The Girls Across the Bay

by Emerald O'Brien

  Maybe I can’t help anyone anymore.

  “You alright?” Rhonda asked at the front desk.

  Grace nodded. “Just need some sleep, I think.”

  On the way home, she willed her cell phone to buzz with a reply from Madigan, but by the time she’d crawled into bed, she just wanted to shut out the world and wake up ready to do whatever it took to find Lily’s killer.

  To prove to herself and everyone else that she could.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Madigan parked her bike on the road above the rocky shoreline. Across from the Hall’s mansion, the sun touched the horizon.

  Mr. Hall had invited her in under her guise as the daughter of an old friend of his daughter’s. She followed him into the large front foyer with a large marble staircase, everything painted or tiled in a cream tone.

  Clean, and yet less bright than it should have been. Curtains covered each of the windows.

  Mr. Hall led her to the living room.

  “Please have a seat,” he said. “What’s your mom’s name? Maybe I know her?”

  “Maureen,” she said without it registering she’d used Will’s mom’s name until the words came out. “She passed away just recently.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, bowing his head before sitting in the armchair across from hers.

  Expensive furniture decorated yet another cream coloured room, and she noticed family photos on the mantel above the grand fireplace before turning her attention back to Mr. Hall.

  “My mom was close with Valerie, and she was heartbroken when she went missing. We moved a few years after it happened, and she never knew what happened to her friend. She’d talk about it a lot, and, well, I guess I’m here hoping she came back?”

  He folded his hands in his lap and cleared his throat, shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Her case went cold the week she went missing as far as I’m concerned. City cops seemed to have—more pressing matters to deal with than—”

  He cleared his throat again, and she avoided eye contact in an effort to give him some dignity.

  “I only came because she hoped that one day I’d know Valerie. I was too young back then to remember her.”

  “She was beautiful,” Mr. Hall said. “Her leaving broke her mother’s heart. She rarely leaves the house. I guess—well—it’s been a deep loss to anyone who knew her. Especially Joe.”

  “Her fiancé, right?”

  He nodded. “Joe held out hope longer than the rest of us.”

  “You said her leaving. You think she left on her own?”

  He looked behind him toward the alcove of the foyer and leaned in closer.

  “She was seeing someone behind his back. None of us wanted to believe it, but one of her friends said she swore she saw Val with someone else. God, even saying her name…”

  Tears welled up in his eyes, and he took his glasses off, setting them on the mahogany table between them.

  “Word spread, and some people got to thinking she left with him. Nobody knew who he was. Joe never bought into it. Didn’t want to believe it, I guess. Neither did we, but some things of hers were missing when Joe got home from his work trip that Saturday morning. That, paired with her friend’s account, and the police gave up.”

  “No one saw her leave?” she asked.

  He nodded. “The next door neighbour. That’s the other thing. When she left the house, she had her purse and her bag. It was all confusing, though, because she never used her bank cards. Never withdrew money, and she had some. We gave her a weekly allowance. Kept giving it to her for the next year, just hoping…”

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Well, I don’t think I can talk about it anymore, but I appreciate you coming by to check and—and your mom was right. I wish you could’ve known her.”

  He stood up, and she stood after him.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Hall. May I ask one last question? My mom never told me where she lived exactly, but I think it was close to us.”

  “Warbler Way,” he said, shaking his head. “She and Joe, they refused to take our money to get a proper place before their wedding. Wouldn’t take money for the wedding either, so they ended up in that dump. That’s what makes me think—you never know what kind of person might’ve seen her walking alone…”

  Madigan walked toward the fireplace.

  “Did your mom have any pictures of them?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Couldn’t afford a camera.”

  “I’m very sorry to speak about the area like that if that’s where you’re from,” he said.

  “It’s alright. It was a bad neighbourhood.”

  “I’m glad you got out,” he said, following her. “There’s Valerie and Joe.”

  “She is beautiful.” Madigan nodded.

  “I tried to put these away once, but her mother wouldn’t let me. She had them all back up when I came home from work.”

  Madigan leaned in and noticed how close Valerie and Joe seemed. She sat on his lap with her arms around his neck, and he kissed her hand, a hand wearing a ring similar to one of Evette’s.

  “I’m talking too much,” Mr. Hall sighed and walked away. “Maureen?”

  The same ring as Evette’s.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, following him to the foyer. “I won’t bother you anymore.”

  “Not a bother at all,” he said. “I like hearing how Valerie touched others’ lives. The rumors left a murky nature surrounding her disappearance, and I just wish she’d be remembered for who she really was. Who we knew she was.”

  “Are you still in touch with Joe?”

  Mr. Hall opened the door, and a flood of golden-rose light filled the room. The colour made his sallow face come to life.

  “He checks on us now and then, but he has his own life. Still in the city. He loved her. Without a doubt, he still does,” he said.

  Madigan stopped in the doorway. “Did Valerie ever mention anyone named Eli, or Evette, or John?” she asked.

