The Broken Girls(100)
“I have,” Katie said softly. “I’m going to give her a proper burial. And then, my dear, you can rest easy. I’m not going to restore Idlewild. I’m going to take that place, with all of its ghosts, and I’m going to bury it. I’m going to dismantle every stick and stone until there’s nothing left, and then I’m going to leave it to rot, just like it wants to.”
Chapter 36
Barrons, Vermont
December 2014
Fiona stayed at her father’s house her first night out of the hospital, on the twin bed that was still in her old bedroom, and then she went home. She was shaky and tired, but the worst of the flu was over, and her neck was beginning to heal. She went back to her small apartment, laden with groceries from Malcolm, and looked around at the stacks of boxes from Idlewild Hall. Then she went to bed.
She thought maybe she’d stay there. That maybe she’d run out of whatever had driven her for the last twenty years, and without it she had nothing left. The jittery feeling she always got in her bloodstream was gone, and she thought she’d sleep for a week. But instead she stared at the ceiling, her mind ticking over—more slowly, more deliberately than it used to, but ticking all the same. Within an hour she was up again, wearing old boxers and a stretched-out T-shirt, eating crackers and canned soup, her feet up on a box of Idlewild records. She pulled out her laptop after a while and checked her e-mail.
There was a small avalanche in her in-box. Jonas hoping she was okay. Journalists from the local press covering the story of Garrett Creel’s arrest and looking for a statement. Hester, one of the sisters from the Barrons Historical Society, sending her links to the story in the local press. There was nothing from Jamie.
It was midmorning, quiet in her apartment building, most of the residents gone to work. Fiona clicked on the links Hester had sent her and scanned through the news stories.
Garrett Creel had been charged with kidnapping and attempted murder for his attack on her, as well as firing at a police officer, who happened to be his own son. He was scheduled for a bail hearing the next day. The articles on the newswire gave a brief summary of Fiona’s background, of Deb’s murder and Tim’s conviction, of the fact that Fiona was dating Garrett’s son, but no motive for the attack was given. And there was no mention of Garrett Creel covering up evidence of Tim’s crimes and the murder of Deb in 1994.
It wasn’t completely surprising. The police would keep the internal investigation under wraps for as long as they could. There were always potential leaks in internal police cases, but it took a diligent journalist to dig them out. This story was a small one—a retired chief of police attacking a thirty-seven-year-old woman and trying to choke her to death. A family dispute. Even a lovers’ quarrel, maybe. Something seedy. She set aside the requests from the journalists in her in-box without answering them. She would decide whom to talk to, and when.
She picked up her cell phone, stared at its string of notifications, and suddenly felt tired. She wished Jamie was here.
He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t called. He’d been at the hospital—she hadn’t imagined that. She wondered what he was doing, how he was taking his father’s arrest. She pictured that cozy, time-warped house without Garrett in it, Diane knocking around it by herself.
As she was staring at her phone, it rang in her hand. An unknown number. On impulse, she answered it.
“Hello, Fiona” came the rich, familiar voice of an elderly woman on the other end.
Fiona felt her stomach tighten. “Hello, Katie.”
Katie Winthrop sighed. “No one ever calls me that,” she said. “Except Roberta and CeCe. And now you. The hospital tells me you were released. How are you feeling?”
“Fine, I suppose.”
“I just talked to Anthony. He’s suspicious that something is up. He asked me why in the world you wanted to know my maiden name.”
“Then you should tell him the truth, don’t you think?”
“I just might,” Katie said. “I’m old enough now. I’m tired of being Margaret. I think it’s time to be Katie again. But that isn’t what I’m calling about. I’m calling about the Idlewild files.”
By reflex, Fiona stared around her darkened apartment at the files stacked against the walls. “Anthony already tried,” she said.
“Yes, he did. Now I’m going to try and bargain with you. I want the files. I already own the school and the property. I want the files, too.”
“What for?”
“Because it’s my history,” Katie said. “It’s our history, me and the girls. Sonia’s history. And maybe I’m a maudlin old lady, but I think it might have answers.”
“It’s a bunch of old textbooks and personnel files,” Fiona said. “I don’t think you’re going to find the answer you want.”
“Then I’ll be disappointed, I suppose. But I’m willing to make an offer,” Katie said. “What do you want, Fiona?”
Fiona stared down at her bare legs, her bare feet, as the words echoed home. What do you want, Fiona?
She wanted all of this to be over. She wanted to be different. She wanted her life to be different. She wanted the chance to do it all over again.
She wanted money, a career that felt real. She wanted Jamie back.
But what she said was “I want Sonia’s diary.”