Page 60 of Forget Me Not
“I know what Occam’s razor is,” I spit.
“Okay, what is it?”
I stare at him, put off by his blatant patronization until I finally decide to just play along.
“The most logical explanation is likely the one that’s also the simplest.”
“Right,” he says, nodding gently. His tone now softened into one of concern. “We were told by Natalie’s best friend that your sister was seeing an older man and that they spent a lot of time in his car. Jeffrey Slater is an older man, and your sister’s blood was found in his car.”
I stay silent, the bluntness of his statement catching me off guard.
“Jeffrey Slater was a criminal,” he continues. “He sold drugs. He spent time with minors. He is the simplest, most logical explanation. We got our guy. Justice was served.”
“But Bethany was acting like there was something aboutGallowaythat drew in my sister,” I continue. “I’m wondering if maybe she met Jeffrey there—”
“I do remember her being a bit jealous,” he says, as if he just realized it himself. “Before she learned what happened, that is.”
“Jealous,” I repeat, tilting my head.
“That Natalie was outgrowing her,” he explains. “That, all of a sudden, her best friend was spending all this time with someone who wasn’t her.”
I bite my lip, familiar with the feeling. After all, that was the way I felt when I saw Natalie and Bethany together, envious of the bond the two of them shared.
“So, was Bethany resentful of the place? Yeah, maybe,” Chief DiNello continues, a lump lodging itself in my throat as I remember when I first noticed Natalie took off my necklace, when she started to ignore me when we passed each other in the hall. “Did Natalie meet Jeffrey there at some party, then all of a sudden, she started spending less time with her friend and more time with him? Sure, it’s possible. But I seriously doubt it’s anything more than that.”
We sit in silence for a few more seconds until he sighs, his eyes flicking down to the desk below him like he’s suddenly eager to get back to work.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
He stacks a few papers, my mind churning at how I can reel him back in before it becomes abundantly clear that I’ve already lost him. Natalie’s case is over two decades old; not only that, but it’s the case that built the foundation of this man’s entire career. Of course he’s not going to consider reopening it with nothing more than a hunch.
I need proof. Real, solid, concrete proof.
“No, that’s all,” I say, standing up before making my way back to the door. “Thanks for your time.”
“Not a problem,” he says as I extend my hand to reach for the handle, his voice cutting through the quiet one last time. “And tell Annie I said hello, would you?”
I freeze, fingertips hovering over the knob.
“Annie,” I repeat, turning around as my skin bristles like the prickling of hair just before lighting strikes.
“Yeah,” he says, glancing up at me before his expression falls. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot she doesn’t go by that name anymore.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about…”
“Your mother,” he says, a scarlet flush creeping into his cheeks like he’s suddenly embarrassed, like he hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud. “It was what people called her around here, back when we were kids.”
I stare at him blankly, all these loose pieces slipping into place as Eric DiNello stares uncomfortably in my direction, fidgeting his fingers on the top of his desk.
“Truth be told, it was a terrible nickname,” he continues. “Given, you know. That both her parents died young.”
“People called my mother Annie,” I repeat, my mind conjuring up an image of Marcia sitting out in that field, Lily playing dreamily with her long hair.
And Annie?she had asked, looking around once she realized she hadn’t seen the other girl in weeks. The shy, quiet girl who kept to herself.
“I didn’t come up with it,” DiNello adds, hands in the air as he comes to his own defense. “And she was a good sport about it, didn’t actually seem to mind…”
He waits for me to say something, to rescue him from his own mistake, but still, I stay silent. That scene from the diary swirling around like a fat cloud of translucent smoke as I imagine Lily sliding a flower into Marcia’s thick braid. Long fingers trailing their way down her spine.
