Her mom fluttered her hand through the air, let it settle at her throat. “It’s a long way.”
“We could go together.”
“She doesn’t want us in her life. She made that clear.”
“She just wants you to accept that she’s—”
“Beth.” Her father’s voice struck her silent. He’d only said her name, but it was enough. She’d gone too far. She could see it in the flush on her mother’s face, the tremble of her lip.
“Sorry,” Beth mumbled.
* * *
Her mom cleaned off the table while Beth and her dad talked—So you’re enjoying your job? They’re treating you right? She’d had more exciting conversations with her dentist. Now her mom was washing the dishes while her dad watched a documentary on ancient beekeeping. Her parents refused to buy a dishwasher. They were both teachers and made a decent living, but they donated whatever they could to the church. Their charity did not include helping their daughter with anything more than part of her tuition. They believed hard work was good for the soul.
Beth sat on the side patio, where she could see into the front and backyard, taking a moment before she had to fight through traffic. Her mother’s flower gardens were exploding with color. The North Shore Mountains hovered blue in the distance. In another couple of months it would rain almost daily, and the city would turn gray, the mountaintops frosted white.
She glanced at her phone again. Three unanswered texts. Amber had said she would be at the lake during the weekend, but Beth assumed that had meant she was camping and would be back by Sunday morning. She must have decided to stay longer. Then her phone probably died, or there was bad reception. Beth checked Amber’s Facebook. She hadn’t posted in days.
Beth looked up when she heard a car coming down her parents’ maple-tree-lined street. A police car. Black-and-white. City cops. She scanned the other houses. Her parents lived in a quiet neighborhood. She couldn’t imagine what any of them might have done to warrant a personal visit.
The police stopped in front of the house across the road. Beth waited for an officer to step out, but now the car was pulling forward and turning around. They must have had the wrong address. She watched curiously. It was like Russian roulette. Whose house would it be?
The car parked in front of her parents’ home, and she got to her feet, watched as two somber-faced officers stepped out. Full uniforms. One of them met her eyes, and then Beth knew.
Amber wouldn’t be texting back.
CHAPTER 16
Beth settled on the patio chair, rested the plate on the side table, leaning back so the hanging baskets of flowers hid her from the media vans. Those first few days had been terrible, reporters clustered along the sidewalk, lunging forward with their microphones outstretched and shouting questions every time Beth or her parents appeared. Beth’s father finally stood on the front steps and politely asked them to let them grieve in privacy. Of course, the reporters ignored him.
Since the news broke, all sorts of people had been messaging her—lawyers she worked with, students in her classes at the university, and guys she’d briefly dated. Sympathies and subtle, or not-so-subtle, questions. She gave short statements, memorized her lines.
We are trying to be strong, it’s a difficult time, we appreciate the support.
Reporters took screenshots of Amber’s Facebook page, all her photos, comments, memes, anything she had liked, and broadcast the selfie of Amber and Hailey together before Beth made her sister’s page private. Her parents didn’t understand about the relentless nature of social media. Beth hadn’t even understood how bad it would get.
She found a photograph of herself taken the day before, when she’d been hauling out the kitchen trash, and had been shocked to see how much older she looked now. They all did. Except Amber. She’d never be any older than eighteen years, three months, and ten days.
Beth chewed a mouthful of tuna noodle salad, wishing she had a glass of wine to wash down the bread-crumb topping. The kitchen door opened behind her, sending out a whoosh of cool air, the soft hum of voices. It closed again. Beth stared into the backyard and listened to the scrape of shoes. She’d hoped they would keep going around to the other side of the patio, but someone came to stand beside her. Beth looked up. A dark-haired man, tall, with a navy-blue suit. Constable Thompson. One of the cops working her sister’s case up in Cold Creek.
She straightened. “Did something happen? Should I get my dad?”
“No, no. I had meetings in the city. Your parents asked if I could stop by. Sorry to bother you. I wanted to take a moment to express my sympathies.” His gaze slid past her to the news vans. “I can ask them to clear out.”
She hadn’t noticed him at the service, but it seemed the entire city had emptied itself into the church. Church members, neighbors, family. Amber’s artsy school friends with their colored hair, tattoos, and body piercings. Beth had gone down Amber’s Facebook friends list, messaging them individually.
She rested her fork on the side of her plate. “Did you get some food?” How many times had she said that today? Thank you for coming. Did you eat? “People brought so much.”
He nodded. “Your mom’s sending me home with a bag.”
Beth thought of him driving while eating tarts, cookies, flakes of spanakopita pastry falling onto his nice tie as he mused over evidence or statements. Maybe it wasn’t the first time. Maybe his fridge was stuffed with casseroles and baking from the mothers of murder victims.
The local police had been the first to interview their family. Was your daughter having problems with anyone? Did your sister have a boyfriend? Any known drug issues? Her parents had stuttered and stammered and looked to each other for support. Beth had sat silent, scrolling through her texts from her sister as though the answer were buried somewhere among them and she’d somehow skipped right over it.
