Locust Lane(66)

* * *



Oliver called back. She read him the Twitter thread.

“Did anyone else know about the payment?” was his first question.

“Just me and Jack. How about on your end?”

“I wrote the NDA myself.”

“So you think the Lirianos posted this?”

“It has to be. Lexi, I imagine. She wasn’t thrilled by the arrangement.”

“So what do we do?” she asked.

There was someone at his firm who dealt with social media issues—maybe they could get the thread blocked or deleted. He’d also try to find definitive proof of its authorship. Once they had that, Oliver could use the NDA to compel the Lirianos to tell everyone it wasn’t true.

Not that it would matter. The damage had already been done. After getting off the phone with Oliver, Celia checked—the thread now had sixty-two likes and eight retweets. Nobody had commented yet, but that was sure to come. Several hundred views might be nothing in the general scheme of things, but they comprised a multitude in Emerson, population twenty-four thousand. The toothpaste was out of the tube and there was no putting it back, however savvy Oliver’s social media expert might be. There was a lot of goodwill for the Parrishes in town, but there were also people who would take pleasure in seeing them covered with slime. It was inevitable. You rose to a certain point in your life and people suddenly felt the need to tear you down, as if your fall would elevate them.

It was maddening and depressing. She’d awakened with the belief that the nightmare was over. Not over-over. There would still be court dates and a susurrus of gossip. But her son would be all right in the end. He’d finish out his senior year. They’d summer on the Cape and he’d start at Dartmouth. They’d move on.

And now this. Before hanging up, Oliver had reassured her that at least the authorities wouldn’t give the Twitter comments much credence. They had their prime suspect and it wasn’t Jack. Christopher had motive and opportunity; there was compelling physical evidence implicating him, with more that they had yet to make public. His arrest was a foregone conclusion. Everything else was just static.

She wished she could take more comfort in his words. But she couldn’t dismiss the notion that there might actually be some horrible, hidden truth here. She thought about Lexi standing at the end of the driveway; she thought about the look on Jack’s face when he came through the door Wednesday morning, while the girl’s undiscovered corpse was cooling in the Bondurants’ rec room. She thought about the smeared and pleading eyes of the woman on the computer screen.

She needed to speak to Alice. She could offer reassurance and perspective. Celia texted her. Her message went unread, so she decided just to pop by, as she had yesterday. Driving across town felt strange now that this vile slander was out there. Suddenly, she took no comfort from all those familiar houses and shops and schools. She pictured the people inside them reading that thread, thinking what it wanted them to think.

As she turned onto Crescent, Alice’s sporty little Land Rover sped by in the opposite direction. Celia checked her rearview mirror as it rolled through a stop sign and took a right toward the town center. Wherever she was going, she was in a hurry.

The police station. Something was happening. Celia executed her first three-point turn since her driver’s test and headed after her, racing over the speed bumps, eager to intercept Alice before she got to the building. Oliver was undoubtedly already en route, having once again decided to keep whatever was happening secret from his wife. It would be useful to know, for the first time, what was happening before it’d already happened.

She caught up with her a few blocks from Centre, just as she made an unexpected left. She wasn’t going toward the station after all, but instead driving toward Emerson Heights. Maybe she’d seen the thread and was on her way to see Celia. But then she pulled into the Unitarian church. Celia slowed in confusion. Why on earth would Alice be going to church on a Friday morning? Some sort of meeting? But she’d know if her friend was in recovery. She’d certainly been forthcoming enough about everything else in her life.

Celia turned into the church’s driveway, then stopped in front of the building. Alice was nowhere in sight. She must have pulled around back. Celia got out of the car and considered her next step. She was tempted to look inside. But she didn’t want to have to explain herself to somebody wearing sensible shoes. Instead, she went around the far side of the church, following a narrow strip of lawn bordered on one side by maples and the other by stained glass. The play of light and shadow back here was so beautiful it felt otherworldly, as if she were entering heaven. Wouldn’t that be funny, if the Unitarians had it right all along.

She paused at the back of the building, then poked her head around the corner. Alice’s Rover and a dark Lexus were parked in the capacious lot. Two people sat in the latter vehicle. One was Alice, the other Michel. They began to kiss. Celia stood perfectly still, witnessing their embrace. Alice’s wild auburn hair, her soft hands all over him. They separated abruptly; Michel started to speak on the phone. Alice watched him, her hand running through her hair. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking the look of love.

Celia had seen enough. Her hands actually shook as she drove away from the church, still trying to comprehend what she’d just witnessed. It didn’t take long for her to get home. Five minutes, during which her brain did not generate a single coherent thought. It was only when she pulled into the driveway that it came to her. She opened Twitter on her phone and started to read. She found what she was looking for in the fourth tweet.