Chapter Thirteen
I didn't sleep that night. I lay there in the dark, eyes open, mind chewing on itself until dawn bled through the blinds. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw Leah's face. Then Mia's. Then the interrogation room, the careful way the detectives watched Mia.
I organized the same drawer I'd organized yesterday. Rubber bands, takeout menus, ancient Chapstick. I threw things away until the trash can overflowed. Apollo shadowed me, watching everything I did intently.
Mia wanted to go to school, but she looked so wan and exhausted that I insisted she stay home for one more day to rest. Besides, Camille had advised that she remain at home for a few days.
I wanted to wrap her in bubble wrap so nothing could hurt her ever again. Instead, I let her sleep upstairs while I made a cup of coffee that I was too wired to drink.
I checked the locks. Twice. Front door deadbolt. Side door latch. Back slider lock.
My brain wouldn't stop churning. Someone had been inside my house. Someone was watching us. But who? And why?
I called every locksmith in town yesterday. The earliest anyone could come was Friday morning. Two more days. I texted Brooke about the spare key and was waiting to hear back.
Around 9 a.m. on Wednesday, I caught movement on the street outside my window. A dark sedan I didn't recognize parked three houses down. Detective King stood on the Henderson’s front porch, notebook in hand. Callahan climbed the steps to the Cromwell place.
They were canvassing. Going door to door. Talking to everyone. They were building a case, piece by piece, witness by witness, tracking closer and closer to us. To Mia.
Alarm flared through every cell in my body. What were the neighbors saying? What had they seen? What had they heard? What rumors were they spreading about us?
I forced myself away from the window and returned to scrubbing the same counter for the third time. Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang. My heart slammed into my throat. Apollo barked and raced for the front door.
I checked the peephole.
Not the detectives. Instead, Rowan Westinghouse stood on my porch, dressed in a navy cashmere V-neck, cream linen pants, and ballet flats, her hair swept in shiny loose curls around her shoulders.
A bouquet of roses was cradled in her arms in shades of pink, cream, and coral, their stems wrapped in burlap tied with twine.
Chloe stood beside her mother, hands tucked into the pockets of an oversized cardigan, her face pale and drawn. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. She looked physically ill.
I opened the door partway. "Rowan, Chloe. Hi."
"Hello, Dahlia." Rowan's voice was warm, concerned. "We won't stay long. We wanted to check on you. And Mia." She held out the roses. "From my garden. I know how much you love them."
I did. I'd admired them at her Fourth of July party last summer, the way they spilled over the arbor in riotous colors. I’d always loved the fragile beauty of flowers, though I could never water them enough to keep them alive and thriving.
I took the bouquet. A thorn pricked my finger through the burlap. "Thank you."
Chloe looked past me into the house, her gaze searching. "Is Mia here?"
"She's upstairs, sleeping. She didn't feel up to school today. I'm so sorry, but I don't want to wake her."
"That's okay, Ms. Kincaid." Something flickered across Chloe's face. Relief? Disappointment? It was gone before I could read it. "I couldn't go back to school, either. Not yet. Everyone else went back, though."
Rowan squeezed Chloe's shoulder. "It's different for you, sweetheart. It happened at our house."
Chloe's eyes welled. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears. Apollo pressed his snout into her hands, and she petted his head between his ears.
"May we come in?" Rowan asked. "Just for a moment. I wanted to talk to you about an idea."
I hesitated. Normally, I would've happily invited her in. Today, my paranoia made me suspicious of everyone, but Rowan more than anyone had always been kind to me. She'd welcomed me into the neighborhood, invited Mia to Chloe's parties, and ensured both Mia and I felt like we belonged.
I stepped aside. "Of course."
Apollo stayed glued to my leg as I led them to the living room.
I retrieved a glass vase from beneath the sink in the kitchen, filled it with water, and returned to the cramped living room.
I undid the burlap and set the roses inside the vase, careful of the thorns.
A few still pricked me. I wiped the droplet of blood on the burlap.
Rowan settled on the worn couch, her posture perfect. Chloe curled into the corner, knees pulled up, her glossy honey-blonde hair spilling down her back.
Rowan's gaze swept the small living room, the cramped kitchen. "This is darling. It reminds me of the cottage we rented in Door County years ago. I admire how you've embraced the vintage aesthetic. Very authentic, and so you, Dahlia."
