The Last of the Moon Girls(45)

Next week?

Lizzy swallowed a groan. Everything was taking longer than she’d anticipated, and there were decisions that needed to be made, requiring vastly different sets of documents, phone calls, and legwork. She’d been counting on Bundy to nudge her in one direction or the other. Instead, she was in a holding pattern. Again.

But in the meantime, maybe there was a different kind of legwork she could begin. She picked up her phone, opened the Facebook app, and tapped in Jenny Putnam’s name. There were five profiles listed, but only one Jenny Putnam in New Hampshire.

Seconds later, Lizzy was staring at a photo of a petite blonde in cyclist gear, with a number on her chest. According to her profile, she was married with twin girls—Bella and Shay—and still lived in Salem Creek. Her married name was Wittinger—husband, Donny—and she worked at New England Regional as a labor and delivery nurse. A quick call to directory assistance and Lizzy had a phone number.

She held her breath as the number connected, wishing she’d given some thought to what she would say if Jenny actually answered or, worse, if voice mail picked up. Maybe she should hang up, think it through, then call back. She was about to do just that when a woman answered.

“Hello?”

Her voice was thick and slow, as if she’d been asleep. “Mrs. Wittinger?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Lizzy Moon, and I’m calling—”

“I’m sorry. You’re . . . Who are you?”

“Lizzy Moon.” Lizzy held her breath, expecting the line to go dead. It didn’t.

“What do you want?”

“I was wondering . . . I spoke with Susan Gilman yesterday, and she gave me your name. I was hoping we could talk. About Heather.”

“Why would I talk to you?”

“Because Heather was your friend, and whoever hurt her—and Darcy—is still free.”

“I heard you were back.”

Lizzy ignored the dry response. “I have a few questions. About things Susan told me. I was hoping we could meet somewhere. I could—”

Jenny cut her off. “I’m not meeting you anywhere. In fact, I’m not sure I want to talk to you at all.”

“Please. I just have a few questions.”

“You got my number from her mom?”

“No. Information. But she gave me your name. She thought you might be able to help.”

Another pause, longer this time. The sound of ice dropping into a glass, then running water. “What do you want to know?”

Lizzy breathed a silent thank-you. “She said you and Heather had a falling-out.”

“It wasn’t just me. She stopped hanging out with all of us.”

“Why?”

“Who knows? She’d been acting weird for a while—standoffish and kind of jumpy. Then one day she just stopped talking to us.”

“She never said why?”

“She never said anything. It was like we were invisible.”

“Did she start hanging out with anyone else?”

“Not at school. She kept to herself, sat alone, ate alone. Then she started skipping class. No one knew where she went. And after a while, we stopped caring. I know that sounds harsh, but if someone doesn’t want to be your friend, you can’t make them.”

“No,” Lizzy said, noting the tinge of petulance in her tone. “You can’t. You said she’d been acting funny. Did you ask her why?”

“She’d get mad when I tried to talk to her about it. We used to hang out at her house after school because her mom baked all this amazing stuff. All of a sudden she wanted to hang out at my house, or at Cynthia’s. It was like she hated going home. Maybe because of how things were between her and her mom. Heather called her Mrs. Nosy Pants, because she was always giving her the third degree.”

“And Mr. Gilman? How did she get along with him?”

“Okay, I guess. He was usually at work when we were there. I know he gave her things. One time she wanted this cute little skirt from Forever 21, but her mom said it was too short. Next thing I know, she’s wearing it. When I asked how she changed her mother’s mind, she said she didn’t. She got her father to buy it instead. She said she had him wrapped.”

“Wrapped?”

“You know—around her finger. She bragged that she could make him do whatever she wanted.”

Like buy her condoms.

Lizzy felt a wave of disgust. Susan had said the same thing. “Did she say why?”

“No. I asked, but she just clammed up. Like I said, she got really weird.”

“Did you ever see her with any cuts or bruises?”

“You mean did her parents beat her?”

“It happens.”

“No. I never saw her with anything like that.”

“Did she have a boyfriend?”

“No. Not for a while. She and Brian Smith used to be a thing, started when they were in middle school, but that stopped around the time she ditched us. There was no one after that as far as I know, and then . . .”

Yes. And then.

“Did the police ever talk to you? Afterward, I mean.”

“Yeah. Two guys came to the house and asked me some questions.”

“Did you tell them what you told me? About Heather not wanting to go home?”