All the Dark Places(71)

“Did you hear anything? See anyone at that hour?”

“No. Everything was quiet.”

“Was your dad still asleep?”

“Yes. He was snoring.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went into the kitchen and turned on the little light over the stove. I made tea. I was careful not to let the kettle whistle because I didn’t want to wake anyone up. While the tea bag steeped, I went into the mudroom to get the key ring because Molly locks up all the doors at night and I needed to get out on the deck.”

“Okay. Then what?”

Alice shrugs. “It wasn’t there.”

“What wasn’t there?” I ask, pencil poised.

“The key ring.”

My heartbeat kicks up. “Was it there the night before?”

“I think so. It’s always there.”

“Then what happened?”

She sighs. “I went back to bed. There wasn’t any sense in staying up if I couldn’t get out on the deck.”

“Did you go back to sleep?”

“Yes. I fell back asleep until seven or so when my dad woke me up.”

“Was the key ring back? Did you notice?”

“I saw it there when we left.”

“What time was that?”

She looks at her dad.

“We left a little after eight, I think,” Mr. Branch says. “Is that all, Detectives? I’ve got a store to run.”

Joe and I exchange looks. “I think we’re done here. Alice, thank you very much for your help.”





CHAPTER 53


Molly


I’M BACK AT THE HOTEL, AND SADIE GREETS ME AT OUR DOOR. I’D locked her in with the DO NOT DISTURB flag hanging from the outside knob when I left for the prison. She’s all wagging tail when I come in. I clip on her leash, and we head back out.

We walk down the sloping hotel driveway and start down the sidewalk. Traffic streams by, people on their way to the grocery store or to school to pick up kids maybe, oblivious to me and my dog. Unaware of the enormous lightness I feel as I stride along beside them. I’m just some woman walking her pet.

I’m jittery too as emotions bubble through my body. I never thought I’d see my attacker again. Confronting him had been a strange dream, an idea that never seemed possible, discouraged by the professionals I’d talked to over the years. But the power I felt when the meeting concluded reaffirmed my belief that, for me, this was a necessary step, one a long time in the making.

And Jay, he didn’t betray me. Tears slip down my cheeks as the cold, gusty wind tosses my hair back over my shoulders. With one hand, I tug my knitted hat more firmly over my ears. I miss my husband so much it sends shudders of pain through my chest. I want to tell him what I did today like a proud child. That’s the worst thing about death: you want to tell your loved one things, both trivial and life-altering. You start to form in your mind what you’re going to say, anticipate his or her reaction, feel that warm glow of experiences shared between you. Death severs that most primal connection, and that leaves maybe the biggest hole of all. Still, I whisper to Jay and close my eyes a moment. I imagine his voice in the wind. Well done, Molly!

Back in the room, Sadie and I relax. I need to decompress, let today’s events settle through me, then I’ll go home. Tomorrow.

I peruse the plastic menu that sits on the credenza and order room service. After Sadie and I eat, I watch TV, read a magazine, although my mind skims the words without them sticking. It’s full dark now, but I’m not sleepy. I’m full of energy.

I rifle through my suitcase and pull out my swimsuit, cap, and goggles. When I first started seeing Jay as his patient, he asked me what I did for exercise. At the time, I was working at the bookstore and basically going home at night, where I would watch TV, eat a microwaved frozen meal, and go to bed depressed and exhausted. But Jay, a great believer in the mind-body connection, encouraged me to exercise. In high school, I’d been on the swim team, so I rediscovered an old love. Since Jay and I’d been married, I’d gradually given up my trips to the Y, secure and happy with my husband, my mind on other things.

The hotel pool is empty and the lights low, the blue-green water deep and enticing. The sharp chemical smell is welcoming. I slip into the shallow end, stand still a moment, and touch the scar on my arm. After I’d been rescued and taken to the hospital, I recall the doctor probing the cuts, which were infected and suppurating. I remember the pain and my tears as he cleaned and bandaged Keith’s initials. My mother took care of the wound the next couple of weeks until it healed. She’d yank off the old bandage and clean it with cotton balls soaked in stinging alcohol. Then she’d apply ointment from a special tube and put on a new bandage. She never said anything while this process occurred, except “Be a big girl, Melinda. It’s not that bad.” As though it was a scraped knee, an ordinary childhood mishap. I clear my throat. Seeing Keith today helped put that behind me as well. The scar is a battle wound. And I’ve finally won the war.

I pull my goggles down over my eyes, feel the familiar suction as they cling to my face, and kick off from the wall. The water is perfectly cool, like silk, and I glide slowly, doing an easy crawl. It’s quiet underwater, like being in another world. My muscles warm as my arms reach and my legs propel me across the pool. My mind clears as I turn and start back, lap after lap, one flowing into the next until time slips by and I’m ready for sleep.