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Ford couldn’t imagine that Chet had anything to do with Aurora’s murder. “It can’t be him,” he told Lucy, adamant, when she
got back.
“Why not?” she challenged. “Because he’s a family man now?”
Pushing his stool away from the island where he’d worked while she was gone, he stood and went to get a drink of water. “Because
he was a decent human being even back then.”
She followed him to the fridge. “Most murders are an act of passion, Ford. Even Stephanie said, ‘He loved her so much.’ Maybe
he was on something, didn’t have the restraint he would’ve had otherwise, and she enraged him—spurned him or belittled him.”
As much as he hated to admit it, that sounded like something Aurora would do. She’d thought she was so much better than everyone
else. That was part of the reason Ford had never been attracted to her. She could be funny, was sometimes sweet, but she could
also be mean. “So he killed her?” he said skeptically.
“Someone did. It’s not always someone who looks like an obvious monster. Sometimes even nice people do terrible things.”
“I know that,” he said. “But not Chet. You’re asking me to believe it wasn’t your father. I’m asking you to believe it wasn’t
my friend.”
She touched his arm, probably to soften her response or offer some empathy while she pointed out the obvious. “Except we know
that Chet and not my father was one of the last people to see her alive. She was found in the river. His house backs up to the river. And he
admitted to returning the boat. Why didn’t he mention that before? That he was the one who found the boat and returned it?”
“Because he forgot about it,” Ford heard himself say but knew how ridiculous it was to believe that Chet could forget something
like that. Ford had found it odd as soon as Chet told him; he just hadn’t given that little niggle of concern much attention—had
immediately pushed it away in favor of believing his friend. He knew him, liked him.
Although... things were decidedly different between them these days.
He could see the sympathy in Lucy’s eyes when she said, “Maybe you’re right.”
But Ford didn’t want her to give in just because he wanted her to see things his way.
He combed his fingers through his hair. He was making it stand up in the wrong places, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want
it to be Chet, didn’t want to arrive at the obvious conclusion—that Chet had a greater chance of being involved in Aurora’s
murder than Mick McBride. Mick hadn’t been anywhere near the Zampino house, while Chet had attended the party. “He’s never
hurt anyone else.”
“That we know of,” she said gently.
With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose while trying to hash it out in his mind. He knew there’d been a lot of drugs at that party. If Chet had been on something, it could’ve made a big difference in how he reacted to certain things... “If I accuse him—or even question him—it’ll be the end of our friendship.”
“I know. I say we give this information to the investigator and see where the case leads before we go that far.”
Ford wanted to agree, to back away from this as much as possible. But a scene was playing in his mind—the memory of Chet telling
everyone they hung out with that summer that Mick McBride had killed Aurora because Lucy put him up to it. He’d been so adamant
it had made Ford mad; they’d almost ended up in a fistfight. Was there a reason he’d been so quick to point a finger at her?
Had he been using her as a scapegoat?
Pulling her to him, Ford rested his chin on her head. She was already coming to mean so much to him. The circumstances of
those murders had robbed them of whatever relationship they could’ve had, and he felt they would’ve been happier if they’d
been together.
If Chet was to blame for that...
Anger suddenly charged through him like fire racing down a line of gunpowder. Releasing her, he crossed the kitchen to get
his keys.
“Where are you going?” she asked in surprise.
“To see Chet.”
“You don’t think it would be better to wait? I don’t want to come between you two. There could be some other explanation.”
“It there is, he can give it to me,” he said.
Lucy wished she could be present to hear what happened when Ford arrived at Chet’s. She’d begun to second-guess some of the conclusions she’d drawn after Stephanie showed her those texts. There could be perfectly good explanations for how Chet had handled that night. Maybe the texts and the boat were nothing to worry about. Then she’d feel responsible for the damage Ford’s visit was about to cause his friendship with Chet.
Come back. We should let the investigator do his job.
She sent that text and thought he had returned when she heard someone open the front door only fifteen minutes later.
“I’m glad you got my text—” she started to say but fell silent when Ford’s brother strode into the house.
