15
The house wasn’t as easy to find as Lucy had expected. Too many other neighborhoods had been built up around the original
one. All the new development messed with her memory, but she eventually located the right street. The grand old mansions were
still there, sitting on large lots that backed up to the river. Some had tennis courts, others had large outdoor living areas
with pergolas and expansive barbecue areas. Almost every house had a pool as well as a dock with a fishing boat. The number
of mature trees, everything from bald cypress draped with Spanish moss to silver maple to white oak, signified the age of
the neighborhood. But even on the original street she found change. Several of the homes had been updated, which made it more
difficult to decide which house Aurora had visited the night she was murdered.
The road was paved but narrow, barely wide enough for two cars, and didn’t have a curb or gutter. After cruising down it and not immediately recognizing what she’d come to find, Lucy parked just past the stop sign where the old neighborhood started and got out to walk, thinking it might be easier to look on foot. She knew the house Chet’s family owned was also on this street. If she could decide which one that was, she figured she’d be able to get her bearings and go from there. From what she could recall, the Zampino house, which
was where the party took place, was only two or three doors down from the Anthony house.
As she walked, the fecund scent created by all the vegetation, the moist earth and the nearby river triggered several memories—not
of that fateful summer but of four years earlier, when, for a brief time, she’d been friends with Aurora. It was right after
Lucy and her father had moved to town and Aurora had braces and acne and hadn’t turned into the beauty she would later become.
At thirteen, Lucy would ride her bike over to this side of town from the trailer park and wait for Aurora to get out of the
piano lessons she took from a Mrs. Lindsay, who’d long since moved away. Then Aurora would get on the back of Lucy’s bike,
and they’d go to see another girl named Mara who lived in a little shack about half a mile down the river.
Aurora’s mother thought the friend they were visiting after piano lessons lived in the same neighborhood as Mrs. Lindsay and
put a stop to it once she learned they were running around unchaperoned, catching snakes and bugs, playing with the feral
cats she insisted “spread disease” and using an old tire swing to jump into the river, where they “could’ve drowned.”
After that, Mrs. Clark had made it more and more difficult for Lucy to see Aurora, and it wasn’t long before Mara moved away
and Aurora changed and didn’t seem to mind the end of their friendship. She had a new set of friends who could afford the
same fancy clothes, jewelry and makeup she could.
But Lucy’s trips to this part of town were certainly memorable. It wasn’t only quiet and peaceful, it was elegant. She remembered
thinking that this was what an adult meant when he or she called something “tasteful.”
She hadn’t gone very far when she heard a motor. A vehicle was coming up from behind. She immediately moved over to give the driver plenty of room to pass her, but the car didn’t go by. It slowed until it was barely rolling. Then the driver lowered the passenger window.
“Lucy? That you?”
Lucy ducked her head to see inside the older model Mercedes sedan. “Chet?”
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She hadn’t expected to encounter him, hadn’t been planning to go up to his door or anything. It was just bad timing that he’d
come home when she was walking down the street. She knew Ford liked him. She’d liked him, too, back in the day, which was
why it’d hurt her so badly when she’d learned he was the one crowing to everyone that Lucy had probably encouraged her father
to get rid of Aurora because Aurora was pursuing Ford. Lucy had been shocked when she heard the rumors he’d started, thought
Chet knew her better than to accuse her of something like that. But the moment her father was arrested, she’d become anathema
to him—just like she had to Ford.
Unlike Ford, however, Chet had actively made her life even more miserable by saying what he did.
So how was she going to handle seeing him again?
Keeping a friendly smile pasted on her face despite the tightening of her chest, she said, “I, um, can you tell me which house
is the Zampino house?”
He came to a complete stop. “I’m not sure the Zampinos still live here.”
She shaded her eyes as she leaned in the window. “Well... do you remember which house they owned when they did?”
“Why do you want to know?” he asked.
She figured she might as well be honest. Ford’s investigator would probably be looking for the same house at some point. “I
just want to see it.”
“Because...”
“Because I don’t believe my father killed Aurora, Chet. I think it was somebody else. So I want to see the house where she attended that party, get a feel for what it might’ve been like that night and what could’ve happened.”
Chet was wearing sunglasses, which made it hard to read his reaction, but he hesitated long enough to tell her he wasn’t willing
to embrace her doubt. “After fifteen years?” he said. “If it’s your father who’s sent you on this fool’s errand, he’s lying
to you, plain and simple, which shouldn’t surprise anyone. After all, he is a murderer.”
“That doesn’t mean he murdered Aurora,” Lucy stubbornly insisted.
