“Yeah, I remember,” he said. “Good God, has it really been seventeen years?”

  “It has,” she said. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind having a word with me.”

  Simmons still looked baffled but he nodded. “Yeah. Just trying to fix this microwave. Went on the fritz while I was heating up some sausage this morning.” He scratched at his head and picked the screwdriver back up. “I assume this might be about what happened to your parents?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “And if it makes it any more pressing for you,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her ID, “I’m interning at the FBI right now. On the way to becoming an agent.”

  He nodded as if he understood perfectly. “Lots of people that experience the sort of thing you did end up going into that line of work. My dad was shot and killed and then hung from a lamp post in North Carolina when I was seven years old. I knew by the time I was twelve that I wanted to be a policeman.”

  “So,” she said, unsure how to handle his last comment. “Pinecrest didn’t cut it for you after retirement?”

  “No. My wife passed ten years ago and the rest of my family lives here in Jersey. Two sons and five grandkids.”

  “That sounds nice,” she said.

  “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Anyway…what can I do for you, Ms. Fine?”

  “Well, how well do you recall the case with my parents?”

  “Clearly enough, I suppose. I remember that your father was just sort of sluggish when we took him in. Not much arguing and he didn’t put up a fight. He went willingly. If you don’t mind my saying so, it seemed like he had accepted what he had done and wanted to move on from it as quickly as possible.”

  “So there’s no doubt in your mind that he did it?”

  Simmons didn’t answer right away. He tapped the screwdriver against the side of the microwave as he processed a few things.

  “I never say there is no doubt,” he said. “But from what I can remember, it was pretty clear that he was guilty. I’m sorry if that’s not what you’re wanting to hear but that’s how I remember it. Now that you’re older there are some aspects to the case you might want to know…maybe small things that were kept from you as a child. Are you okay hearing them?”

  “Yes,” she said, although she wasn’t sure if this was true or not.

  “Well, he was pretty much drunk when we took him in. Not wasted or hammered or anything, but he’d had a few. And keep in mind this was earlier in the day. I don’t remember the time but it was well before lunch. Aside from you and your sister, he was the only one there and he did have motive after all.”

  “Motive?” Chloe asked, almost offended. “What kind of motive?”

  Simmons looked uncomfortable, though he now discarded the screwdriver. The course of the conversation had clearly distracted him. He, too, was having to go back into his past to do some digging. Chloe knew all too well how unpleasant that could be.

  “When we checked up on any alibis—none of which he really pushed too hard, mind you—we found that he had probably been sleeping with other women. There was no hard, concrete evidence of this, but the writing was right there on the wall. When we asked him if this was the case, he didn’t deny it but he also never gave names.”

  “Did you ever have any names? Women you were pretty sure he was seeing?”

  “I don’t remember. I’m sure if you pulled the files, some names might be there. But good luck finding them. Seventeen years ago for a case that appeared to be a slam dunk from the get-go…”

  “So the theory was that he killed my mother in the hopes of freeing himself so he could be with one of these other women?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “And you are certain he was guilty?” she asked again.

  “Sitting there with you two girls on those porch steps, I wanted him to be innocent. Right up until he basically admitted to seeing women on the side, I hoped for that. But…I’m sorry, Ms. Fine. Everything pointed to him being guilty.”

  “Was there ever any question that maybe someone else was there with him when it happened?”

  “You mean did he act alone? Yeah, pretty sure of it. I mean…based on what I remember. It has been seventeen years, after all. Forgive me for asking, but is there any specific reason for asking so long after it happened?”

  Chloe was slightly surprised. “Have you not seen the news in the last few days?”

  “Nope,” Simmons said. “I don’t think I’ve watched a single minute of news coverage ever since Sandy Hook happened. Not for elections, not for lotto numbers, nothing.”

  Chloe thought about divulging everything to him but didn’t see the point. Like just about everyone else familiar with her father’s case, Simmons thought he had been guilty. And she doubted there would be much to change his mind seventeen years removed outside of solid evidence—and there was none of that.

  “Well, thanks for your time,” Chloe said. She was a bit frustrated that her two-hour drive had culminated in a conversation that had lasted less than fifteen minutes.

  “I take it I didn’t tell you what you were hoping to hear?”

  “I don’t know what I was hoping to hear,” Chloe admitted.

  He smiled at her and pointed toward the house. “Why don’t you come inside and get a glass of tea or lemonade or something. Maybe we can go over the case in detail…maybe figure out how to get you the names of those women that might have known your father.”

  She nearly took him up on it. But then she thought about Danielle, sitting alone in her house with news crews outside, and knew she couldn’t.

  “Thanks for the invite, but I really need to get going.”

  Simmons nodded, as if he had expected as much. “Well, I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

  You and me both, she thought as she headed back to her car.

  She felt a bit like a spoiled brat, but hearing tales of how her father was sleeping around on her deceased mother was not how she wanted to spend her morning. And with that thought in her head, she headed back for Pinecrest with more questions than answers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Chloe was a little over halfway home when she received a call from Greene. For a moment she worried that it would be about Danielle—that she had gone rogue and left her house, perhaps even trying to leave town. Or maybe the Alan Short thing had fallen through and all signs were pointing back to Danielle again.

