Page 41 of Dark Roads
“She doesn’t listen to us.”
“Scripture isn’t conversation, Mom. Can’t you just tell her that you miss her? She needs to hear it from all of us—and she needs to finish school.” Beth looked from one of her parents to the other. “What if you drove up there and took her out to lunch or something?”
Her mom fluttered her hand through the air, let it settle at her throat. “It’s a long way.”
“We could go together.”
“She doesn’t want us in her life. She made that clear.”
“She just wants you to accept that she’s—”
“Beth.” Her father’s voice struck her silent. He’d only said her name, but it was enough. She’d gone too far. She could see it in the flush on her mother’s face, the tremble of her lip.
“Sorry,” Beth mumbled.
Her mom cleaned off the table while Beth and her dad talked—So you’re enjoying your job? They’re treating you right?She’d had more exciting conversations with her dentist. Now her mom was washing the dishes while her dad watched a documentary on ancient beekeeping. Her parents refused to buy a dishwasher. They were both teachers and made a decent living, but they donated whatever they could to the church. Their charity did not include helping their daughter with anything more than part of her tuition. They believed hard work was good for the soul.
Beth sat on the side patio, where she could see into the front and backyard, taking a moment before she had to fight through traffic. Her mother’s flower gardens were exploding with color. The North Shore Mountains hovered blue in the distance. In another couple of months it would rain almost daily, and the city would turn gray, the mountaintops frosted white.
She glanced at her phone again. Three unanswered texts. Amber had said she would be at the lake during the weekend, but Beth assumed that had meant she was camping and would be back by Sunday morning. She must have decided to stay longer. Then her phone probably died, or there was bad reception. Beth checked Amber’s Facebook. She hadn’t posted in days.
Beth looked up when she heard a car coming down her parents’ maple-tree-lined street. A police car. Black-and-white. City cops. She scanned the other houses. Her parents lived in a quiet neighborhood. She couldn’t imagine what any of them might have done to warrant a personal visit.
The police stopped in front of the house across the road. Beth waited for an officer to step out, but now the car was pulling forward and turning around. They must have had the wrong address. She watched curiously. It was like Russian roulette. Whose house would it be?
The car parked in front of her parents’ home, and she got to her feet, watched as two somber-faced officers stepped out. Full uniforms. One of them met her eyes, and then Beth knew.
Amber wouldn’t be texting back.
CHAPTER 16
Beth settled on the patio chair, rested the plate on the side table, leaning back so the hanging baskets of flowers hid her from the media vans. Those first few days had been terrible, reporters clustered along the sidewalk, lunging forward with their microphones outstretched and shouting questions every time Beth or her parents appeared. Beth’s father finally stood on the front steps and politely asked them to let them grieve in privacy. Of course, the reporters ignored him.
Since the news broke, all sorts of people had been messaging her—lawyers she worked with, students in her classes at the university, and guys she’d briefly dated. Sympathies and subtle, or not-so-subtle, questions. She gave short statements, memorized her lines.
We are trying to be strong, it’s a difficult time, we appreciate the support.
Reporters took screenshots of Amber’s Facebook page, all her photos, comments, memes, anything she had liked, and broadcast the selfie of Amber and Hailey together before Beth made her sister’s page private. Her parents didn’t understand about the relentless nature of social media. Beth hadn’t even understood how bad it would get.
She found a photograph of herself taken the day before, when she’d been hauling out the kitchen trash, and had been shocked to see how much older she looked now. They all did. Except Amber. She’d never be any older than eighteen years, three months, and ten days.
Beth chewed a mouthful of tuna noodle salad, wishing she had a glass of wine to wash down the bread-crumb topping. The kitchen door opened behind her, sending out a whoosh of cool air, the soft hum of voices. It closed again. Beth stared into the backyard and listened to the scrape of shoes. She’d hoped they would keep going around to the other side of the patio, but someone came to stand beside her. Beth looked up. A dark-haired man, tall, with a navy-blue suit. Constable Thompson. One of the cops working her sister’s case up in Cold Creek.
She straightened. “Did something happen? Should I get my dad?”
“No, no. I had meetings in the city. Your parents asked if I could stop by. Sorry to bother you. I wanted to take a moment to express my sympathies.” His gaze slid past her to the news vans. “I can ask them to clear out.”
She hadn’t noticed him at the service, but it seemed the entire city had emptied itself into the church. Church members, neighbors, family. Amber’s artsy school friends with their colored hair, tattoos, and body piercings. Beth had gone down Amber’s Facebook friends list, messaging them individually.
She rested her fork on the side of her plate. “Did you get some food?” How many times had she said that today?Thank you for coming. Did you eat?“People brought so much.”
He nodded. “Your mom’s sending me home with a bag.”
Beth thought of him driving while eating tarts, cookies, flakes of spanakopita pastry falling onto his nice tie as he mused over evidence or statements. Maybe it wasn’t the first time. Maybe his fridge was stuffed with casseroles and baking from the mothers of murder victims.
The local police had been the first to interview their family.Was your daughter having problems with anyone? Did your sister have a boyfriend? Any known drug issues?Her parents had stuttered andstammered and looked to each other for support. Beth had sat silent, scrolling through her texts from her sister as though the answer were buried somewhere among them and she’d somehow skipped right over it.
Then Thompson traveled down to ask more questions but barely answered theirs because it was an ongoing investigation. He’d called a couple of times since. There were no suspects—at least none they’d been told about. Beth thought they should drive to Cold Creek and meet with the police. But her dad’s face closed down and he said, “Let them do their jobs.”
