Page 48 of Bay of Plenty

I rubbed my eyes, gritty with guilt. I couldn’t keep shutting her out like this. And I didn’t want to. We couldn’t move on together if I wasn’t more open. My mind went into overdrive, debating what I could share with her. I still couldn’t talk about the drug case because that would tip off Snow. But I could talk about what we’d learned about Janey.

She could help because she knew everyone in this town. I’d overlooked her from the beginning. If I’d talked to her more, listened to her more, I might have found out about the campground buyer before Rosemary clammed up. Out to sea, a wave paused painfully, waiting to crash.

“You know what? I’d love your help.” I motioned to two seats on the front deck. “Shall we sit down?”

“Of course.” Mum seemed surprised and excited that I agreed.

I reached into Bevan’s file and held up a copy of the suicide note with a shaky hand. It was written on a page ripped from a school notebook. My heart pumping, my chest tight, I steeled myself to study it closely. It was Janey’s loopy writing: “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t go on.”

Mum teared up. I pressed against my eyes. We read through the rest of the file.

Closing the file, I explained to Mum why I thought Janey’s disappearance was suspect and how Sarge appeared to be covering up. I chose my words carefully, longing for her to understand how it had felt for me. I realized that I’d never told Mum directly. At age fourteen, I’d initially talked to Sarge, andhe was the one who’d discussed it with Mum and Dad. They’d never brought it up again.

She listened silently.

“Now I see,” she said when I’d finished. She clutched the wet towel tighter around her waist. “Gosh, I’m sorry. I should have tried to understand more at the time. But Sarge said you were confused.”

I wrestled with the hurt, wanting to move on, but I couldn’t. She’d said sorry, but she had to add that final sentence.

“You immediately trusted him.” I stared out to sea. “And accepted his explanation.”

She shifted in her seat. “Well, he was head of police, after all.”

I turned away, resigned and sad, resting my forehead on my hand.

She laid her hand on my arm. “We should have questioned you more.”

“More?” I said, turning back to her, repeating her word with an edge of bitterness. “You didn’t ask me anything.”

She nodded, pressing her fingers to her lips, her breathing uneven, long enough that my wet swimsuit soaked the towel around my waist.

“You’re absolutely right,” she said.

A warmth seeped through me at her admission. She understood something of how I felt at the time. I wondered if she guessed how lonely I was.

She exhaled as if she were about to take a high dive. She lifted her chin and set her shoulders in decisive, unfamiliar gestures. Usually, she was all evasion, avoidance, hesitance—a small shrug, a sigh, a hand holding back her auburn hair.

It was a little scary.

“Follow me.” She pointed toward the garage. “I need to show you something.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Still in herwet swimsuit and towel, ignoring my questions, Mum paced to a crowded corner of the garage. Whatever she was looking for, she knew exactly where she’d left it. Clearly, it had been stored for a long time. Kicking aside some gear, she yanked down the stepladder and scrambled up to the attic. She stomped back and forth on the landing, hoisting boxes.

“Up here,” she finally called from the top of the ladder, tipping a cardboard box over the edge. “Careful. It’s heavy.”

I reached up and lowered it to the ground. It thudded as if books were inside. The box was dusty, sticky with spiderwebs, and stinking of mouse droppings.

Mum scrambled down, and together we hauled it toward the table on the back deck.

“Mum, tell me what’s inside,” I said as we heaved it onto the table.

“I don’t know.” Her voice rang hollow. “I never looked.”

After opening the box, she lifted out a textbook from my first year at high school, but carefully, as if it might reveal something important. She showed me the name inside: “Janey Saunders,” written in the same handwriting we’d seen on the suicide note.

Shock electrified my brain. “This is Janey’s stuff?” I fingeredthrough the pages, which were marked with her annotations. “Oh my God. Where did you find it?”

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