  She answered the call before these speculations could get the better of her. “Good news?” she asked hopefully.

  “Depends on how you look at it,” Greene said. “Pinecrest PD had a few officers go by the residence of Alan Short. He wasn’t home. Turns out he hasn’t been to work in the past two days, either.”

  “That would be bad news, then,” Chloe said. “He’s apparently making a run for it.”

  “That’s true. But some might also see it as a sign of guilt—of a sign of needing to get away from something. What about you? Did you meet with your retired cop?” Chloe had informed Greene of her mission before leaving that morning.

  “I did. But I don’t think it really did much. In an odd way, I guess it did help to have some closure from that morning. Simmons seemed absolutely sure my dad was guilty. Said there were a few affairs around town that basically proved it.”

  “Well, at least you tried, right?”

  “Right. Thanks for the update. You sure there’s nothing I can do?”

  “You can get back home to your sister as quick as you can. Once news gets out that there is a search for a second suspect, the reporters might come out of the woodwork for Danielle again, wanting to know how it feels to be free. Consider this your first lesson in media relations: they won’t stop until after the story is done, run into the ground, and retread about one hundred times.”

  “Thanks for the tip,” Chloe said.

  Though honestly, if a few more irritating reporters was going to be the worst of what she’d have to put up with before this was all over, she thought that might be okay with her.

  But then her thoughts went back to the basket of cookies and the note.

  IT’S NOT OVER.

  And for reasons she could not explain, that damned note was starting to seem like some dark prophecy.

  ***

  After she got back home, Chloe was relieved to find that Danielle had indeed stayed put. Her rebellious side seemed to even have the most foundational laws of safety and good sense down. When she got home, Chloe found Danielle looking around on the Internet. The current article she had up was telling what sort of man Martin Shields was.

  “I had no idea the asshole had two DUIs on his record,” Danielle exclaimed. “No wonder he always looked tense and nervous whenever he got behind the wheel.”

  “Well, I suppose today is the day to learn new things about people we thought we knew,” Chloe said.

  “What do you mean? What did Simmons know?”

  “Well, he stands by the ruling that dad was guilty. Said Dad confessed to the murder. Said he confessed to a lot more, too. Namely at least one affair. He was apparently seeing a few other women while he was married to Mom.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Chloe shrugged helplessly. “I’d like to think so. But Simmons had a straight head on his shoulders and he seemed so sure.”

  “Aren’t there records and files for this kind of shit?” Danielle asked.

  “Yes, but he said they’d take some digging to find. And if it comes to that, I think I’m prepared to do that digging. But I don’t know that we’d really need to. I was thinking about something the whole ride back here. Let’s say Dad was cheating. In a town like this, someone would know about it. Word gets around. And I think a good place to start would be with the book club. Someone there knew Mom or Dad, even if it was just Tammy Wyler.”

  “Oh yeah! She wouldn’t shut up about the fucking book club at the block party! How did I miss that?”

  “Don’t feel bad. I almost did, too. The fight between Steven and Martin basically dwarfed anything else that happened that day.”

  “So you want to what? Join a book club?”

  “Sure,” Chloe said, already taking out her phone. “Why not?”

  She typed in Pinecrest Public Library and then book club. She was directed to the Pinecrest Public Library website. There, she found the current book the club was reading (Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn) and when the club typically met (Tuesdays and Thursdays, at six o’clock in the evening). She also found the phone number and extension for the woman who managed the book club, a lady by the name of Mary Elder.

  She pressed the number on her screen and the phone placed the call. She listened to it ring in her ear until it was answered on the third ring.

  “Pinecrest Public Library,” a woman said.

  “Yes, hi,” Chloe said, doing her best to shrug off the nerves and exhaustion the last few days had set upon her. It was hard to sound cheerful, but she did her best. “I was wondering if there was any process for joining the book club. Any paperwork or anything?”

  “No ma’am,” the equally cheerful voice replied. “Just a contact form where we ask about reading preferences and things like that. Are you interested in joining? We meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you’d be welcome to come to the meeting tonight. The club is about one hundred pages into the current book, but that’s okay.”

  “You know, I think I might just do that,” Chloe said. “Six o’ clock, right?”

  “That’s right. Can I get your name so we can go ahead and be expecting you?”

  Chloe gave her name and felt like she had tossed a grenade at the poor lady. “Chloe Fine.”

  “Oh, okay,” Mary Elder said, clearly taken off guard. “We’ll be happy to have you.” There was something like sympathy in her voice. Chloe leaped at it like a fish to bait.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “Seems weird. And I don’t want to cause any distraction at the club. I just need to get away from all of the drama, you know? And I heard someone in my neighborhood say that my mother used to be in a book club…maybe the same one, I don’t know. I thought it might help.”

