The Box in the Woods (Truly Devious #4)(30)

“Oh—chocolate?”

Patty chopped off another massive hunk of cake.

“Allison seemed really hopeful about the diary,” Stevie said. “But then, she said everyone just humors her?”

“She asks every new detective about that diary,” Patty said, passing the cake to Stevie. “If they haven’t found it by





now, I don’t think they’re going to turn it up at this point, but it gives her something to hold on to, I guess. I don’t know if it’s better for her to have hope about that or let it go. It’s complicated. You said red velvet, right?”

Janelle nodded. Another heroic slice was produced.

Patty made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the table with them. She pulled the tie from her ponytail, letting her dusty-blond hair fall over her shoulders.

“So this is about a podcast, huh?” she said. “You want to know our stories? I’ll tell you mine, if you want.”

“Do you mind talking about it?” Stevie asked. “Even now?”

Patty shook her head. “It’s nothing I haven’t said before. I’m lucky to be able to tell the story. I would have been there that night. Todd, Eric, and Diane were my friends, my gang. The only reason I wasn’t there was because I was in trouble. I have survivor’s guilt. It feels like my duty to talk about it.”

Having said she was willing to talk, Patty drifted into silence for a moment. Stevie, Janelle, and Nate looked at each other and ate cake for a moment until Patty stirred herself.

“What is it you want to know? The usual stuff? Who, where, when?”

Put like that, it felt dirty and low. Stevie felt herself contract internally. This was what it felt like to talk to real survivors—it was something she would have to get used to, if not get comfortable with.

“What were your friends like?” Stevie asked. It seemed like the best way to ease into the nitty-gritty details.





“Fun,” Patty said without hesitation. “A lot of fun. Most of them. I’m going to sound like I’m a million years old, but it was such a different time. Everything was loose, free. A lot of it was really irresponsible, but we had a good time. Back then, I didn’t think about the future. In high school, I was . . . unfocused. Spoiled, if I’m being honest. I was terrible.” She smiled and shrugged apologetically. “My mother died when I was eleven—she had cancer. It was so horrific. My dad took care of me, but he didn’t talk much about anything. He was a war hero, actually. Military intelligence. He did something important in the war, behind enemy lines, in Germany. Serious stuff, the kind people write books about. It made him tight-lipped and stern. He made a good living, and between his salary and a little life insurance from my mom’s passing, we were very comfortable. He tried to care for me by giving me anything I wanted. I had fashionable clothes, whatever was the latest. I got all the records I wanted. I had horses. I got a car when I turned sixteen—a little MG convertible, which was very cool. We had the house with the big pool. I was that kid. While everyone else was thinking about their education and job, I was never thinking further than the next party, the next drama, the next new thing. I didn’t apply to college. That’s when my dad and I started to argue. We had some blowup fights my senior year. He wanted me to make a plan for my life, and he wanted me to stop hanging out with deadbeats. That’s what he called my friends.”


She took a long sip of her tea.

“You asked what they were like,” she said, refocusing.





“Eric was sweet. Funny. A genuinely nice guy. Smart, too. A lot of people have made a big deal about the fact that he sold pot, but you have to understand . . . this was some low-level, high school, late-seventies stuff. He would have gone on to really good things if he had gotten himself together, which I think he would have. I miss them all, but I think about Eric a lot for some reason. Diane was one of my closest friends, but I can’t say I ever knew her well. Her parents owned the Dairy Duchess—it’s the diner down the street. She was tough, loved rock. Loved it. Especially Led Zeppelin. Loved going to concerts. I did too, but Diane was a real music person. She was Todd’s girlfriend, and Todd was . . . ”

Stevie saw Patty wrestling with her thoughts.

“I have a hard time reconciling this one,” she said. “Todd was not a good person, and I knew it, and I still liked him. He was the big man on campus—son of the mayor, captain of the football team. He felt like a big deal, which is ridiculous of course. At the time, though, it seemed so important. It’s so easy to get sucked in when you’re young. I should have stopped hanging out with him after Michael Penhale died, but I didn’t.”

“You think he had something to do with Michael Penhale’s death?” Stevie asked.

“Oh, he did it,” Patty said. “I’m sure of that. I was in his Jeep all the time—I knew how he drove. Fast, drunk, high. Someone saw him that night, and the police did nothing at all to investigate. And I saw the change in him after Michael Penhale died. He was always cocky, but after that he





was unbearable. I could stand it because I was on the inside of the circle with him. I think I tried to tell myself it was just a terrible accident on a dark road. Todd didn’t mean to do it. I justified it in my mind by thinking that because it wasn’t intentional, it was . . . not okay, but not something that needed to be pursued? I’m not proud of any of this—I’m just telling you how it was.”