The second he saw her, Houston came to an abrupt stop, then glanced around. “Sorry, I would’ve knocked since you probably
weren’t expecting me. But the Land Rover’s gone, so I thought...” He let his words drift away.
She swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. “Ford had to... to run an errand.” She didn’t want to explain further, didn’t
want Houston to make her feel any more regret than she already did.
He slid his keys into his pocket. “You didn’t go with him?”
“It wasn’t that kind of errand.”
He studied her. “You know who I am, right?”
“I remember you, yes.”
“I remember you, too.”
That wasn’t a positive comment. Straightening her spine, she said, “Really? I didn’t think you ever noticed me.” Houston had
mostly ignored her, until the police arrested her father. Then, picking up on what Chet was spreading around, he’d said a
few unkind things about her, too.
“Everyone noticed you,” he said. “You’re still beautiful, I see.”
She wasn’t sure whether to thank him. It didn’t sound like a true compliment, not one he was happy to give anyway. He was going somewhere with it, and she thought she could guess where. “Are you saying you think my looks will make it harder for Ford to stay away from me?”
“It’s possible. He has a wife who’s pregnant. You know that, right?”
“Now you’re going to paint me as some sort of homewrecker?”
“My mother tells me he’s going back to her.”
“That’s what he tells me, too, so neither of you has anything to worry about.”
“Other than the fact that you’re getting him to fight your battles for you.”
“I haven’t asked him for anything,” she said. “He’s the one who wanted to get involved.”
“Well, I’m sure you didn’t—and still don’t—mind.”
She shook her head as she chuckled without mirth. “Wow. Thanks for making it so obvious that you’re still an asshole.”
“ You’re standing in my house,” he pointed out.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be here for long,” she said and hurried into the bedroom to gather her things.
If Chet hadn’t maligned Lucy quite so badly that summer fifteen years ago, Ford might not have driven over to speak to him
now. But the way he’d behaved when it came to Lucy suddenly seemed strange.
Kira answered the door. “Ford, how are you?”
“I’m okay. And you?”
She gave him a warm smile. “I’m good.”
He hated the thought that this kind woman might have to learn something heart-wrenching about her husband. Surely, that wasn’t
the case. More than anything else, Ford was hoping to obliterate the terrible suspicion that’d crept into his own heart. “Chet
around?”
“He’s painting—determined to finish the sailboat picture he’s been working on.” She stepped back to make room. “Come in and I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Ford forced a smile, afraid she’d be able to tell something was wrong if he didn’t.
Kenzie was in her playpen, rolling around with toys that squished and jingled. For her sake, too, Ford hoped he was wrong
to doubt Chet.
Chet came right away, hadn’t even taken the time to remove the apron he wore to protect his clothes. “Ford, what’s up?” he
asked.
Kira had returned with him. Ford was conscious of her standing at her husband’s elbow. “I was wondering if you’d take a ride
with me.”
Kira looked startled. The request had obviously tipped her off that Ford had something serious to discuss. But, surprisingly,
Chet didn’t ask what it was. He took off his apron and handed it to her. “Sure.”
Ford led the way to the Land Rover, and they got in at the same time. He thought Chet might ask what this was all about, but
he didn’t. He waited until Ford had pulled out of the drive and eventually headed away from town. The last thing Ford wanted
to do was risk an interruption by running into someone they knew.
“Do you know what I want to talk to you about?” Ford asked once they hit the open highway.
“Of course not,” he replied. “How would I know?”
Ford looked for a place to turn off where he could stop the vehicle and see Chet’s face while they talked.
“Ford?” he prompted.
“Just a sec.” After turning down a rutted dirt lane, he parked behind the shelter of some trees. He wanted to have this conversation
when he could focus on Chet.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone you returned the boat to the Zampinos’ dock?” Ford asked once he’d turned off the engine.
His eyes widened. “I already told you—because I forgot.”
“You realize how unlikely it is that you didn’t make the connection between Aurora’s death and the missing boat?”
“Unlikely doesn’t make it untrue!”
“Did you take Aurora out on the river that night?”
“No!”
“She texted Stephanie Beaumont, telling her you were going to.”
