Hidden Pictures(74)

I’m reminded of my conversation with Detective Briggs. “I think I’ve already met one. I just didn’t believe her.”

“Well, I hope this puts your mind at ease,” Curtis says. “My wife’s waiting for me in the car, so I should put your friend back on.”

I thank Curtis for his time and he passes the phone back to Adrian. “Incredible, right?”

“We were wrong about everything?”

“Annie Barrett was never murdered. She’s not our ghost, Mallory. All those pictures have to be coming from someone else.”

“Teddy?” I look up and see Caroline Maxwell standing at the edge of the pool, calling to her son. “It’s getting late, honey. Time to rinse off.”

“Five more minutes?” he asks.

I wave to Caroline, signaling that I’ll take care of him. “I gotta go,” I tell Adrian. “Do you want to come over when you get home? Since it’s my last night?”

“If you don’t mind staying up late. The GPS says I won’t get back until midnight.”

“I’ll be waiting. Drive safe.”

My mind is reeling. I feel like I’ve run right into a brick wall. I realize I’ve spent the last few weeks chasing a dead end—and now I need to rethink everything I know about Anya.

But first I need to get Teddy out of the pool.

“Come on, T-Bear. Let’s get you rinsed off.”

We grab our towels and walk across the yard to the outdoor shower stall. There’s a tiny bench outside the stall, and Caroline has set out Teddy’s fire truck pajamas and clean underwear. I reach inside the door to turn on the water, adjusting the faucets until the temperature is warm. Then Teddy goes inside and latches the door and I stand outside holding his towel. His swim trunks hit the concrete floor with a splat, and then his tiny feet kick them out to me. I twist the polyester fabric in my hands, wringing out all of the water. Then I glance across the yard to Mitzi’s house. The lights in the kitchen are on, and Detective Briggs has returned to the scene of the crime. She’s walking around the backyard with some kind of metal pole, poking at the dirt, taking measurements. I wave hello, and she comes over.

“Mallory Quinn,” she says. “I heard you’re leaving Spring Brook tomorrow.”

“Things didn’t work out.”

“That’s what Caroline said. I was a little surprised you never mentioned it, though.”

“It didn’t come up.”

She waits for me to elaborate, but what does she expect me to say? It’s not like I’m proud of being fired. I try to change the subject.

“I just got off the phone with Annie Barrett’s grandson. A man named Curtis Campbell. He lives in Akron, Ohio. Claims his Granny Annie lived all the way to age eighty-one.”

Briggs grins. “I told you that story was a whopper. My grandfather grew up with Willie. They used to fish together.”

Teddy interrupts us, calling from inside the shower stall. “Hey, Mallory?”

“Right here, buddy.”

He sounds panicked. “There’s a bug on the soap.”

“What kind of bug?”

“A big one. A thousand-legger.”

“Splash some water on it.”

“I can’t, I need you to do it.”

He unlatches the door and then retreats to the far corner of the stall, getting out of my way. I reach for the bar of Dove soap, expecting some kind of nasty slithering silverfish, but there’s nothing.

“Where is it?”

Teddy shakes his head, and I realize the bug was just a ploy, an excuse to make me open the door. He whispers, “Are we getting arrested?”

“Who?”

“The police lady. Is she mad at us?”

I stare at Teddy, bewildered. Nothing about this conversation makes any sense. “No, buddy, everything’s fine. No one’s getting arrested. Just finish up, okay?”

I close the door and he latches it behind me.

Detective Briggs is still waiting.

“Everything all right?”

“He’s fine.”

“I mean you, Mallory. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

I sink into a chair to steady my thoughts, and I say I’m still reeling from the phone call. “I’d convinced myself that Annie Barrett was murdered. I can’t believe people have been spreading this story for seventy years.”

“Well, the truth doesn’t reflect well on Spring Brook. If the town had been a little more tolerant, maybe Willie and Annie could have stayed here. Maybe George wouldn’t have felt the need to stage a crime scene.” Briggs laughs. “You know, there’s still guys in my department who think the murder really happened? I tell them the truth, and they act like I’m trying to stir things up, a black woman cop handing out race cards.” She shrugs. “Anyhow, I don’t want to keep you long. I just had a quick question. We found Mitzi’s cell phone in her kitchen. The battery had run down but we found a charger and got it working again. Seems she was in the middle of sending you a text. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but maybe it’ll mean something to you.” She looks down at her notepad, squinting over the tops of her reading glasses. “Here’s what it says: ‘We need to talk. I was wrong about before. Anya isn’t a name, it’s’”— Briggs stops and looks to me. “That’s as far as she got. Do those words mean anything to you?”