Page 54 of Welcome to Murder Week

“Probably that he didn’t contribute at all,” I say.

“Then who created the mystery?” Amity says.

“That’s obvious,” Wyatt says. “I’m quite confident—make thatdamnedconfident—that when we crack this case, and we will crack it, we’re going to find Germaine Postlethwaite’s fingerprints all over it. Roland may be the published author, but she’s the brains behind this operation.”

Amity and Wyatt have the murder bulletin board on the table.I pick up the much sparser board devoted to my mother’s mystery. If Germaine is so smart, might she figure out what my mother was hiding too? I lean the board against the wall and take an index card from the pile on the kitchen table. On it I write “Stanage Edge,” though I’m not sure if I should add it to the board.

Amity asks what it means. I try to describe what it was like to be there.

“Was it from your mother’s bedtime story?” she asks.

“It might have been. It must have been. I don’t know.”

“I believe that sometimes, against all logic and reason, people know the answers to the mysteries that perplex them,” Amity says. “They know it viscerally, in their bodies, if not intellectually. Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

When I don’t respond, she pats my hand, the way my grandmother used to.

“Not to worry. We’ll keep trying.”

My throat constricts, a familiar feeling from childhood, when I was trying to hold back tears, because it wasn’t the right time, because I was at a friend’s house, or at school, not in my room at home. Why am I suddenly so sad? I don’t realize that my lips are trembling until I notice the way Amity is looking at me. She comes over and puts an arm around me.

“Let’s sit,” she says, guiding me to the couch.

I start to speak but can’t find the words. For a few hours, I’d forgotten about my mother, and how she bolted and reappeared and never explained herself. I’d forgotten what brought me here. I let myself kiss Dev and enjoy the moment without overthinking. It’s like I let down my guard out of happiness, and now sadness is rushing in. That glorious feeling of being up there on Stanage Edge has dislodged everything I’ve been holding back.

I have an overwhelming desire to call my mother. To ask herwhat I’m doing here. To demand answers. All my life, I’ve wanted answers from her. Why did she go? Why did she return, only to leave again? Why didn’t she miss me the way I missed her? Why was it so difficult for me to be apart from her even after she’d left me again and again? She was so disappointing. How can I miss her so much? My eyes sting. The first tears since my mother died.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Don’t you?” Amity says, handing me a tissue. “I think I do.”

I blow my nose, looking up at her and waiting for her to clue me in.

“This, my dear, is grief.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I tell Amity I need to shower before we go to Tracy’s flat. Under the rush of water, I let the tears come. I don’t like crying like this, but I can’t help myself, overwhelmed by memories.

I must have been eleven, maybe twelve, and my mother and I were walking in a park near my grandmother’s house. When my mother stopped to talk to a man carrying a baby on his shoulders, I ran ahead and climbed into the hollow of an old sycamore tree. The trunk was huge but scooped out like a cave with two openings. I think it had been hit by lightning. I crouched into a little ball in the darkest space, between the openings, hidden from view. My mother didn’t notice that I was gone and kept chatting with the man. I waited without moving for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she started calling my name. She sounded playful at first, but then her tone changed. I could tell she was annoyed and, after a few more minutes, angry and afraid. I’m ashamed to remember how long I stayed there, silent, giving my mother a real scare. The truth was, I liked hearing how frantic she sounded. From inside the tree, I had my mother’s undivided attention. I felt sure of her love. For once, I was the one who’d disappeared and she was left thinking about me.

Back downstairs, I’m too tired to talk. Amity and Wyatt wantto stop by Bert’s store on the way to Tracy’s flat so we can question him about his alibi. I’m fine with following their lead.

Bert’s outside having a cigarette when we walk up to the store.

“We talked to your daughter,” Wyatt says. “She says she hasn’t spoken to you in weeks.”

Bert drops his cigarette onto the pavement and grinds it with his foot.

“All right. I was at the pub in the next town over, meeting someone.”

“Anyone in particular?” Wyatt says.

“Sassygirl442.”

“Pardon?” Amity says.

“I met her online. It was our first IRL. In real life.”

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