Page 26 of Dead Man's Hollow
“So, what’s on your mind? I know it’s something.”
Maisy toys with a piece of baby spinach on the end of her fork. “I was reading the police reports this morning,” she begins.
“Wait. You got the cold case file?”
“We sure did. They couldn’t wait to send it over. I mean, not a single lead in three decades? This case isn’t just cold; it’s arctic. They’ll be thrilled if we can uncover anything new.”
“So, go do your thing.”
“I’d love to. But these kids’ stories all line up. Exactly.”
Sasha puts her sandwich down. “You think they got together and got their story straight?”
“I’m beginning to.” She chases a cherry tomato around her plate. “The thing is, the police didn’t open an investigation until Monday, which was Memorial Day, and the feds didn’t get involved until Tuesday. So Heather Ryan had been gone for more than three days before they interviewed anyone other than her two older sisters.”
“More than enough time for a group of teenagers to agree on a story and get everyone on the same page.”
“Right.”
“And nobody’s backed away from their statement in the past thirty years?”
“Not even a bit.”
Sasha purses her lips and tsks. Maisy’s heartened that her friend’s reaction squares with her own instincts.
She sips her water. “It makes me think they’re hiding something more than underage drinking and maybe some recreational drugs.”
“Sounds that way. I don’t pretend to be psychic, but it’s almost certain this girl’s dead.”
“I know that,” Maisy tells her. “So do her sisters. But they need confirmation. Closure. They want to know the truth.”
Sasha nods and looks down at her plate. Maisy wonders if she’s thinking of her own brother, murdered by a friend. The McCandless family believed his death was an accidental shooting for twenty years before they learned the truth. Before she can bring it up, Sasha launches into a story about her twins cleaning their bathroom floor with dishwashing soap.
Maisy laughs at the description of the sticky mess that resulted, but the case is still running around in her brain like a hamster on a wheel.
“They’re lying about something. Something they’ve managed to keep covered up for more than a quarter of a century.”
Sasha eyes her closely. “If anyone can wheedle the truth out of them, it’s you.”
“Wheedle?”
“How about charm? You’ll charm the truth out of them with your patented Maisy Farley magic.”
Maisy thinks for a moment, then nods. “Charm works.”
“Well, then, go work your charm, woman.”
Usually, this is precisely what she’d do. In this case, she’s not sure who to start with. The teenagers in the woods that night are a monolith—a brick wall of middle-aged parents, taxpayers, employees, business owners. Their interests are aligned in holding the line and maintaining the lie. She needs to find just a single crack in the wall, no matter how infinitesimal. Then she can work her way inside, crumble their defenses, and pull out the truth.
ChapterSixteen
Chloe and Emiliewheel their bicycles into the yard through the garden gate and straight into the storage shed. While her mother stows the bikes, Emilie runs up the porch stairs and races into the house, slamming the door behind her. She pauses just long enough to shout, “Hello!” to her father.
Chloe looks up to see him standing at the kitchen window, snipping herbs at the window boxes. His head is bent over the herb pots, an unruly wave of sandy hair falling over his eyes.
She takes her time walking through the sunny backyard, stopping every few steps to bend and inspect the small green shoots in the vegetable and flower gardens. The growing season here is short, and they have to pick hardy varietals. She and Bastian share a love for gardening and embrace the challenge.
She goes into the kitchen and walks over to stand beside him. The flat basket over his arm is filled with rosemary, mint, and basil. She inhales their fragrant scent.