Then Thompson traveled down to ask more questions but barely answered theirs because it was an ongoing investigation. He’d called a couple of times since. There were no suspects—at least none they’d been told about. Beth thought they should drive to Cold Creek and meet with the police. But her dad’s face closed down and he said, “Let them do their jobs.”
Thompson leaned on the porch railing. Beth looked away. She had a hard time meeting his eyes. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he knew. He had probably seen her sister’s body. There would be photos. The very thought of them had Beth waking from nightmares, sweaty and tangled in sheets, her heartbeat frantic. She’d started sleeping at her parents’ house.
“When does it stop?” She jerked her chin toward the press.
“Hard to say. There’s a lot of interest.”
“I’ve read about the other cases. There’s a website.” Amber was one of the Cold Creek Highway victims now. Famous. Beth never understood grief before. It was a concept, something she read about. Like motherhood. Now it hollowed her, stole the breath from her chest. Her sister had suffered. She could imagine how hard Amber must have fought, how she would’ve screamed and begged. Beth’s mind was a haunted house that she could never leave.
“Those sites are full of conspiracy theorists and armchair detectives. They take advantage of vulnerable people. I’d suggest you avoid reading them if you can.”
“I just want answers.” She needed them.
“We’re working hard to get them. I promise. We have new technology, more CCTV cameras. Don’t give up hope. Some of the other families have found solace in support groups.”
“My parents have the church.”
“What about you?”
“It still doesn’t feel real.” She hadn’t meant to tell him that. What had she been thinking? That he might turn to her and say, Well, actually, it’s not real. It’s a terrible mistake. So sorry. He shifted his weight, adjusted the line of his blazer. The movement pulled her gaze up to his face. Brown eyes. Filled with sympathy. Too much. It hurt to see that reflected back at her.
“I should help my mom.” She s
tood and brushed bread crumbs off her skirt. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure it meant a lot to my parents.” She smiled stiffly and hurried back inside.
* * *
The kitchen was spotless. The women from the church had cleaned and put everything away, stocked their fridge with leftovers. Beth sat with her parents in the living room while they drank tea. The TV was off. Her father hadn’t watched the news since it had happened, but Beth would sneak peeks after they’d gone to bed, scared of what she might see, but desperate to find out if anyone had come forward. Any tidbit. She’d deleted Twitter and Facebook from her phone.
Her mom was staring into space. Her hair looked damp around her forehead, the soft bob messy, and her cheeks were flushed from heat or emotion. She kept glancing into the kitchen as though searching for more tasks. Her mom now existed between the bedroom and the kitchen.
“Why did you invite that police officer?”
Her mother slowly turned, blinked, licked her dry lips. Beth wondered at first if it was all in her imagination, the feeling that her mother was moving through thick water, and put it down to shock and grief, but then she’d found the pills in her mother’s bathroom.
“We…” Her mother searched for words. “We wanted him to feel a connection with Amber.”
Would that matter? Beth wasn’t sure, but she liked the idea. Thompson working a little harder, following down every last lead, while he thought about her family waiting for closure.
Her father glanced out the window. “Are the reporters still out there?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll walk you to your car in the morning. If they get too aggressive, we can call the police. Just remember not to say anything. Don’t react.” Her dad’s brows were pulled together. This was who they were now. People who tried to find ways to hide from the world.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to go back to work.”
Both her parents were looking at her. Who would speak first?
“You can’t miss any more days.” Her mother. Beth wasn’t surprised. Her mom loved telling neighbors and church members about her daughter the future lawyer. Beth didn’t want to think about the small hidden part of her that felt relieved about putting it all to the side.
“Maybe another week.”
“You don’t want to take advantage.”
“It’s not like I’m pocketing extra sugar packets. There’s only a couple of weeks left before school starts anyway. But I might defer this semester.”
“Oh, that’s not a good idea, tiger. Don’t do that.” Her father, a lurch in his voice, as though suddenly panicked that she was about to jump out of a window.
“I’ll go back in January.” Beth couldn’t believe they were finding this so shocking. How could they expect her to just carry on? Anything more than being in this room felt impossible. Getting groceries, mail, answering messages. Those tasks belonged in her past life.
“You can’t let evil win.” Her mother this time, the words a whisper, but loud enough just the same. If Beth didn’t follow through, she was letting everyone down. Including God.
“You have to stay busy,” her father added. “In times of tragedy, we must focus on the good. Find meaning in volunteer work. The church could always use you.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?”
“Teaching is important work, and the church is our family.”
Right, but they weren’t Beth’s. Despite all their differences, she and Amber were the same in that fact. It was like they’d been playing doubles tennis and now Beth didn’t have her partner. If either of them needed help deciding on anything, they consulted each other. Even minor things like a shade of lipstick, clothing, shoes. Before her first interview, Beth had held up her two suits on FaceTime with Amber and wore the one she’d picked. Nothing was done without discussion.
“I’ll take your car and fill it up with gas before you drive into the city tomorrow.” And with that pronouncement from her father, it was done. They were sending her home.