He blinked several times, obviously registering this information, before saying, “I was going to, but I couldn’t get Aurora to leave. She was drunk, acting crazy. I gave up and went home before I could be grounded
for missing curfew.”
Was he telling the truth? Ford had hoped Chet would somehow give himself away, but it was so difficult to tell. He could’ve
been lying about that night for so long it was almost second nature to him. “Aurora’s body was found in the river.”
“You can’t think I had anything to do with her death!” he cried.
“ Did you , Chet?” Ford asked.
“Of course not!” He pressed a hand to his chest. “You know me! I’d never hurt anyone!”
“You attended almost every day of the trial.”
“So did you.”
“Lucy was my girlfriend when Aurora died. Of course I’d want to be there.”
“And I wanted to see Aurora get justice.”
“You believe that happened?”
“Yes! My God, there’s no one else who could’ve done it!”
“ You could’ve done it,” Ford said.
“Why would I ever do something like that?”
Ford rubbed his temples. Was he accusing an innocent man? “I don’t know. Maybe you wanted more from her than she was willing
to give. I know you were hoping for a relationship with her, and she wasn’t interested.”
Chet shook his head helplessly. “Lucy’s making you believe some crazy shit, man. Why would I ever kill anyone?”
That did sound outlandish. But someone had killed Aurora. And Chet had been with her that night. He didn’t have an alibi, either, not one that could be verified
by other people. He used to sneak out all the time without his parents knowing. Ford had done the same thing. “Chet, Lucy
has been through enough. If you know anything about what happened to Aurora, you’d better tell me, because we’re going to
get to the bottom of it eventually.”
“I said goodbye to her at the party, Ford. That’s the last time I saw Aurora.”
“Then you found the Zampinos’ boat floating in the river and took it back to them without telling the police or anyone else.”
For a moment, Ford thought he caught a glimpse of fear in Chet’s eyes. But it was gone so quickly, he couldn’t be certain.
“Nothing says the killer used that boat. All I did was find it and take it back where it belonged.”
“I’m going to turn the screenshot of the texts Aurora sent Stephanie right before she was murdered over to my investigator
and the police. So, again, I hope you’re telling the truth.”
“Go ahead,” he said with a wild gesture. “I don’t know why the police don’t already have those texts. Why didn’t Stephanie
turn them in during the original investigation?”
“She told Lucy the police settled on McBride before she could turn them over. Then she thought they didn’t matter.”
“Are you sure that’s the reason?” he said. “Because Aurora’s body wasn’t found for well over a week. That’s a lot of time
to deliberate. And the way she and Stephanie were fighting that night... Stephanie told me before she left the party that
she hated Aurora, that she hoped she never saw that ‘crazy bitch’ again.”
Stephanie hadn’t mentioned this to Lucy or Lucy would’ve told him. “What were they fighting about?”
“Aurora told Lance Zampino that Stephanie wanted to give him a blow job, but it would cost him fifty bucks. He gave Aurora the money, then he started hitting on Stephanie. Stephanie assumed he liked her and was willing to make out with him, but when he tried to take her to his bedroom, she wouldn’t go. That made him angry because he’d already paid Aurora.” He adjusted his seat belt. “You know how straitlaced Stephanie was. She was embarrassed and infuriated, and it only made it worse that Aurora thought what she’d done was so funny.”
“If Aurora and Stephanie were fighting, why would Aurora text her for a ride home?”
“Who knows? They were both drunk. And Aurora was so used to her friends sucking up to her and giving her whatever she wanted,
she probably didn’t think twice about it.”
“This is the first time I’ve heard anything about this,” Ford admitted.
“Because it was just normal party drama, man—didn’t figure into the case. And Stephanie was never one to make a scene, so
maybe I was the only one who knew about it.”
“Other than Lance.”
“And a few of his friends,” Chet admitted. “But it wasn’t as if he was going to admit to offering fifty bucks to an underage
girl for oral sex. Steph was seething, though. I remember that.”
Seething. Had she gone back to pick up her “best friend,” after all? Was that how Aurora had ended up in the river?
Ford could believe it, except... “I can’t imagine she would’ve had the strength to strangle someone, especially someone close to her own size.”