"It's not much, but it's ours." I glanced around the room, at the scuffed baseboards, the mismatched throw pillows, the water stain on the ceiling I kept meaning to paint over.
For a second, I saw the shabbiness through her eyes. Embarrassment curdled my stomach. I tried so hard not to care. But I did, too much.
Rowan's smile seemed nothing but genuine. When I looked at her face, I saw only kindness. I was being ridiculous. She'd brought flowers. She was here to help. I was exhausted, jumpy, and seeing shadows everywhere. "I'll make us some coffee."
"Don't trouble yourself," Rowan said. "We really can't stay that long."
Obediently, I sank into the armchair across from them. Apollo lay at my feet. His eyes tracked Rowan's every movement as I settled my hands in my lap and forced a smile I didn't feel. "What's up?"
"I was thinking that we should hold a memorial service for Leah. Something uplifting, to celebrate her life. Not the official funeral or anything like that, but something small, to show the Cho family our community support."
Viv would probably loathe the additional attention, especially the false sympathy of near-strangers, but I didn’t have the heart to say that. Besides, I didn’t want to project my own feelings onto her. "That's a lovely idea."
"I'm so glad you agree. I was thinking we could do it soon, this Sunday evening perhaps, at the clubhouse. I know it might be difficult, given everything, but I think it would mean a lot to Vivienne. To all of us."
Sunday. Four days away.
"Of course we'll be there," I said. "I'm happy to help, just tell me what you need."
Rowan's smile was gentle. "Excellent. We'll keep it small, simple. Immediate families, the girls, and a few teachers. Nothing public. The media has been… relentless."
I thought of the reporters outside the precinct. The cameras. The shouted accusations. "I know."
Chloe spoke up, her voice thin. "Everyone's been so awful online. People are saying terrible things. About all of us."
"Try not to read it, honey," Rowan said.
"I can't help it." Chloe's hands twisted in her lap. Her eyes were reddened. She looked genuinely wrecked. "They're saying it was one of us. That we… that we did something awful to our friend…"
Rowan reached over and squeezed her daughter's knee. "The police will figure out what happened. Until then, we support each other."
"Right." The word felt hollow. I thought of the missing camera, the sandy slippers, the scratches on my daughter's arms.
"Yesterday must have been exhausting for both of you."
I kept my expression neutral. "We're managing."
"It must be so hard for Mia, losing her best friend like that. What with the police questioning all the girls so intensely."
"It was rough," I said, careful to keep it vague.
I wasn't ready to reveal how harrowing it had been, the cold sterility of the room, the walls closing in as if we were already locked in a kind of prison.
The terror of the detectives' sharp eyes homing in on my daughter as her story changed, as she'd lied.
"They're just covering their bases. I'm sure Mia has nothing to worry about."
Her certainty steadied me. I swallowed and nodded. "We're trying to find some sort of new normal through this."
A car door slammed outside, muffled through the front windows. I flinched, half expecting a heavy knock from the detectives with badges. But no one came.
Rowan's gaze remained on my face. Her lipstick had bled into the lines around her mouth. Up close, she looked tired for the first time since I'd met her. "That's why I wanted to come by in person. Whatever you need. If you need someone to talk to, or if Mia needs anything at all, let me know."
I almost told her about the break-in last night, the missing notebook, my things shuffled around, but something, some small niggling hesitation, stopped me.
"I keep thinking I should know what to do," I admitted. "Like there's a manual I missed out on. How to Parent Through a Murder Investigation."
Her mouth twitched. "If there is, I certainly never got a copy. Sounds like an article you need to write."
I snorted. “I pass.”
We shared strained smiles.
A creak sounded at the top of the stairs.
"Mom?" Mia's voice floated down from upstairs.
Her footsteps descended, and a moment later, she appeared in the archway in her old Lilo and Stitch sweatpants and a matching, oversized sweatshirt.
Her hair was pulled into a messy braid that had slipped over one shoulder.
"Oh," she said when she saw Rowan and Chloe in the living room.
I gestured toward the roses on the coffee table. "We have company."
"I have a headache. I ah, needed more water. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"There's nothing to apologize for." Rowan stood and smoothed her slacks. "Dahlia and I were just chatting. Chloe wanted to see how you're doing."
Chloe had risen from the couch. For a moment, the two girls just looked at each other, then Chloe offered a small uncertain smile. "Hey."