  He pursed his lips, and his moustache twitched.

  “Eli,” he said. “I think that was the next-door neighbour who saw her leave Friday morning. She was coming to see us. It was a good visit. We were the last to see her.”

  Right next door.

  “Thank you for your time,” she said. “I appreciate you talking to me.”

  “I’m glad I could give you closure,” he said as she stepped outside. “I only wish someone could give us some. I guess I like to think Valerie’s still out there. In love with the man she left it all behind for. That’s better than…”

  He folded his arms over his chest.

  “I hope you get closure too,” Madigan said, nodding to him before turning back toward the sunset and starting down the driveway.

  You will. We both will.

  After getting back on her bike and buckling her helmet, she rode down the coast, wishing she knew for sure whether the ring on Valerie’s finger had been the same as Evette’s.

  What are the chances it’s a coincidence?

  Slim.

  Am I imagining it too? Exaggerating it to fit my own narrative?

  I have to make sure they’re the same.

  Riding into their subdivision, she couldn’t avoid the talk with Will anymore.

  I don’t think I should be with him, but I don’t want to lose him, either.

  I’m selfish.

  What if I’m wrong?

  If I stay, I’ll always feel like this. Less than. Waiting for his disappointment in me to trump his love for me. For his frustration to grow into something insurmountable. Waiting for him to not love me at all anymore.

  She parked her bike and jogged up their driveway, as if a few seconds of hustling could make up for her lateness.

  I can’t even focus on what to do about Will.

  I can’t focus on anything but my nightmare—looking evermore like reality.

  “Will doesn’t deserv
e this,” she muttered to herself, taking off her helmet and shaking out her hair.

  Her chest already ached for him.

  For the man who’d been there for her when she felt most alone.

  For the man who loved her unconditionally.

  For the man she wished would stay—except they never did.

  Nothing good remains.

  Even if things never changed, and he always loved me unconditionally, could I truly be happy?

  By the time she unlocked the door, she had her answer.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Grace flipped the final page of the file over before slipping the binder back beneath her bed. Every few nights, she had skimmed over the words that became familiar. Each time, her heart broke for Leah and ached with grief and guilt.

  I have to read it. I can’t allow myself to forget what I did.

  Her phone rang, and she picked it up without looking at the caller ID.

  “Sheppard.”

  “My meeting ran late,” Mac said, the hum of his car engine in the background. “Be at your place in ten.”

  He’s picking me up?

  When she got in the car, she made a point not to question him about why he came to get her, but after parking at the department, he spoke up.

  “I didn’t want to owe you,” he said.

  “What?”

  He got out of the car, and she followed him to the door. “You picked me up; now I’ve picked you up,” he said. “We’re even.”

  “Alright.” She laughed.

  He led her into their room where Jack Holden sat waiting with a foam cup in his hand.

  “You guys actually drink the coffee here?” Jack said without turning around.

  “Today’s wasn’t the best,” Mac said, laughing. “It’s gotta be better than the shit you boys drink at the fire station.”

  As they walked around the table, Jack sat up straight, making eye contact with her.

  “Jack.” She nodded with a smile.

  “Grace.” He grinned. “I thought I saw you at the fire. You’re on this case?”

  She nodded. “Transferred to Deerhorn County.”

  Though she had never been to the other three small neighbouring towns, Grace had been put in charge of investigations in all four towns that made up Deerhorn County.

  “How do you two know each other?” Mac asked.

  “Well, Grace’s sister was also my best friend’s sister,” Jack said.

  “Sounds…complicated.” Mac sat down, and Grace took the seat between them.

  “Not really.” Grace smiled. “Good to see you. I thought we were meeting the fire chief?”

  “So did Greg, but while he was waiting to meet you guys, he got a call about a fire at Tall Pines Elementary. Not a big one, but they think one of the kids set it after school got out, and they need to make sure they find out who. So, you’re stuck with me.” Jack grinned, but it faded fast. “We were pretty sure of the cause of the fire at John Talbot’s place before it was even out, but we had to perform a thorough investigation, and I did so myself. That’s why the Chief asked me to come and present my report.”

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Mac said.

  “The gas stove.” Jack cleared his throat. “This was foul play, but whoever did it didn’t want to get caught. There was a pan with oil on the stove, as if someone was going to cook on it.”

  Mac nodded. “Any evidence of who did it?”

  Jack shook his head. “The whole main floor is burnt up. You couldn’t find prints in there if you tried, and the top floor is not good either. We can tell you, whoever did it broke in. One of the window panes by the back door in the kitchen had been broken. The rest were still intact. They probably hoped the door would be destroyed by the fire to hide the break-in, but it burnt right off the hinges and landed just outside.”

  “Can you tell us anything else?” Grace asked.

  “The fire started at about eight p.m.,” Jack said. “It wasn’t reported until it was pretty far along. Any other small details, such as damages, are in the report. Now, we did find something unusual.”