“I’m not saying she did. I believe McBride killed Aurora. But, on the other hand, Aurora was so drunk she could’ve passed
out somewhere. Then Stephanie could’ve done anything—including strangling her and tossing her into the river. The boat coming
to my house doesn’t have to mean a thing, which is why I never thought it was important enough to even bother remembering.”
Ford had never felt more torn. “I hope you’re as innocent as you say you are.”
Chet looked wounded. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”
Would they ever really know the truth? Ford sighed. “Neither can I, man. I’ll take you back to your family.”
Damn it! What was he going to do? Chet hadn’t known that Aurora had texted her best friend before going out on the boat with him that
night. Once he got home after dumping her body and then returning the boat to the Zampinos, he’d realized he still had her
purse, phone, shirt, bra and sandals in his room and had shoved everything under the bed until his parents left to go to the
store and he had the chance to bury it in the yard. But he’d been too filled with panic, too desperate to avoid discovery
and moving too fast to try to guess the password on her phone, so he didn’t know who she’d texted or who she’d called. He’d
just known he had to get rid of that stuff as soon as possible and make sure he put it in a place where no one would ever
find it.
It would’ve been good to know about the messages she’d sent Stephanie. Why hadn’t Stephanie ever said anything to him? Or
to the police?
He couldn’t answer that question. He couldn’t say what else would crop up, either. He’d been seventeen years old. If it hadn’t
been for Mick McBride and the Matteo murders, he probably would’ve been caught by now.
Fortunately, his luck seemed to be holding. He’d already admitted to Ford that he was the one who’d returned the boat, so that helped. Making that decision had been a gamble—and it’d paid off.
Except for Eddie, who greeted him with a wagging tail when he walked in, the house was empty. According to a message he’d received while Ford was bringing him home, Kira and Kenzie had gone to the store to get a few things for dinner. That gave him a moment’s reprieve. But he knew the question his wife would ask him as soon as she walked through the door— What did Ford want?
What was he going to tell her?
He had to tell her the same thing he’d told Ford. He didn’t really have a choice. Stephanie might already have shown Aurora’s
texts to the police, which meant they could be coming over to question him next.
His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he stood in the living room, staring out at the road long after Ford’s taillights disappeared
from view. Should he call Stephanie? Reinforce that he didn’t take Aurora out on the river that night, that Aurora was too focused on Lance Zampino to leave with him?
He had little doubt Stephanie would believe it. After the horrible joke Aurora had played—which she’d done just to get Lance’s
attention—Lance hadn’t wanted anything to do with either one of them. The fact that Aurora would’ve slept with Lance had he
given her the opportunity was part of what had made Chet so mad. Lance hadn’t cared about her. He was the one who’d wanted her. He would’ve treated her like a queen, and yet, after starting to make out with him, she’d suddenly
called it quits—after he was so sure he was going to get what he wanted from her at last. Nothing he did could convince her
to change her mind. But Aurora would still be alive today if they hadn’t been so damn drunk. The fight they’d gotten into
was as quick and violent as it was ridiculous.
He squeezed his eyes closed as the same old regret filled him. He’d been young and dumb at the time and too strong for his
own good. Once he’d struck her, he’d felt he had to do something to make sure she never told anyone—at least, that was the answer handed to him by his alcohol-addled brain. She was screaming for him to let her go, that she was going to call the police, and he was afraid she’d do exactly that. Besides, if he hadn’t cut off her screams almost immediately, she would’ve awakened his parents.
He saw his wife pull into the drive and, dreading her curiosity and the conversation they’d need to have as a result of it,
walked out to help her with the baby and the groceries.
Just as he’d expected, as soon as she opened her door, she asked, “What was wrong with Ford?”
He made a face. “It’s that damn murder again.”
“Which one?” she asked as she climbed out of the Mercedes. “Weren’t there three?”
He opened the back door to get Kenzie. “There was DNA evidence in the Matteo case. This was about Aurora.”
Her door shut with a solid thud, and she passed him on her way to the trunk to get the groceries. “But the same man killed
her, too, right?”
“ I believe that. It’s Ford who doesn’t—because of Lucy. She’s getting in his head again, convincing him of all kinds of crazy
things.”
