17. Imogen
IMOGEN
I cautiously steer through suburban Blair, sifting the memory files in my head, thumbing for details from Leo Towns’s fifty-fifth birthday party.
It was held at his house, tucked into the mountain on Blair’s northern edge, a gathering of neighbors and out-of-towners alike.
That side of Blair feels different—more cramped than the lakefront pockets, yet branded the Highlands for its steep hills and sense of seclusion.
Exclusive in feel, though not as much in price, since none of the houses touch the water.
Mom, Amelia, and I had climbed the hill from the cake shop downtown and reached his door within minutes, I remember.
White paint? Cape Cod characteristics.
Small, but stately. It was where he’d lived with his ex-wife.
Vines. Intricate, suffocating the shutters. Curling around the windows.
A brick walkway where Mom caught her high heel, nearly dropping the chocolate raspberry cake that swayed in her hands.
Two unanswered texts from Amelia sit on my phone, asking what I’m doing. Hoping this will be a fruitful conversation, I don’t respond. Yet. The minutes slip past, quickening, while I creep through unfamiliar streets, scanning both sides so I won’t miss Leo’s house.
What if he moved? Painted? Remodeled?
What if I’m wasting my fucking time?
These days, trapped in sentimentality, time is of the essence.
Every detour from packing adds weight to the clock ticking in my head.
Yet, in some ways, I don’t mind it here.
The views are serene, Mom’s house is bliss, and the toytown environment is almost refreshing.
But there’s a darkness festering—steady, unshakeable. I feel it.
I round a particularly sharp bend and am struck by déjà vu. Amelia’s groan of nausea from that long-ago night surfaces, tickling a spot in my memory. I’ve been here before. I pay special attention to the approaching homes, convinced that spotting Leo’s is imminent.
And there it is. A dignified white New England–style home, lush vines crawling wildly on its exterior. But no brick walkway. Perhaps he replaced it after the hazard nearly cost him his cake.
Leo Towns. Contractor. That’s how he and Mom first crossed paths—when she bought her house and needed small fixes.
Everyone in Blair hired him eventually; he had that reputation.
At the time, he was still married. But he and Mom’s easy friendship grew over years, and later, after his divorce, it budded into something romantic.
She opened doors for him—introduced him to steady work at the community center.
And that’s where he was, years later, the day he found her body by the dock.
I park along a row of cypress trees at the edge of his yard and step out, following the new stone path that replaced the crumbling brick.
Each footfall strengthens my conviction that this is the same house I visited.
Whether he currently inhabits it is unclear—no car in the driveway, no name on the mailbox.
When I raise my hand toward the old-fashioned doorbell, my pulse flutters with a dangerous thought: What if I’m about to walk into the home of a killer?
He found her body. Didn’t anyone ever wonder if that was too convenient?
In the reflection of the wide front window, the world outside bends back at me.
But I spot a lamp glowing inside. The curtain must be drawn, striking another concerning thought…
Leo could be inside, watching me—calculating, aware that I’ve come for answers.
If he was with her that night, if he’s buried some truth, he’ll know I know. What happens then?
A nervous, pitiful laugh escapes me. I’m being dramatic.
Leo never presented any evidence of psychopathy.
Not even the faintest hint of menace. He was cordial, even tender.
He’d often text Amelia and me snapshots of him with Mom, proud, almost boyish.
He’d volunteer to drive them to Seattle to meet us for dinner.
We liked him—we rooted for him. When they split, it was a loss to our family unit, in a way.
The wise part of my brain reminds me: People are deceiving. The brightest smiles can hide the darkest truths.
I press the doorbell. The faint, humming chime rings from the other side.
No turning back now.
I stare at the door, beckoning it to move; almost hoping a nice lady opens it instead, telling me I have the wrong house. But the door sweeps inward, and there he is.
Leo.
He looks almost unchanged: tall, broad-shouldered, with the natural strength of a man accustomed to hard work.
