Page 44 of The Gallagher Place
Ariel folded her small hands together on the table. “Are you trying to turn this back on Damen?”
“No, I’m not accusing anyone,” Marlowe said. “You gave me those journals, and I’m telling you what I think.”
Ariel tilted her head slightly, considering. Then she took a long sip of her coffee and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I had a best friend too, when I was fifteen,” Ariel said suddenly. “Carol Smith. We did everything together.”
Marlowe frowned, suspicious of Ariel’s motives in sharing this information. “And what happened to her?”
“We drifted apart. No big fight, just different colleges, different lives. We used to catch up now and then, but eventually, even that faded.” Her face was inscrutable. “Still, I remember what it was like. At one point in time, that girl and what we had was my whole life.”
Marlowe turned her coffee cup in her hands. “Is that supposed to comfort me? That Nora was taken before we drifted apart?”
Ariel studied her for a beat. “Look, Marlowe, it’s not like we think you killed your best friend. But I do think you feel guilty. Maybe not for something you did, but something you didn’t do. Something you didn’t say.”
Marlowe’s fingers tightened around the cup. She wasn’t a suspect. They had to stop treating her like one. It was a waste of time. “I told you, I’ll tell you anything. I want to know—”
“I know how siblings can be.” Ariel cut her off gently. “Through thick and thin, they protect each other.”
“Noraprotected me.” Marlowe leaned forward, her voice low. “If you’re so focused on siblings, you should know that Nora was like my sister. To my brothers as well. She was one of us.”
Ariel held her gaze for a long moment before nodding. “I know.”
Marlowe exhaled and leaned back. She didn’t want to lose her temper or get emotional, not with Ariel.
“Dave Gallagher was suffering in silence from depression. A lot of men do,” Ariel said, crossing her arms. Then she added, almost offhandedly, “I hate it up here, you know. I grew up in Brooklyn. I’m not used to all these empty roadsides and vanishing towns.”
“If you hate it, why are you here?”
“My mom moved upstate for a little house in the country. She spent her life savings on it. Then got sick,” Ariel said. “So. Here I am.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
“People hold you back; it’s an old story.” Ariel shrugged. “Maybe you were lucky to lose someone early.”
Marlowe recoiled. The words were cruel. But then she caught the glint in Ariel’s eyes. It was a test. She was hoping to elicit something from Marlowe.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky soon too,” Marlowe said flatly.
Ariel cracked a smile, shaking her head. “Maybe. I wouldn’t mind leaving. This whole area is just a string of ghost towns.” She glanced around the café. “I gave you those journal pages because if you want to get to the bottom of this, you need to think back and realize you’re not a kid anymore,” Ariel said. “What was really going on with Nora that year?”
Marlowe had a thousand answers. They ran free all summer on the Gallagher land. Nora was dating Sean, passing along all the lessons learned in a first relationship. Everyone kept saying they were growing up fast, but it felt like nothing was changing at all.
Ariel didn’t push. She just scraped back her chair and stood up. “Come with me. I’m going to give you something.”
At the station, Marlowe sat in a plastic chair for nearly half an hour, debating whether to ask more about Pete Gallagher. But pulling out her messy family tree and floating her half-baked theory—that Pete had lurked around the land as in some ghost story—felt ridiculous. She needed something more concrete.
Finally, Ariel returned to the waiting area, another big yellow envelope in her hand. This one was so full it couldn’t be clasped.
“These are Brierley’s old notes. More photocopies.” She handed them over, and Marlowe almost dropped the envelope in shock. “It’s not every interview, just his notes on what he was thinking.”
“This is confidential,” Marlowe said. “I tried to get these before, but the department wouldn’t release them.”
“I know,” Ariel said. “But I want you to read them. Then tell me what you think.”
Marlowe could only stare in astonishment.
“You know what the sergeant says about me?” Ariel lifted one dark brow. “He says I’m an ‘agent of chaos.’ That I chase leads on instinct, not reason.”