She lifted the trunk lid. “So what does that have to do with you?”
He finally had the belts securing his daughter unbuckled so that he could lift her from her car seat. “A boat went missing
from the Zampinos’ the night she disappeared, and I’m the one who returned it. Makes me look suspicious, that’s all.”
She bent her neck to peer around at him. “What do you mean, you returned it?”
He pressed Kenzie’s soft body to his chest, taking solace in the love he felt for her. “I found it drifting on the river early
that morning and took it back to them. I had no idea it might’ve been used in a murder. I did it before I even knew Aurora
had gone missing.”
“Why would you being the one to return the boat be news now?”
“Because I never said anything about it at the time, I guess. I honestly didn’t connect the boat to the murder.”
She blinked at him. “Even though she was found in the river?”
“That was a week later. By then, we knew it was McBride who killed the Matteos, Kira, so I didn’t think anything about it.”
She lifted the groceries out and closed the trunk but didn’t start toward the door. “There’s one thing that seems a bit odd
to me.”
Panic nearly zapped his strength as he adopted an innocent expression. “What’s that?”
“Aurora’s murder seems so different from the Matteos’.”
“In what way?”
“Well, the Matteos’ case started out as a robbery, didn’t it? McBride broke in hoping to take what they had while they were
gone, except they surprised him, and because they could testify against him, he had to kill them. But Aurora? She was a young
girl who was strangled and thrown in the river. I’m guessing her murder had to be sexually motivated.” She shrugged. “I’m
no FBI profiler, but it just seems like two different kinds of killers to me.”
His wife was clever. He had to admit that. He just hoped she wouldn’t be the one to outwit him, because the truth would destroy her life, too. “I don’t know. I just know she and Ford
are barking up the wrong tree, because I had nothing to do with it.”
She grimaced. “They can’t seriously think you did.”
“Probably not with any degree of conviction. Stephanie Beaumont, who was with Aurora the night of the party, just turned over
some text messages that are freaking everyone out. That’s all.”
“What’d they say?”
He wished he didn’t have to answer that question, but he knew he had no choice. He had to inoculate his wife against what she was going to hear around town—maybe from the police themselves. “That she was going out on the river with me and then I’d be taking her home.”
Kira nearly dropped the groceries. “What?” she exclaimed as she caught the bag. “How could anyone think... I mean, you didn’t take her out on the river that night, did you?”
“No. She wouldn’t leave the party. She was too obsessed with Lance Zampino, was hoping he’d take her to bed.”
When she blinked in obvious confusion, he feared he’d let too much bitterness leak into his voice. “What is it?” he asked.
“You say you didn’t take her out, but somehow the boat still ended up down here?”
“Right. Isn’t that crazy? That’s why Ford came over. And the police might stop by and ask me some of the same questions.”
Her jaw dropped. “Oh, my gosh! This could be serious?”
“I was with her at the party, so that’s nothing new. Doesn’t matter what they think, anyway. It only matters what they can
prove.” As an afterthought, he added, “And the police don’t really want to find or prove anything new. They think they already
have their guy.”
She cocked her head. “Because they do, right?”
He hadn’t stated that firmly enough, which was a Freudian slip, something he’d inadvertently allowed to leak out because he
knew they didn’t. “Of course,” he said with a laugh, trying to make up for that mistake as he started toward the house. The less
said, the less chance he had of screwing up, so he was eager to end the conversation.
It took her a moment, but she eventually followed him inside, and he immediately changed the subject. “Why don’t I take the
afternoon off so we can go to the beach? Then we’ll eat out instead of cooking.”
“I thought you wanted to finish your painting,” Kira said.
“It can wait,” he told her. “I’d rather be with you.”
She seemed slightly hesitant—troubled—which worried him, but his enthusiasm eventually won out, and she got into the spirit of having a fun day as a family. “Why don’t I pack a picnic?”
“That would be great. I’ll go put away my paints.” Leaving her in the kitchen, he put Kenzie in her doorway jumper, where
Kira would be able to see her, and hurried to his studio.
He’d done what he had to do, he told himself. Now he just had to hope there’d be no more surprises.