His charcoal hair, cut close, dips into a slight widow’s peak.
His brows are thick but orderly—eyes startlingly blue.
They meet mine with the same confidence, the same winsome smile I remember.
“Hello,” he says, clearly befuddled by my unannounced visit. A pause hangs between us, a thick dubiety in the air. He’s either unsure why I’m here or silently bracing himself for the questions he already suspects.
“Hi, Leo.”
He stammers. “S-sorry… I’m surprised to see you.” Leo shakes his head, steps closer. “How are you?” He envelops me in a tight hug—one I lose myself in when I imagine him again as the father figure I once had.
“I’m getting through,” I say into his shoulder. Stepping back, I add, “I’m wondering if you could help answer a few questions about my mom.”
He exhales, cheeks puffing slightly as he considers my request. “Of course. Come on in.” He scratches the back of his head and opens the door wider so I can slip through.
I cross the threshold, admiring the sleek décor of a fifty-seven-year-old bachelor. A woodsy candle flickers on the coffee table, and everything appears clean, systematic—curated without being pretentious. I move toward the living room—boasting an unobscured view of the walkway I just traversed.
“I didn’t realize you were back here,” he says.
“Only for a few days,” I say, settling into a plush chair.
Leo sits across from me, elbows resting on his knees, leaning forward in a position that shows he’s an open book. Jeans and a knit pullover make him look casual, almost vulnerable, on this quiet Sunday morning.
“It was awful… finding her that day,” he says, forlorn. “I’ve been torn up about it. Can’t get it out of my head…”
I nod in clear agreement.
“I never stopped caring for Alice.”
I try to find a response, feeling the weight of his words. When I don’t fill the silence quickly enough, he does. “I’m glad to see you back in Blair, though. Is Amelia home, too?”
“Yeah,” I say, adjusting in my chair. “We’re just sorting through the house.
It’s been a lot.” I pause again, figuring out the best approach.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you—to see if you’d seen my mom recently?
I’m trying to connect some dots.” I mean business, but I don’t let my voice show it.
Coming in accusatorially could make him defensive—or make him wonder if I’m onto something. If there’s even anything to be onto.
He leans back in thought, interlocking his fingers.
When he lifts a hand to his stubble, stroking the fine hairs along his jaw, he says slowly, “I saw her at her work the week before—though it was quick. And the last time I saw her before that was at the End of Summer lake event. So, about a month ago. Two or so weeks before she died. We chatted for a bit, nothing groundbreaking.” With a quick inhale, he adds, “You know your mom and I were still friendly after we split up. Not an ounce of bad blood.”
A flicker of unease passes through me. Odd thing to mention, I think, brows furrowing.
“Why did you break up?” I ask. “I don’t remember the story.” They had been friends for so long. If anyone could have made it work, my bet was on them.
“Why does anyone?” Leo says, scrunching his lips. “Alice was alone for so many years and I think she was used to her life being just so. I felt like… I was in the way sometimes. Alice was good at being alone. It just took me two years to realize it.”
As his words settle, a scurrying noise escapes from somewhere in the house. I whip my head toward the stairwell, expecting someone to come trudging down them. But I’m met with silence.
“Is someone else home?” I ask, knowing he doesn’t have children, yet unaware if he’s dating anyone new.
“No. Just me. I haven’t seen anyone serious since your mom and I split.”
Leo had been married for about fifteen years before he met my mom.
His wife couldn’t bear children, and either that—or something else—ended the marriage.
She moved away; he stayed in the same house—still here a decade later, childless anyway, surrounded by memories likely both comforting and haunting.
Another sound drifts through the room, this time past the kitchen.
“Probably animals outside fussing about,” he says, waving the noise away. I notice his lip curling into a half smile. “We get cougars in the Highlands.”
I nod, though I can’t shake another chill.
Strange—because I’ve always liked Leo, always trusted him.
That’s what makes these feelings confusing.
My mind protests, reminding me of all the memories of kindness, of laughter, of evenings spent together.
