporters, and if you do—”

“I won’t. I have no intention of talking to reporters.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’m going to show you to the side door. They’re forming a blockade at the front as we speak.”



When she got to the diner early, she found Harry already seated in a booth, a cup of coffee in front of him. She slid in across from him, and said, “Thank you for meeting me here.”

“You look so much like her. I’m sorry if I stared earlier.”

“I know we did look alike. I didn’t see it myself, and people who knew us both said we were very different.”

“But you’re twins.”

“We’re fraternal twins.” Caitlin caught herself using the present tense and almost corrected herself, but didn’t. Instead, she said, “Grace was more outgoing, talked a lot, always did whatever she wanted to. She was fearless.”

“And you’re not like that.”

“No, not particularly. Not like Grace was, anyway.” Caitlin felt the ache in her throat that meant she was about to cry again, tried to stifle it, but couldn’t. She let out one smothered sob then pressed both palms against her eyes. Her chest hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said. “We don’t . . .” He trailed off.

Caitlin looked up at him, took a deep breath, and said, “No, it’s fine. I get these waves, almost like I realize all over again that she’s really gone, and they just, they just . . .”

“I know. I get the same thing with my father. Like how is it possible that I’ll never speak to him again? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said, her voice back to normal.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. At least with my father . . . he was older. I didn’t expect him to die, but we always assume our parents will die before us.”

The waitress appeared, refilling Harry’s coffee and asking Caitlin if she wanted anything. She didn’t, really, but asked for a cup of tea.

“Thanks again for meeting me here,” Caitlin said, wanting to get the conversation back on track.

“It’s fine. I know you’re probably going to want to hear if I know how Grace died, and I really don’t.”

“You found her, I heard.”

“I did. I’d seen her the night before, and the next morning I went back to the house she was staying at to check on her, and . . . I was the one who called the police.”

Caitlin wondered, not for the first time, why Harry, who had seen her last, and who had found her body, was not being held as a suspect. Although seated across from him now, seeing the gutted look in his eyes, she didn’t think he had had anything to do with Grace’s death.

Her tea arrived. Caitlin added sugar and took a sip. She said: “The detective seemed to think that whoever killed your father also killed my sister.”

“Is that what he said to you?”

“He did. What do you think?”

“I guess that’s what I think, too. But I don’t really know, and, honestly, I feel like I’ve been in shock since coming back up here to Maine. I believed Grace, though. She was convinced that my stepmother had something to do with my father’s death. That’s why she was here.”

“I know. You think she was right?”

“Well, no. When I said I believed her, I guess what I meant was that I believed that she really believed my stepmother had killed my father. She was sure of it. I don’t know what to think myself.”

“How’s your stepmother now?”

Harry scratched his jaw. “She’s upset. I’m still staying with her. She says that there’s a woman my father was involved with—another woman besides your sister—and that she was the one who killed my father, and now she thinks she killed your sister because she was with my father as well.”