Page 46 of The Gallagher Place
It was clear from the notes that Brierley had been convinced the teenagers were lying, covering something up. If any of them broke, he figured it would be Henry’s friend Liam. Brierley actually called him “the weak link.”
But he still considered other theories.
With missing children, a detective always looks at the parents first. He noted potential logistics: They could have driven out to the property, taken her, then returned home in time to answer the Fishers’ frantic calls. But there was no history of abuse in the Miller house, no criminal record. Nothing in the house when it was searched. No sign of a struggle.
A sigh of relief escaped Marlowe when she read Brierley’s final verdict:No evidence of domestic tension; no signs of abuse.
The Fisher parents were considered too. But everyone knew they were asleep upstairs when it happened. And the idea of a family-wide conspiracy was dismissed outright. Far too outlandish.
Then there was what he called “the stranger theory.” A person completely unknown to the Fishers and the Millers who could have swept in and kidnapped Nora at the opportune moment. But the notes on this theory were thin, and Brierley seemed unconvinced by it.
How would a random kidnapper know the details of their movements, with Nora taking the trash out at that precise moment? Crimes of opportunity happened, but this one would have requiredintense preparation. A well-timed approach. If someone had taken Nora, they’d moved quickly. And they’d silenced her instantly, because no one heard a scream.
Brierley had sketched out a rough map. A square for the Gray House, a line for the road. Beneath it, he jotted down a note about Frank purchasing the land from Caroline Rodine. A short list of names followed: Tom, Leroy, and Dave. And then, scrawled in his handwriting, Marlowe’s own words from an interview.
Marlowe and Nora: pranksters, played around in barn, moved things. Farmers liked the kids. Some cousins bitter after sale, dislike Fishers, but no real connection.
In light of Dave’s journals, she and Ariel both knew that wasn’t true. “Bitter” didn’t even begin to cover it. Not for Pete. Not for Harmon.
On the next page, dated June 9—four days after Nora vanished—Brierley’s notes seemed to be more carefully composed, neater, as if he was thinking more deliberately.
I question the trash story. The way they tell it, it’s off.
Of course it was off. Nate had been more than tipsy. Luke and Mike full-on drunk. The rest of them—Marlowe, Henry, Liam—were racked with fear.
She saw why Brierley harbored doubt. If a story doesn’t make sense, a detective has no choice but to assume someone is lying. And teenagers? They’re complicated, emotional, and impulsive. The center of their universe, as Brierley saw it, was the handsome and charismatic Nate Fisher. Brierley had written one note about Nate after his first meeting:too charming.
Farther down:Nate and Nora romance? Marlowe, Henry, friends, and all parents say no.
Marlowe chewed the inside of her cheek. Brierley’s bleak assessment suggested a worst-case situation. Nora was young, and Nate may have taken advantage. His charming demeanor might conceala violent streak. Maybe he manipulated her, hurt her. And then, as if tripping over a land mine, Marlowe saw the explosive question at the bottom of the page.
Was Nora pregnant?
It took a moment for her to regain her composure—to remember she had already been down this road. It was a dead-end question. Without a body, they’d never know. And if she was, she certainly hadn’t told anyone. Her parents insisted she was not sexually active, but Brierley noted that didn’t mean much.
She read the paraphrase of her own words shortly after:Marlowe says no, certain Nora was a virgin. But the only possibility would have been Sean.
Marlowe’s stomach turned. Nate and Stephanie were planning to come for the weekend. If she asked him point-blank—had anything ever happened between him and Nora—would he tell her the truth? Would she even know if he was lying?
The first thing Brierley wrote about Nora was telling. He scribbled:Nora Miller, age 15. Pretty.
Marlowe clenched her jaw and grabbed the stack of Dave’s journal entries. What did he write about Nora? “The changeling wasup to something.” To Dave and Brierley, a pretty teenage girl had to be up to something scandalous. She had to be trouble.
That seemed to be why Brierley focused on Nate. Not Marlowe and Nora’s bond, which was the only connection that actually mattered. Instead, he wrote about “an intensity” between Marlowe and Nora. He said that Marlowe wouldn’t have been able to physically overpower Nora. But she could have had help, and this could have taken place long before midnight. Those teenagers had hours to come up with a cover story.
Then he wrote:If Marlowe found out about Nate and Nora, what would she have done? And what would her brothers do to cover for her?
Maybe, if she was in Brierley’s shoes, she would have asked thesame questions. But she wasn’t him. She had seen Nora take out the trash. Heard the silence when they screamed her name. He could have his doubts, but Marlowe knew what had happened. And it didn’t make sense, unless you knew about Pete Gallagher clinging to Dave’s journals, feeding his anger over the Fishers’ greed and entitlement. Marlowe and Nora’s cruelty.
She wanted to scoff and roll her eyes at the suggestion that something had happened between Nora and Nate. She might have if she had read these notes a week ago. But Ariel was right. She wasn’t a kid anymore. Nora snuck into the barn and played tricks without her. What else might Nora have done without her knowing?
Marlowe forced herself to consider it, tracing back to that final spring and the dawn of summer. They had been up for Memorial Day. Nate was out of school, and he built a massive bonfire. But how many summer nights had they sat around a fire? How many weekends had they set off into the woods or lounged by the Bend?
She struggled to remember the specifics of that holiday weekend. Was there a conversation between Nate and Nora? Did they slink into another room while Marlowe was distracted? Not for the first time, she wished she had kept some sort of diary. Marlowe always thought there were some things she would remember forever. It was shocking how many names that once rolled off her tongue with ease now escaped her entirely. How many events she saw photos of but never could recall happening.
She didn’t know. She wanted to scream at the failings of her memory.
Most of all, she wanted to dig up Brierley from the grave and give him a shake and ask him what, specifically, he had meant when he wrote what he did.
