Page 60 of The Gallagher Place
The detectives exchanged a look.
“Even if Brierley thought the Mr. Babel story was nonsense, he should have spoken to Pete,” Marlowe said. “It was negligence.”
“Pete Gallagher was a drunk.” Ariel’s voice snapped through the frigid air. “Like his father. Couldn’t button his shirt, let alone kidnap a girl without getting caught.”
Marlowe flinched, her back bumping up against her car. Ariel’s eyes were blazing, but Ben placed a gentle hand on her elbow, and she clamped her mouth shut.
Ben gave Marlowe a tired smile. “We don’t think you’re foolish.”
“I’m not foolish,” she said flatly. Then she glanced at Ariel. She had believed in her, even as Ariel played with Marlowe’s emotions. She still trusted in Ariel’s intelligence, at least. “With the Nate thing—I don’t know. I just can’t see it.”
“Is it possible, in your opinion, that they were romantically involved?” Ariel’s low and steady way of speaking had returned, as if her outburst had never happened.
“Of course it’s possible. But anything’s possible.”
Ariel hesitated but then simply said, “Well, we’ll see you again.”
Marlowe nodded. “I’m sure.”
She slid into her car and started the engine but didn’t drive off immediately. She watched them walk back to the house, heads bent in conversation.
They were being careful, guarded. They didn’t trust her. Somewhere, her name was pinned to a board next to Nora’s, with lines connecting her to Nate, to Henry—lines that couldn’t be erased.
Marlowe finally pulled onto the road, Ariel’s words echoing in her head:Sometimes it really is that simple.
Ben’s fake reassurance, Ariel’s sudden irritation and loss of patience with her—it was wearing her down. What was she doing running around chasing old rumors and shadows in the woods? Caroline’s words were echoing in her head too: Pete wasn’t a ghost back in 1998. Back then, he was a real man. And he had been angry.
THIRTY
The sun was setting fast behind the red Gallagher barn, and the snow had turned to a sheet of ice on the front yard of the Gray House, gleaming beneath the onslaught of dusk.
Marlowe stepped inside the house and quickly hung up her coat. She was still mulling over what Ariel had said as she was leaving the wake. If the woods and hills really were haunted, as she had sometimes believed as a child, then wasn’t that the simplest explanation?
“Marlowe!” Glory called from the living room, holding up a cardboard box. “How old were you when you made these?”
The tree was up in the corner of the living room, and Henry was putting on the lights with care as the girls circled around him. Dolly, her uncle’s bumbling assistant, was tangled up in the excess strings of lights. The boxes of ornaments were spread across the floor. Kat was admiring her favorites, the ones with paintings of Victorian people dancing on the orbs, while Constance bounced Frankie on her knee and sorted through smaller glass ornaments. In the kitchen, Stephanie was pulling cookies out of the oven, setting them to cool. Enzo sat in the big armchair with pillows tucked on either side of him. He was half asleep, his head nodding. The room smelled richly of pine and cinnamon sugar.
Glory was holding the little dolls Marlowe had made from yarn. One was a cowboy, with brown boots and a tiny felt hat. Another was in a long scarlet ball gown with puffed sleeves. Marlowe lifted the third, a girl with yellow braids wearing simple blue overalls.
“Kat’s age,” Marlowe said. “Maybe a bit older.”
“Such talent.” Glory beamed.
“Marlowe has a gift.” Enzo had stirred awake with a wavering smile. “But gifts must be honed.”
Another phrase he was plucking from years ago, like a musician trying to play an old tune without sheet music.
“Another night of snow and we can dust off the toboggan,” Henry said.
Dolly gasped with excitement. “I’ll be in the front!”
“It’s not as thrilling as you think,” Marlowe said with a laugh. “I was always in the front, and I hated it.”
“You were never in the front.” Henry turned to her. A string of lights was draped over his arms.
“I thought I was.” Marlowe frowned. “The snow was always hitting my face, and I would get scared because I could see when we were headed for the trees.”
“You were too tall to be in the front.” Henry paused, stopping himself from saying more. “We had some good snows back then; not sure we’ll get the right conditions this year.”