And yet, suspicion continues to creep in.
I press on, the real reason I’m here climbing up my throat.
“So you didn’t see her the night she died? You didn’t go to her house?”
“What?” he asks, stiffening. He lets the silence hang for a few beats. “No. I haven’t been there in two years.”
I lay my cards on the table. “I heard she was with someone the night she died. A man.”
He adjusts in his seat, one leg crossing over the other, fingers lacing loosely on his knees. “Wasn’t me,” he says, shaking his head. “And I don’t know if she was seeing anyone else. When we did run into each other, we kept it casual. Catch-ups. You know how some friendships go, right?”
I do. But I ignore the loaded question. “Then why did you go down to the dock that morning?” I push, holding my breath.
“I’d just finished redoing the floors at the community center the week before,” he explains. “They’d been talking about replacing that old, dilapidated dock but decided to wait until spring. After that storm, I wanted to see if it had finally floated away.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to gauge him—figure out my next angle. Could he be hiding something, or was he always this precise, this careful by nature?
He looks around, thinking hard on something.
Tapping his fingers against his knee, he leans forward, voice dropping slightly, conspiratorial.
“You know… she was with someone at the Village Tavern around the last time I saw her. She was there a lot for lunch by herself, sometimes dinner. But in August, I noticed she was with a younger man—at the bar,” he says, biting his lip.
“Tucked away at the end. Looked like they were having a private conversation, keeping it hushed.”
A younger man? I don’t have brothers or cousins or anyone who could match this basic profile.
I lean in. “Do you remember what he looked like?”
He thinks for a spell. “Darker hair. Around your age. Maybe older. I don’t remember. I hardly looked at him.” Watching my expression, Leo adds, “I doubt it was anything romantic—if that’s what you’re thinking. Just… conversation. She was at the tavern a lot—
liked talking to the bartender girl.”
“Did you get the sense that something was wrong? When was this?” I badger.
Leo shrugs, looking past my head in thought. “Ah… I don’t know. Day after, day before the lake event? I don’t go there much. When I did, I would usually see her. To be honest, I sometimes avoided it, knowing it was her spot.”
My brows pinch again. “Why would you avoid her?”
Leo tuts, his gaze softening. “I loved your mom. I didn’t want things to end, but it wasn’t working. Seeing her could be painful, I guess. I’m a hopeless romantic that way.”
And now his love—the one who got away—is gone forever.
I soften up, suddenly aware that his and Mom’s relationship was so much more than what I saw.
We stand together, and I close the space between us to embrace him in another hug.
He holds me tight, and I frown at the thought that if Leo and Mom had stayed together, she may still be here.
They could have grown old together, ensuring her a gallant life mate to pull her out from the isolated realm she often escaped to.
Leo could have been the father I never had.
Instead, the once-realistic prospects are trapped in a faraway reality. Because something took her away from us.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling us out of a tender moment. I yank it out to see another text from Amelia.
Why are you in Blair Highlands?
Let me know when you’re coming home.
We could really use your help!
“It’s Amelia,” I say. “I’ll tell her you say hi.”
Leo smiles and nods, and we move into the foyer. “Please do. And don’t be a stranger, kiddo.” He opens the door, holding it as if he wants me to go. “I’m always here for you. I mean that.”
I step outside, the door closing behind me with a soft click that feels heavier than it should. A pang twists in my gut—part grief, part apprehension. His warmth felt genuine, but isn’t that how evil can take hold? How a wolf in sheep’s clothing can outsmart you?
As I cross the stone path, I glance back.
He’s standing in the window now, watching, the light from the porch cutting his expression into shadow.
My chest tightens. Stubborn intuition whispers that this might be the last time I see him—and I find myself hoping it is.
Because if I never see Leo again, maybe that means he’s innocent.
I text Amelia back.
Running some errands but I’ll be home soon!
I know she won’t believe it. But I don’t care. I have one more stop to make.