Page 42 of Circle of Strangers
Taking the letters from the drawer, I reread them, poring over them once again.
If a stranger read them, if they were taken at face value, Lucinda would seem like a remorseful mother, her letters reading like pseudo-apologies. Even if they were, it’s too little, too late. She can’t undo a lifetime of trauma and abuse with a few “heartfelt” letters.
I shove the letters back into their spot, still unsure what to make of them.
The only thing I know for sure is that Lucinda might as well be dead to me.
29
“Mara’s home.” Sozi stands at my front door shortly before lunchtime, shell-shocked and breathless, her hair sticking out in every direction, as if she forgot to run a brush through it before dashing over here to tell me the news.
Her words make my heart come to a hard stop.
By the time I slip on my sandals and step out the front door, Sozi’s already pacing the sidewalk, her phone clutched in one hand. She glances up as I approach, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and excitement.
“A police car dropped her off a little bit ago,” Sozi says. “Like, not even ten minutes ago. Oscar’s home, too. What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know,” I say, still wrapping my head around the news.
We both peer at the Morenos’ home, where the heavy driveway gate is closed tight this time. Their house sits in perfect stillness, but now there’s a weight to it—like a storm cloud that hasn’t quite burst.
“You think we should go over and knock?” Sozi chews her lip. “I mean, just to check in. See if everything’s okay?”
I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek. The thought of facing Mara after all the guessing, the suspicion, the fear ... makes my skin crawl. But curiosity itches at me, too, sharp and relentless.
“Maybe we should wait,” I say. “Give them space. Let them ... settle.”
Sozi chuffs but doesn’t argue. “I guess. But still—what the hell happened?”
I shake my head, my mind whirring with unanswered questions. The last time anyone saw Mara, she was unraveling at the seams, and now she’s back, escorted home by a patrol car. While we both want answers, we’re not entitled to them. I hardly know Mara, and Sozi is more of a bona fide nosy neighbor than close friend.
“I’m going to call Will,” I announce.
Sozi raises an eyebrow, though she doesn’t share her thoughts. At this point, I don’t want to know. The last thing I need is more of her conjecture. She all but implied Will and Mara were having an affair and that he might have had something to do with Mara’s disappearance the other day. While I appreciated her taking the photos, I didn’t appreciate her offering them as proof of anything other than two neighbors talking. It felt a little ...much.
Sozi has her nose to the ground around here, but she doesn’t have the gift of discernment.
Not everything issomething.
I step away from her, dialing Will’s number. The phone rings ... and rings ... and rings, before finally clicking over to voice mail.
“Of course,” I sigh under my breath.
I could use a change of scenery, a break from Sozi, the Morenos, and Saguaro Circle, and Will said I had an open standing invitation to his office, so my next move is a no-brainer. Plus, I want to see the look on his face when I tell him the news in person.
“I’ve got some errands to run. I’ll catch you later,” I tell Sozi before heading to grab my car keys.
By the time I’m backing out of my driveway a few minutes later, Sozi is perched on her front steps, watching the Moreno house so intently she doesn’t even notice when I wave.
30
“Can I help you?” A silver-haired woman with an abundance of turquoise jewelry greets me with a friendly, lifted expression. While her face is smiling, her eyes curiously scan me from head to toe.
“I’m Camille Prescott—Will’s wife,” I say.
“Oh!” She claps her hands together. “Yes, I remember seeing you about a month or so ago. How have you been?”
I don’t recall seeing her when I was here last time, but I keep that to myself.
