The Last Thing She Ever Did(90)

“I thought she was going to pass out,” Jake said.

“She knows something.”

“Like she’s protecting someone.”

“Right.”

“Then who? Her husband?”

Esther started the car. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. He was at work when Charlie went missing.”

“And she was at her exam.”

“Yes. My guess is that it all ties back to Carole and what happened that morning.”

“You think Carole did something to her own son?”

“I don’t want to think that,” she said. “But we can’t account for what she was doing after David left for work at seven and when she talked to the insurance adjuster. She had several hours alone with her boy.”

“She doesn’t seem to be the type,” Jake said.

“The type never seems to be the type,” Esther said, wincing at her words. “You know what I mean. You just can’t ever know what’s in someone’s heart, Jake. Not based on how they look, the money they have, their education, whatever. Sometimes there’s a lot of ugly behind perfection.”

“Carole seems genuinely distraught.”

“She does, I’ll give you that. The truth is we can’t know what’s behind someone’s emotions. Half the time we project what we think we’d be feeling if we’d found ourselves in the same dire situation. Empathy is often misplaced.”

“That’s a pretty jaded opinion, Esther. Sorry, but it is.”

“I know. You’re just starting out. Give yourself some time. What we see up close changes us.”

Jake refused to be convinced. “A mother killing her own child? I just don’t buy it. Not this mother.”

“People said the same thing about Susan Smith and Diane Downs.”

“Those were genuinely evil women,” he said.

“Not to the people who knew them before their crimes. Before the outer layer was peeled off from their personas, they came across as normal, loving moms. Carole Franklin might be like that.”

“You think Carole’s guilty and Liz knows it?” he said.

Esther shrugged. “They are close. Carole’s staying with her. Maybe she said something that got Liz thinking. Maybe she flat-out confessed.”

“Well, Carole Franklin’s not talking to us.”

“Not at the moment. All roads lead back to Liz.”

“We need to get to her when her husband isn’t around,” Jake said.





CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

MISSING: TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS

Liz hadn’t been over to the Miller place in a very long time. A decade. No. Much longer. There were times when she had wanted to stop by the place that had been the starting point for so many summertime adventures on the river. One summer she and Seth had it in their minds that they wanted to go inside the beaver lodge that slowed the river to the point where the surface was a sheet of glass a hundred yards downriver. They spent three days preparing for it. Jimmy ruined everything by insisting he and a baggie full of firecrackers would be just the right addition to their plan. He was kidding, he claimed, but the very idea of blowing up the beaver dam was too much for Liz. She didn’t want to do anything that would hurt those funny animals. She’d only wanted a closer look inside their home and, truth be told, a chance to hold one of those tiny kits that she’d seen bobbing like glossy-furred corks near the lodge.

It wasn’t Jimmy who changed things. It was the tragedy at Diamond Lake that morphed into an impenetrable force field between the two families. She’d thought of coming over to see Dr. Miller to make amends for the part she might have played in the doctor’s downturn.

She even managed to make it to the front door a time or two, but something kept her from knocking.

Not today.

Liz stood on the front porch, catching her breath from her run along the river. Running was the only way she could get away from Carole and Owen. Facing either of them had become more and more difficult. Carole, for what Liz had done to her child. Owen, for what she wanted to do to herself. As the days passed since Charlie vanished, she was spending more and more time alone. Seeing anyone, especially those two, only reflected back the terrible things she’d done.

The Miller house had been so quiet for weeks now. Save for the basement light at night, it almost seemed that the venerable old house had been abandoned. Three copies of the Bend Bulletin sat yellowing on the porch.

Liz scooped up the papers and pressed the bell.

No answer.

“Dr. Miller?” she called out, opening the screen door and knocking on the door.

The same Delft blue it had been all those years ago.

“Dr. Miller? Are you all right? It’s me, Liz.”

Liz tried to twist the knob, but the door was locked. Still holding the newspapers, she went around the house and peered into the garage. The car was there.

He has to be home.

As she made her way around the side of the house, Liz noticed a long, low shape in firecracker colors—red, orange, yellow—pressed down among the nearly spent daisies and daylilies. It was the boat trailer from the day of the flash flood. The long blades of the lilies arched over the long-flattened wheels. Had it been here at the side of the house since it was dragged back by the tow truck while she, Dr. Miller, and her brother were in the hospital?