Page 22 of Dead Man's Hollow
“I’m not sure. Do you think any of the stuff we know about Heather could be related to her disappearance?” Lynn asks, putting her training in the law and her work at the firm to use. “Because if it’s not relevant and all it’s going to do is cause more pain for her sisters, what’s the point? But if it could help find out what actually happened to her, then yeah, I think we need to.”
They fall silent as they come up on an older man walking two dogs. They pause to pet the pups, then wait until their owner is out of earshot to continue their conversation.
“I’m not sure that any of Heather’s shenanigans led to her disappearance. I mean, I don’t think Kelly Marcus did anything to her that night. But looking back, we probably should have told the cops everything. This is their job, after all—to examine all the evidence and decide what’s relevant.”
“Well, now it’s Maisy Farley’s job. And Heather’s sisters areaskingfor the information. So, if they’re willing to hear it, then we should probably tell someone,” Lynn says, suddenly decisive.
Lynn’s right. Michelle knows she’s right. She nods briskly. “That’s settled then.”
“So we tell Maisy everything we know?”
They exchange a look.
Michelle’s mouth goes dry, and she has to clear her throat to get the words out. “Everything. Including the fight.”
A long silence passes between them. The sun’s dipped down behind the hills and the lengthening shadows are ominous.
“If it was just a stupid fight between testosterone-hopped up teenage boys, then there’s no real harm in bringing it up now,” Lynn finally agrees. “And if it wasn’t just a stupid teenage fight—if it was related to Heather’s disappearance—then we should tell.”
They walk another quarter of a mile, huffing.
“We should give the girls a head’s up, though. We owe them that much.”
Lynn exhales heavily. “I guess. Not in writing, though. No texts. We have to call everyone. Or better yet, do it in person.”
“What about the guys?”
Lynn is silent for so long that Michelle thinks she’s not going to answer.
Then she says, “I don’t know. It might be better if they don’t know it’s coming. There’s a chance one of them will break with the others and tell the truth if Maisy ambushes them.”
She’s right. But the thought of the fallout makes Michelle’s stomach seize.
“Then we shouldn’t give anyone a head’s up. You expect Rachel to keep it from her own husband? We can’t tell the girls.”
Lynn senses her distress. “Do you want to wait and see what next week’s episode is? Maybe someone else will talk before then. If not, then we can reach out.”
Michelle considers this. Part of her says they’ve already waited thirty years. What’s another week? But she shakes her head. “No, let’s get it over with.”
She doesn’t want to live with this sick feeling in her gut a moment longer than she has to.
“Okay,” Lynn agrees.
Michelle manages a weak smile as she pushes down her worry about what the guys will do when learn that Michelle and Lynn have broken their silence.
ChapterFourteen
As soon asshe hears the mechanical whine of the garage door rising, Amy grabs the empty laundry basket from the kitchen counter and hustles into the mudroom. She’s left laundry in the dryer specifically so that she can waylay Rich on his way into the house.
Lately, he’s been coming home and vanishing into his workshop to putter, the home office ostensibly to work (but really to surf the internet), or the basement to play darts with the kids until dinner. Then, while she’s still cleaning up the kitchen, he falls asleep on the couch. She’s convinced he’s avoiding her, but when she finally asks him directly, he swears he’s not. He says work is extremely stressful at the moment, and he needs to decompress when he gets home. Although she has her doubts about how much strain he could possibly be under as one of the two managers of a small mom-and-pop hardware store, she’s given him his space.
But tonight, she needs to talk to him before he pulls his disappearing act. She throws open the dryer door, pulls an armload of clothes out, and piles them on the counter that runs along the wall. She’s folding t-shirts when the garage door opens and Rich passes through the mudroom.
“Hey,” she says brightly, peering around the open laundry room door.
He turns his head toward her, startled. “What are you doing?”
She arches an eyebrow. “Guess.”