  “Oh, of course,” Mary Elder said. “I remember your mother a bit, actually. And it would be lovely to have to join us. I’ll put an extra seat out tonight.”

  Chloe smiled. She was a better actress than she’d thought. “I look forward to it,” she said.

  Chloe ended the call and found Danielle grinning at her. “Well, you’re just a filthy little liar, aren’t you?”

  “Hey, I like to read.”

  “I do, too,” Danielle said. “Can I tag along?”

  “I don’t think that would be the best idea. Even though the headlines have started to indicate that you might not be guilty, you know how this town is. You’d be shunned.”

  Danielle sighed and got to her feet. She went into the kitchen and popped the top off of another bottle of wine, regardless that it was only two in the afternoon.

  “Well, if I’m staying here by myself again, you might need to go out and get more wine.”

  They shared a laugh—a sound that was alien to both of them. It seemed out of place in the quiet house with the remaining news crew and police car buzzing around outside. But it was the first time since she had returned to Pinecrest that Chloe thought things might turn out all right between them.

  Of course, all they had to do now was completely clear Danielle’s name.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  The Pinecrest Public Library was surprisingly large for the size of the town it accommodated. It was two stories tall, the bottom portion mostly dedicated to children’s and middle grade books. When Chloe entered at 5:57 to join the book club, she was directed to the back of the bottom level by a series of signs adorned with arrows and the heading of BOOK CLUB.

  She followed the signs to a cozy-looking conference room where several folding chairs had been set up in a semicircle. A small table was set up in the back with bottles of water and light snacks. A few women had already arrived, sitting in some of the chairs and in the midst of conversation. A woman who had been standing by the table in the back came up to her with a smile on her face.

  “Hello there,” this woman said. “I’m Mary Elder. I organize the book club.”

  “Oh, nice to meet you,” Chloe said.

  Mary Elder looked to be pushing sixty. If she had been here twenty years ago, the idea that she had interacted with her mother in the midst of this very book club was not too farfetched.

  “I’m so glad you could join us. If you need a copy of the book, we have a few extras.”

  Chloe did not have the book, nor did she intend to start reading it. “Oh, that’s okay. I have it at home and forgot to bring it. I’m about halfway through it.”

  “Great! Well, have a seat or help yourself to some snacks. We’ll begin soon.”

  But Chloe barely heard the end of this comment. Instead, her attention was on the door. A familiar face walked through and when that face turned in Chloe’s direction, it was filled with shock.

  Ruthanne Carwile stood there, frozen for a moment, as if she had looked directly into the eyes of a ghost. She entered the room slowly, finally giving Chloe a little nod of recognition before taking a seat next to a group of three women.

  Chloe ventured to the back table, giving the room and its participants some room to breathe—to operate the way it usually did when there wasn’t a stranger around. She watched as small groups of friends joined together while Mary Elder took a seat at the end of the semicircle. By Mary taking her seat, it appeared that the other eleven women in the room took this to mean that it was time for the meeting to begin.

  Chloe took a water and then found a seat. She took one across the semicircle from Ruthanne, wanting to keep an eye on her. The way Ruthanne had looked at her made her a little wary. There had been a split second where Chloe had seen pure disdain; it was clear that Ruthanne was not happy that Chloe was there.

  “Before we get into the book tonight,” Mary said, “I wanted to introduce our new member. And Chloe, this isn’t calling you out…we do this to all new members. So everyone, please welcome a Pinecrest local who has just recently come back into town, Chloe Fine.”

  There were a few strange faces around the room. No one knew how to react to her presence. They’d obviously all seen the news headlines and, even if that were not the case, would likely all know about her history. She was the youngest person in the room, with the closest runner-up being about thirty or so, she guessed.

  Mary seemed to sense the tension and did her best to tame it. But by the time two words had come out of her mouth, Chloe realized that the librarian was unintentionally helping her out.

  “I remember when Chloe’s mother used to be in this club,” she said. “She was always so insightful and just a ton of fun to be around. Chloe, I’m very glad to have you join us and hope you can bring that same level of insight your mother did.”

  “I’ll try my best,” Chloe said. She then looked around the room and tried to put on her best sympathetic look—not quite saddened, but somewhere closer to reflective. “If you don’t mind my asking, was anyone else in the room a member when Mom was here?”

  She knew that if anyone in the room was sentimental, they’d speak up. She hated to play on people’s emotions but she had to bet that recent news headlines would cause them to assume that she was here mainly to escape the drama of her sister and to perhaps find some old memories of her mother for peace.

  As she expected, it worked.

  Two women raised their hands, neither of whom was Ruthanne Carwile.

  “I was part of the club when Gale was a member,” one of the women said. “And Mary is right…she was so into reading. Always had some insights into the books that I could never even dream of. And she sometimes brought this cheese dip she made herself. It was delicious.”

  “My goodness,” the other woman said. “I nearly forgot about Gale Fine’s cheese dip.”

  “You know,” Mary said, “I believe she also volunteered a few hours a week to help tutor kids that had problems reading. I’d have to go back into the records to look into that, but I think—”

 

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