You Deserve to Know

Chapter 31

31

NOW

Danger.

The word hangs in the air between them. Aimee looks at the woman in front of her. She thought she knew Gwen. How as a girl she had wanted to be a writer, but realized she didn’t have the temperament and settled for public relations. That her favorite flowers are orchids. That she likes pale-pink nail polish from Olive and June, and Bellinis with fresh peach slices, and rewatches Sex and the City whenever she’s sick. That her first concert was Hootie her veneer as fake as her friendship. “No. You’re not coming with me.”

Gwen clicks her seatbelt. “I know you hate me right now, and I don’t blame you, but I can’t let you do this alone. So, if you want to go to Cathy’s house, you’re going to have to take me with you.”

“I don’t need your help, Gwen. No offense, but you’ve done enough damage. I’m perfectly capable of talking to Cathy by myself.”

Gwen doesn’t respond, but pulls the dog onto her lap.

“Fine. Have it your way,” Aimee says and yanks the steering wheel hard to the left as she stomps on the gas, forcing the truck into a screeching hard turn and slamming Gwen against the door.

They drive in silence toward Cathy’s house. All she can think of is Noa, her daughter who thinks everyone is a friend and doesn’t understand why people are mean to each other. Who believes what others tell her, even when it hurts her. Like the time three of her former friends told her there was a wounded puppy in the woods behind the school, and Noa wandered off to find it during recess and missed the bell to return. She got in trouble for not coming in on time but remained convinced for days that there was a puppy in the woods that needed her help. Aimee reminds herself that Noa is safe, unhurt. Cathy hasn’t harmed her in any obvious way. But what about in less obvious ways? What really went on at Cathy’s house?

At Huntington Parkway, she swings a quick left off Old Georgetown as a car zooms toward her.

“That was kind of close,” Gwen says, as the other driver honks at them.

Aimee slows down a little over the speed bumps. She has to get her emotions under control. If she wants Cathy to tell her the truth, she can’t come in with guns blazing. She needs to play nice. Cathy will respond to nice. But Aimee doesn’t feel very nice right now.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Gwen says. “Just showing up like this.”

“Why are you trying to talk me out of this? You’re the one who told me that she was connected to Scott’s past, that Noa might be in danger with her. Are you sending me on a wild goose chase?”

“No, I swear.”

“If there’s any chance that Cathy might know something that could help me find Scott, I want to talk to her. I’d think you’d want to, as well. She might know something about Anton’s death.”

“I want to know the truth just as much as you do. I just don’t think we should barge in like this.”

“Next time we can send engraved invitations.”

As the familiar house comes into view, Aimee’s heart begins to pound. She shoots a hard side glance at Gwen, in no mood for debate. She doesn’t want to be talked out of this. There have been a few times in her life when, deep in her soul, she knew things.

Like how she knew when her mom went into the hospital that it wasn’t going to be all right. She knew when she hugged her and kissed her that last time and everyone promised she would be fine after she got some rest, she knew in her gut it wasn’t true. Mom will be fine , her father had said. She only broke a hip. People break bones all the time.

He had made it seem routine, but Aimee knew it was anything but. Her mom’s bones had been hollowed and made weak by the cancer medications she was on. Once she was in a hospital bed, unbeknownst to everyone, an undetected blood clot loosened and began traveling from her leg. Aimee didn’t know about the blood clot, of course, but she sensed things were not right.

She begged her dad to let her spend the night. She offered to sleep on the floor. But her father insisted she go home. Her mother died that night of a pulmonary embolism.

It’s taken years for Aimee to learn how to speak up when that little gut instinct kicks in. But she’s not a child anymore. She doesn’t need anyone’s permission. Outside Cathy’s, she puts the car in park and turns to Gwen.

“I didn’t ask you to come here. If you’re not comfortable, call an Uber and go home.” Aimee gets out, astounded at her own directness, slams the door, and stomps up the front steps. She is grateful she is wearing her heavy work boots and pants, that she has a sharp knife inside her jacket’s left pocket. Not that she anticipates using a weapon on Cathy. But she doesn’t feel vulnerable. She feels infused with some kind of superpower. She bangs on the front door.

As she waits on the porch she looks around and notices what she didn’t see before. A sleek blue BMW at the far end of the driveway, about ten feet in front of the old barn. Not Cathy’s usual green Subaru.

Gwen appears beside her, holding one end of Sababa’s leash. The dog, nose to the floorboards of the porch, sniffs loudly.

“What is it?” Gwen asks. “What are you looking at?”

“That car. I’ve never seen it here before.”

“Maybe she has company. Do you want to leave? It’s not too late.”

Just then the front door swings open, and a woman in her midfifties with a choppy dyed-red bob answers. “Hello, may I help you?” She looks at the two women and the dog with obvious confusion.

Aimee pulls back, startled. “Hi, is Cathy home?”

The woman’s penciled-in eyebrows arch in surprise. She’s dressed in a style that reminds Aimee of Cathy—a flowy gray silk top, black skirt, and chunky acrylic necklace. Aimee wonders if she is a friend or coworker of Cathy’s.

“Cathy?” The woman shakes her head. “There’s no Cathy here.”

“Cathy Stocker,” Aimee says with more urgency. “She lives here.”

“Oh, Catherine Stocker.” She nods in recognition. “Of course, Catherine, my cat sitter. But she no longer works for me. And I can assure you she has never lived here.”