“Then who do you think did?”
“I don’t know yet. But like I told Reggie—who lied under oath, by the way—I intend to find out.”
He smacked the steering wheel. “That’s so stupid!”
Pushing away from the window, she straightened. “Be that as it may.”
“I don’t want any part of what you’re doing,” he said.
“Fine.” With a shrug, she started walking again. “I’ll find it on my own.”
Muttering a curse, he sped up and got beyond her. But a second later, she saw his brake lights go on, and he waited for her
to catch up. “Honest to God, Lucy,” he said when she could hear him again. “I don’t understand what you think you’re doing.
Coming back here after so long... It won’t amount to anything. You realize that. Nothing good, anyway. You’re just going
to rip this community in two, pit friend against friend, family member against family member!”
“I’m not so convinced of that,” she said. “Everyone managed to remain united against me last time, remember?” She glanced
over at him. “And you were part of the reason.”
In spite of his dark glasses, she could tell that she’d surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to punch back. But she was tired of being a victim of circumstance, tired of feeling powerless. She would do what she needed to do here—and neither he nor Reggie would stop her. The same went for everyone else.
“What are you saying? I didn’t do anything.” He spoke evenly, but she could feel a strong undercurrent of emotion.
“That’s not how I remember it.”
Cursing louder this time, he hit the gas pedal and rocketed away from her. She’d thought she’d seen the last of him. But he
didn’t turn into a drive. Once again, he stopped in the middle of the road, only this time he was so far away that he put
the car in Reverse.
She could hear the whine of the engine as he raced back to her, going so fast the vehicle rocked hard when he stomped on the
brake. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever you’re holding against me. I didn’t do anything to hurt you, not on purpose.”
“Telling everyone I put my father up to killing Aurora wasn’t doing anything?”
“She was trying to take Ford away from you, and I know you know that, because I was the one who told you. We had a conversation,
remember? Where I said you should confront her?”
“And I refused! If Ford wanted to go out with her, that was his decision. So if I wasn’t even willing to confront her, why
would I press my father to kill her? I was seventeen years old! That sort of violence never even crossed my mind!”
“You’re asking me, and everyone else, to take a lot on faith with that statement.”
“It’s the truth!”
He said nothing, but he didn’t drive away, either. He continued to roll slowly, keeping pace with her.
“Is there something else?” she asked at length.
“That was an unusual situation, a difficult time for everyone, Lucy.”
She gaped at him. “You’re telling me ?”
“Fine, if you want to see the Zampino house, I’ll take you there.” He pressed the button to unlock the car doors, and Lucy heard the corresponding thunk . “Get in.”
She shook her head. “That’s okay.”
“Seriously,” he said. “Don’t be like that.”
“It’s not far. I’ll find it on my own.”
“You asked me which house it was, and I’m willing to take you there. Just get in!”
He was so insistent she reached for the handle and had just climbed in when her phone went off.
He looked over as she got it out of her purse and must’ve seen the name on Caller ID because he said, “ Ford’s calling you?”
“Apparently,” she replied and answered.
“Where are you?” Ford asked.
“Where are you ?” she responded.
“At your place. I thought you might want to go with me to talk to Darren.”
“I’d be happy to do that, but I’m with Chet right now.”
“Chet!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing with him?”
“I wanted to see the house where Aurora attended the party the night she was killed, but everything has changed so much on
this side of town that I couldn’t remember exactly which house it was. He happened to drive past, and now he’s helping me
find it.”
“Really! That surprises me.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I’ll explain when I see you,” he replied. “And I think I’ll head over to Darren’s without you. We can talk later.”
“Okay.”
“Call me when you get back.”
“I will,” she said. Although she didn’t want to interact with Ford on a daily basis, she couldn’t see how they’d get anywhere
without frequent communication.
Chet’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “So... Ford just calls you whenever he likes? You two are friends again?”
“Not really,” she mumbled.
“Then what was that about?”
She put her phone in her purse. “Nothing important.”
He slowed the car to a crawl as he studied her.
“What?” she finally asked, growing uncomfortable beneath his prolonged stare.
“A lot has changed over the years.”
Or nothing had changed. That was what freaked her out the most. She was still drawn to Ford even though she had a very powerful
reason to keep him out of her life. Why hadn’t that changed? Maybe a better question was... why couldn’t she change it?
“Sounds to me as if you two are getting close again,” he said.
She wished he’d drive faster. “We’re friends, more or less.”
“Is it more—or is it less?” he asked.
