Page 17 of The Thinnest Air
Allison trembles, her hands running the length of her arms as if that could possibly subdue the shivering taking over her tiny body.
“No one’s come to ask me about her, you know?” she says, eyes darting to mine. “I was her closest friend, and not one person has asked me if I know anything.”
“Do you know anything?” I lift a brow, my stare concentrated on hers.
“No,” she says. “I don’t. But don’t you think that says something right there? People are talking like she may have left on her own, but the Meredith I know wouldn’t have done that.”
“So you think someone took her?” I ask.
Allison’s shoulders rise and her mouth opens, but she doesn’t speak right away. “That’s what I’m inclined to think, yes. Or ...”
“Or what?” I don’t have time for hesitation and uncertainty.
“A few months back, I ran out to the store late one night to get some milk,” she says, speaking carefully. “I passed this truck on Hanswell Boulevard, and I could have sworn Meredith was in it.”
My heart races.
“But the woman in the truck, she was smiling and laughing. I only saw the side of her, and she was wearing a bright red stocking cap with a furry white pom-pom on top—I’ve never seen her with a hat like that.” Allison places her hand up to her face. “And I only saw her for a split second because the light turned green and they were gone, pulled down a side street. I thought maybe I imagined it.”
“Did you ever ask her about it?”
Allison shakes her head quickly. “I didn’t want to ask because I wasn’t completely sure, and if I was wrong, I would’ve offended her.”
“I understand.” I bite my lip, wishing Allison Ross would have had enough gumption and brains to frame a simple question in a strategic way.
“I think it’s odd,” she continues. “Andrew knew how much time Meredith and I spent together ... You’d think he’d have sent the police here to ask me questions.”
“What are you trying to say?” I ask a question to which I already know the answer.
Her eyes squeeze, and she shakes her head. “I don’t know ... I guess I just find it interesting.”
“Are you thinking Andrew’s trying to hide something?”
She glances up at me, fidgeting with her hair for a second. “I mean, I’ve known the two of them as a couple for more than two years—ever since we moved to this street—and you’d have thought they were still newlyweds. He was always fawning over her, and she was always gushing about how incredible he was.” She stares across the foyer into the living room, focusing on a scenic view of the mountains. “To be honest, I was always kind of jealous of what they had. In a good way, you know? I was happy for her.” Allison exhales. “But there was this one time. She came over just before yoga, and I noticed this bruise around her wrist, like someone had put their hand around it and squeezed really hard.”
I can’t breathe.
If that smug bastard put his hands on my sister, I’ll fucking kill him.
“I never asked her about it,” she says, her voice dropping. “She was wearing a watch that day, and she never wore watches to yoga, so it was odd. She was clearly trying to hide it.”
“Would you be comfortable going on record with this information?” I ask.
Her clear eyes widen, as if I’ve just asked her to scale Everest in a snowstorm. “I don’t know. What if I was imagining things?”
Sighing, I ask, “What if you weren’t?”
“I just don’t want to implicate the wrong person in any of this, that’s all.”
“Just talk to them. They can decide what to do with this information,” I say, retrieving one of Ronan’s cards from my bag. I hand it to her, and she hesitates before accepting it. “Please, Allison.”
I don’t want to believe my sister may have run off with some random guy without telling a soul, but the fact of the matter is, we don’t know the truth. And the truth couldn’t care less about what wewantto believe.
Silence consumes her for a moment, but she finally agrees.
“I’ve written my number on the back of the card as well,” I say. “Call me if you ever want to talk ... or if you remember anything else.”
“Of course.” She slips the card into her jeans pocket as I show myself out.
