Page 78 of The Attic on Queen Street
“Meaning not Charlie?” Veronica asked.
“Exactly. They were surprised, because Lauren hadn’t mentioned that she and Charlie had broken up. And they were a little concerned when Lauren was secretive about the new relationship. She didn’t even tell her parents his name because she didn’t want to jinx it, and she was going to wait until she knew it was the real deal before introducing him to her mom and dad. They claimed she had a really good head on her shoulders and they trusted her judgment.”
“That’s so strange,” I said.
Jayne looked at me. “What? That she loved ‘O Superman’?”
“Well, yeah, but also that she never told her parents anything about her new boyfriend.”
“And that’s not all,” Thomas said. “I received the handwritinganalysis comparing known samples of Lauren’s handwriting with both the note left in her dorm room and the notes periodically sent to her parents. They weren’t a match. They were very close, and would have been enough to fool her own parents. But under the microscope, it was clear they were forgeries.”
Veronica sat back in her chair, her bread pudding untouched, her fingers busily shredding her paper napkin. “Do you think this means Adrienne’s murder and Lauren’s disappearance are related?”
“It’s certainly a possibility,” Thomas said, “especially if Lauren didn’t leave of her own accord. They knew each other, and Lauren disappeared around the same time Adrienne was murdered. So, yes, they could be related. Or it could just be a coincidence.”
Jayne and I shared a glance. “Except there’s no such thing as coincidence,” she said quietly.
I eyed Veronica’s bread pudding, wondering if it would be rude to ask her if she was planning on eating it. A pile of shredded napkin had begun to grow next to it. I pulled my attention back to Thomas. “So, where do we go from here?
“I’m not sure. We’re going to put new efforts into finding Lauren now that we know she didn’t send those notes. A great lead would be if we could find the missing part of Adrienne’s necklace. My guess would be that since we haven’t found it, it’s either been destroyed or hidden in a place nobody can find it. Perhaps by her killer.” Thomas looked pointedly at Jayne and me. “Unless we can go to the source and ask directly.”
“I agree,” I said. “But there’s... someone else. Someone who doesn’t want me talking to Adrienne. The same someone who shoved me down the stairs. I think Adrienne doesn’t use her strength to appear because she needs to save it. To protect us from... whoever that is.”
Jayne sat up. “Unless there’s a place where Adrienne might be alone.” Turning to Veronica, she asked, “Where is Adrienne buried?”
“At Magnolia Cemetery.” Veronica paused, then glanced at me. “But do you think that’s a good idea?”
“We wouldn’t have to go at night,” Jayne suggested.
“Wewouldn’t have to go at all. At least not together. I can onlyimagine the parade of spirits lined up to talk to us. And I really don’t like the idea of either of us going alone.”
“I don’t see an alternative, Melanie. Unless you want me to bring Mother.”
“That’s an even worse idea.”
“Well, then,” Jayne said, crumpling up her napkin and placing it on her foam plate, “I say start practicing your ABBA.”
By the time we left the restaurant, it had started to rain again. I unlocked my car door with my remote. Then Jayne and I ran in a fruitless attempt not to get wet, and neither of us made any moves to fasten our seat belts as we stared at the splashes of rain hitting the windshield.
Finally, Jayne spoke. “I think Veronica knows more than she’s telling us.”
“Why? Because she shredded napkins at lunch?”
“Well, that and also because of Veronica’s guilt over her belief that she let Adrienne down. Mostly, it’s just a feeling. I’ve learned over the years to listen to my intuition. It’s never wrong.”
I studied my wedding ring as I gripped the steering wheel. “I’ve wondered about the phone calls Adrienne made to Veronica before she died. Adrienne might not have told her everything, but what if she saidsomething?”
“And what could Veronica’s reasoning be for not telling us?” Jayne pulled on her seat belt, pausing as she caught sight of something on the floor in front of her. She reached down, then held up the red heart pillow. “I would ask you why you’re carrying this around in your car, but I have a feeling you didn’t put it here.”
I stared at the pillow, aware now of the faint scent of Vanilla Musk inside the car. “I didn’t.”
I put on my seat belt and shifted the car into reverse. We were silent as I backed out of the parking space, neither one of us speaking until I turned the car onto Morrison Drive, when both of us broke out into an impromptu and imperfect rendition of “Waterloo.”
CHAPTER 22
I replaced the key in the lockbox on the front door of the Lowcountry-style home on James Island I’d just toured with Veronica and Michael, firmly affixing a smile I definitely didn’t feel before I turned around. Broad front porch—check. Large eat-in kitchen—check. Pool in backyard—check. Accessible to downtown Charleston—check. Miles of marsh views—check. It had been the eighth house I’d shown the couple that day, another perfect home—according to my spreadsheet—that clicked the most boxes for both of them. Yet Veronica remained as unimpressed and undecided as Michael was enthusiastic and ready to sign on the dotted line.
Veronica looked a little startled when I turned around, and I relaxed my cheek muscles a bit to avoid looking like the Cheshire cat.