She shot him a look that told him she didn’t appreciate the implication. “It’s nothing—that’s what it is.”
At last, he pulled over in front of a house that only partly resembled the one she remembered.
“This is it?” she said.
“This is it,” he confirmed.
“They’ve done a lot of work to it.”
“Rich people renovate, Lucy. They don’t let their houses get worn and dated.”
He was letting her know her place, reinforcing the fact that she didn’t belong in the same socioeconomic class he and Ford
did. He may come off like a nice guy, she realized, but he wasn’t. “Right. Thanks for helping me find it.”
“No problem,” he said as she opened the door. “If you want to waste your time, I guess that’s up to you. And just so you know,
Ford’s in the middle of a divorce.”
“That’s none of my business.”
“I’m glad you feel that way because his wife, Christina, is pregnant, which means he’ll soon have his first child.”
Although she was already out of the car, she paused long enough to respond. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but it doesn’t matter. Again, what’s happening in Ford’s life is none of my business.”
Chet’s hands shook as he watched Lucy approach the Zampino house. What was the point of her coming here after so long? What
could possibly be left to discover?
Nothing that would lead to him, not after fifteen years, he told himself. Let her look . He’d been at the party—had gone specifically because a friend had texted him to say Aurora was there. He’d lived just down
the street, so even though Lance Zampino was five years older than he was and they’d never hung out, it was easy for him to
walk over and join the crowd. A lot of other people had shown up who weren’t invited. And it wasn’t a secret that he’d been
there. The police had taken a statement from every guest, including him, and he’d said what everyone else had said: Aurora
had been at the party, she was terribly drunk, and he didn’t see her leave with anyone.
Fortunately, no one knew she’d left with him. His friend had already been gone by that time. So had hers, and no one else
had noticed. At least, no one had come forward, which had to mean he was in the clear. But it’d been late when they left,
and they’d gone out the back. Most everyone was drunk by then, so not paying close attention, and it’d started raining as
the night wore on, which meant no one was in the yard.
He’d told Aurora he’d take her to his house, where he could get his truck and drive her home. But instead of walking, she’d wanted to go in the boat, the back way, and he certainly hadn’t minded. As a matter of fact, he’d been excited. He’d thought once they reached his house he’d have a chance with her before they left—that maybe she’d be eager to climb into his bed the way she was Ford’s. He’d been convinced if he could just show her how much she meant to him, how well he’d treat her, she might realize she was going after the wrong guy.
She’d been willing to sneak inside to his room to get his bong—she’d wanted to smoke—but when he’d tried to kiss her...
His stomach nearly revolted at what’d happened next. He’d never struck another woman in his life. He wouldn’t have struck
her if she hadn’t started ridiculing him, and when he’d tried to get her to stop, it’d just made things worse. The only way
he could stop her from screaming was to choke her—he had to do it; he was afraid his sleeping parents would hear her yelling
at him if he didn’t, and he was afraid of what she’d tell other people about their time together. She was so popular that
if she turned on him, he’d wind up without a single friend.
Closing his eyes, he blocked the memory from his mind. He’d had a lot of practice doing that over the years. He’d been coming
back to North Hampton Beach every summer since that terrible incident as if nothing had happened. But... Lucy. That she’d
decide to dig up what was long buried when he had a wife who loved and believed in him and would be destroyed by the truth
made him livid. When he had a baby girl who needed her father.
He sat in his car, watching as she knocked on the door.
“Stupid bitch,” he muttered. Ford felt so sorry for Lucy, but she was fine. She’d gotten beyond what’d happened here. Why
couldn’t she just leave things alone?
His heart began to pound as an elderly woman answered the door and immediately admitted Lucy.
“Shit, fuck!” he cursed and slammed his fist into the dash of the old Mercedes his parents kept at the summer house. It cracked
beneath the blow, and his hand hurt so badly he swore again as he stared down at it. Had he broken a bone?
Gingerly, he stretched his fingers. He could move them—that was encouraging—but there might still be a hairline fracture. His knuckles were chafed and starting to swell, which would mean Kira would ask how he hurt himself and he’d have to say he tripped and fell or something. She’d get him an ice pack—she was so caring—and he would soon feel better. On the surface, anyway. Nothing could fix what was roiling underneath.
With Lucy playing amateur detective and Ford providing the money she needed for a real investigator, what happened when they
were teenagers threatened to blow up in his face.
He had to do something. He couldn’t be discovered, couldn’t allow his family to be hurt. The question was... what? How
could he get her to either think she had all the answers or give up and leave?
There had to be a way...