  He pulled a metal lockbox up onto the table in front of him and pulled out a plastic bag with a hand gun.

  “Found this under the floorboard in the kitchen,” Jack said. “It wasn’t in this bag. It wasn’t inside anything. It was brought in for processing along with this box. This was on the kitchen table—what was left of it, anyway.”

  “There wasn’t anything on the kitchen table when we left,” Mac said. “Or on the stove.”

  “It seems as though it was left for us to find,” Jack said. “Well, us or you. This box obviously wouldn’t be damaged by the fire. The lock was simple and easy to break, but we haven’t opened it. Banning told me to give it to you.” He slid the box over to Mac.

  Mac frowned and pulled on gloves from his pocket. Grace did the same. She walked around the table, leaning over his shoulder.

  Several four by six pictures wrapped together by an elastic band sat in the middle with a small piece of white paper on top with three words.

  JOHN IS GUILTY.

  Mac took the note off and set it on the table beside the box as he unwrapped the elastic.

  John wouldn’t have left this.

  The first picture of Mac and Grace leaving the police station, taken from a distance, made her squint hard.

  Someone’s been following us.

  It had to be taken the morning after Lily was found dead. She wore the same clothes she had that day.

  Mac set it down, revealing the next picture of just Grace, getting into her car in the department lot. Goosebumps covered her arms, and her breaths grew short.

  The next, a picture of Mac entering his condo building, was taken from across the road.

  Then there was a picture of Grace sitting alone on the deck at Roy’s, looking out at the waves, taken from somewhere below her on the beach.

  The next was of her and Madigan talking at the table, taken from the same point of view.

  They know who Madigan is. That she matters to me.

  Focus on the case.

  She took a deep breath.

  Calm down and focus. Stay professional.

  Why are they sending us this?

  Grace took the picture from Mac. Her hands shook as she studied it. Every detail important. Their glasses empty. In deep conversation.

  The man was about to approach us and offer to buy us drinks.

  She squinted at the left corner of the picture, but the man wasn’t there.

  Had he left, or was he not there yet?

  Was he taking the picture?

  “Grace?”

  Jack’s voice echoed around her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the picture.

  “Grace?” Mac asked, still staring at the final picture in his hand.

  She leaned over his shoulder once more. Most of the pictures focused in on a date: the day of the fire.

  A newspaper, held up in front of the camera.

  Just above the paper, John entered a building at dusk.

  Grace took the photo from Mac and held it closer. Part of the sign had been cut off at the top of the picture, but enough of the letters had been included.

  “That’s Wild Card,” she muttered.

  John’s a liar. A good one.

  I shouldn’t be surprised.

  We were taught to be.

  Mac stood. “Jack, thanks very much for your help.”

  Grace stood, and Jack shook both their hands.

  “Grace, could I speak to you in the hall for a sec?” Jack asked.

  Grace nodded and set the picture down before following Jack into the hallway. He stopped just outside the door.

  “It’s good to see you,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, you too. You’ve grown up,” Grace said, trying to smile. “I barely recognized you, but you were at John’s place.”

  “You’ve changed too. From what I remember, you used to be more—well—less like Madigan.”


  “You think we’re more alike now?”

  He nodded. “It’s hard to explain, but that’s a good segue into what I wanted to ask you about. Is she alright?”

  Grace smiled up at him.

  He’s kept his promise, all these years. Still trying to look after her for Drew.

  “She’s fine,” Grace said.

  Except if someone’s watching me, they might be watching her too.

  He nodded, his features seeming to relax. “Last night, we spoke, and she just seemed—off.”

  Grace walked backwards toward the room. “You could give her a call sometime. She’d probably like that.”

  “Things have changed a lot since Drew’s death. Things are more difficult for everyone, and we’re not kids in the same neighbourhood anymore. We’ve lost touch a bit.”

  “Well, I appreciate you looking out.”

  Jack waved before turning around. “Take care, and good luck with the case.”

  Grace stepped back inside as Mac stood over the photos, looking up at her with lines across his forehead and clenched fists.

  “John lied,” she said.

  “He’ll answer our questions this time,” Mac said.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Madigan set her keys in the bowl by the front door and locked it behind her. “Buster?” she called.

  Where is that dog?

  “Will?” she called and took her jacket off, leaving it by the door. She took a few steps to the kitchen and stood in the doorway, leaning in.

  Nothing.

  She walked down the hallway to the living room, and the light by the sliding door glowed through the glass. She pulled it open and stuck her head out.

  “Buster? Will?”

  “We’re out here,” Will called.

  Seconds later, Buster bounded around the hedge toward her, and she bent to scratch his head.

  “Wish me luck,” she whispered and stood.

  Her favourite lantern illuminated the portion of the patio table where Will sat with a drink of scotch in his hand.

  He never drinks much and not scotch unless he’s with his dad.

  This is bad.

  “It’s nice and quiet out here,” he said, gesturing for her to take the seat beside him. “Join me?”