“If there is anything you want from your sister’s room, let me know. The ladies are coming this week to pack her clothes.”
Beth’s hand jerked on her teacup, clinking it against the china plate. Her mother winced.
“You’re cleaning out her room already?”
“The church supports many families in need.”
What about Beth’s need to grieve for her sister? Wasn’t that important too? She wanted to fight for Amber—and herself—but all she felt was a thick blanket of fatigue.
“I think I’m going to go lie down.”
“That’s a good idea.” Her mother stared at Amber’s baby photo on the wall, absently settling her hand on her stomach as though remembering when she had carried her safe.
“I’ll make biscuits. They’ll go well with that leftover stew.”
* * *
Beth searched the bathroom cabinets for Tylenol, took two, then glanced over her shoulder. No footsteps. She opened her mom’s makeup drawer, felt through the few products—skin cream, powder, pink lipstick. The pills weren’t there. She crept across the hall and into her parents’ room. On the night table she found the prescription bottle labeled Madeline Chevalier.
Xanax. Beth took one of the pills out and slid it under her tongue, then went down the hall to Amber’s room. Most of her sister’s belongings were already gone—she’d taken them with her when she moved—but Beth still had flashes of Amber sitting on the floor listening to music, meditating, or twisted into a complicated yoga pose. Beth ran her finger over the stack of spiritual books touting self-awareness, mindfulness, transcendence.
Beth plucked a photo of Amber and her from the corner of the dresser mirror. Other than the one crooked incisor they both had, they didn’t look alike, and not just because Amber’s features were bolder—with her big eyes, full lips, and wild hair. She was bigger than life, grand in her gestures, her smile. Singing at the top of her lungs whenever she heard a tune she liked.
In the photo Amber was wearing a halter top and jeans shorts. Beth was stiff and looked overheated in her graduation robe, her blond hair stuck to her forehead. Amber’s hair, naturally caramel brown, was turquoise at the time, triggering a series of parental lectures about how no one would take her seriously, which Amber had said was the entire point.
During high school, they passed each other in the hallway—Amber in a cloud of lavender scent on her way to drama club or dance class, Beth with a tension headache on her way to study group. They stayed in their own lanes. Beth was proud of being the responsible, quiet one. She was proud too that Amber didn’t feel the same obligation, that she felt free to find her own path. But now Amber was dead, and Beth felt the walls of responsibility close around her. She stared at the photograph in her hand. Her parents had been so pleased, took them out for a special dinner, and told everyone how their daughter would be going to university in the fall.
Beth had begun to wonder if Amber was right, that working hard to become a lawyer wouldn’t make her happy. None of that mattered anymore. She was all her parents had now.
In the morning she’d let the law office know she was coming back.
CHAPTER 17
JULY 2019
Beth moved through the crowd toward the white tent and table at the other end of the parking lot, then veered away when she noticed the network news crew. She found a spot in the shade where she could watch the First Nations drum circle. Some people were singing along, dancing. She didn’t know how they could stand the heat. Her sundress was already sticking to her legs.
There were a few groups carrying banners: JUSTICE FOR THE VICTIMS! KEEP THE HIGHWAY SAFE! BRING OUR GIRLS HOME! Others were holding colorful signs with photos of victims, dates when they were last seen written in Sharpie, messages to their loved one. WE MISS YOU!
People wore yellow reflective vests. A car was parked nearby with speakers on the roof, more photos of the missing and murdered stuck all over it. She spotted Amber’s photo among the oth
ers and felt a sickening rush of panic. How was she going to do this? She held her cold plastic water bottle to the back of her neck, her forehead.
Everyone near her in the shade was speaking softly. Like it would be inappropriate to laugh or raise their vo ice. Some of the women looked angry. Those she understood more. She locked eyes with an older First Nations woman standing with a child. They were holding a banner with WE NEED ANSWERS! painted in careful red letters over a photo of one of the victims—a beautiful girl with long black hair. Beth knew of her case. She’d died decades ago. Her family still came out for her. Would Beth be coming to memorials with her grandchildren one day?
It had been almost a year and Amber’s case was still unsolved. When Beth read online that the town had an annual memorial walk to raise awareness of the victims, she’d mentioned it to her therapist, who said, “Many people find peace in ritual. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
Beth didn’t think.
She’d avoided the idea completely until she lost her apartment (an unfortunate side effect of losing her job) and found herself homeless. Maybe her therapist was right. She needed to go to the memorial for closure. Then she could get her feet under her again. She’d had a moment of doubt when she’d arrived in town an hour ago and saw the welcoming sign, but then she’d heard Amber’s voice so clearly it was like she was sitting beside her. OMG. It’s pretty as a postcard, Beth. The mountains, the creek, and there’s this huge elk sculpture. I call him Elvis.
Before the memorial, Beth had driven past the house where Amber had rented a basement suite, peered into the garden that she’d loved. I can pick whatever I want. Her parents had arranged last summer for the landlord to ship all her belongings back. Amber’s turtle bracelet that matched Beth’s was missing. Thompson said it was possible the killer had kept it.
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