Chapter Thirty
THIRTY
The first thing Finn notices when they enter are the plants. The waiting room is exploding with greenery—a large ficus tree in the corner, its leaves casting dappled shadows across the worn carpet while spider plants hang from baskets in a grimy window.
The opposite of the sterile Prison House that Tori Price used to live in.
Every surface holds a fern, a succulent, or some small figurine, as if whoever decorated this room was terrified of empty space.
“This is not what I expected,” Caren says.
“Me neither.” Finn eyes the stacks of magazines and books on the coffee table, smiling when he notices the novel Stay Gold. He was obsessed with Tobly McSmith’s stories about trans guys back when he was in high school.
“I’m not sure I would trust these people with my mental-health care,” Caren says, her fingertips hovering over a Russian matryoshka doll on the bookshelf without quite touching it. “On the other hand, they’re clearly not obsessed with appearances. That’s kind of refreshing for Bethesda.”
Finn leaves the waiting room and walks slowly down the hall. There are four doors, three closed and one open that leads to a bathroom with mint-green tiles visible from the hallway.
At the door with a sign that reads TORI PRICE, he pauses, holding his breath. The sound of voices filters through the thin wood, indistinct murmurs. The hair on his arms stands on end—she’s just on the other side, the woman who might hold the key to everything. He hustles back to the waiting room.
“She’s here, I heard her,” he whispers, the words rushing out between shallow breaths.
“I guess we’ll wait,” Caren replies, her tone calm. She takes a seat.
Finn sits beside her, the ancient chair sighing beneath his weight. He checks his phone and seeing a text from his mom, he responds with practiced efficiency: Yes, I’m fine. Yes, I’m eating. Yes, I’m getting out and having fun. He presses Send, guilt pricking at him for the half-truths.
Although he’s sure his mom wouldn’t think it, staking out Tori Price’s office with Caren is, in its own weird way, kind of fun.
The thought ambushes him, and he feels a little guilty thinking that—a traitor to Autumn’s memory.
He knows it’s survivor’s guilt. How can he enjoy himself when Autumn is dead?
But that logic, which seemed airtight a year ago, has lost its magical hold on him recently.
Maybe it’s feeling like he’s not all alone in this—his landlady helping, meeting Caren, even Detective Aziz checking on him.
Maybe it’s meeting Ellis, whose smile makes him forget, if only for seconds at a time, why he’s still in Eastbrook.
Or maybe it’s just time, that relentless force that dulls even the sharpest edges of grief.
Being miserable is exhausting, and he’s ready for a new primary emotion.
The minutes seem to stretch like hours. After what feels like an eternity, a woman about Caren’s age enters the room, followed by Tori.
He feels a rush of adrenaline as soon as he sees her familiar face, delicate features, dark hair.
The client’s sniffling, her makeup smudged at the corners of her eyes.
“I’ll see you next week,” the woman says, her voice thick with emotion, and puts dark glasses on before leaving, never even glancing over at him or Caren, whether it’s out of etiquette or she’s too wrapped in her own pain to notice them, he has no idea.
But Tori notices them. She stands at the entrance to the room, her arms crossed tightly across her chest like armor, her lips pressed together in disapproval.
“Can I help you?” Her tone is glacial.
Caren pops up out of her seat, smoothing her shirt with practiced ease. “Tori Price, right? I’m Caren Costa.” She extends her hand, which Tori pointedly ignores.
Finn stands as well, his legs unsteady beneath him as he introduces himself.
“We live in Eastbrook,” Caren says, dropping her rejected hand casually to her side. “And we were hoping you could spare us a few minutes.”
Tori doesn’t smile. She doesn’t blink. Her face might as well be carved from stone. “That won’t be possible. I’m very busy.”
“Oh, I think you can give us five minutes.” Caren cocks her head and smiles. There’s steel beneath the suburban mom exterior, and it’s showing now.
Finn watches the two women stare at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills, wondering who will back down first.
Finally, Tori turns and walks out of the room, her shoulders tight with resignation. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?” she says over her shoulder, the words clipped and cold.
In her small bland office—so different from the chaotic botanical explosion of the waiting room—Finn sits on one end of the sofa while Caren sits on the other. Across from them, Tori sits in a desk chair, her body as rigid as humanly possible, as if relaxing even an inch might cause her to shatter.
“So, what do you want from me?” Tori asks.
“Do you recognize me?” Finn asks, leaning forward slightly. “I came by the house once last year to pick up Autumn.” His voice catches on her name, as it always does.
Tori’s face softens. “I recognize you. You were friends.”
“She was my best friend.” His voice is raw, the words inadequate to describe what Autumn had been to him—lifeline, confidante, the one person who saw him completely.
“I’m sorry about Autumn,” Tori says. “She was a lovely girl.” Her eyes drift to a point somewhere over his shoulder, unable to meet his gaze.
“She was more than that. She was family to me.”
“This must be really hard for you. You must miss her a lot.”
“Miss her?” he repeats incredulously. He had moments when he couldn’t catch a breath, suddenly remembering that Autumn was dead and not coming back.
Some mornings he didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to talk to anyone, see anyone.
He could waste away an afternoon, sitting in a daze of grief that made him feel catatonic. “Yeah, I miss her every day.”
Caren reaches over and squeezes Finn’s hand, her touch warm and steady.
Tori reaches for a box of tissues from the coffee table between them, and at first Finn thinks she is going to offer him one and readies his no thanks, defenses rising.
But then she takes a tissue out and dabs her own eyes, surprising him.
“It’s awful. I think about her all the time too.
I feel so guilty.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
“Why? Is that because you know who killed her?” he asks.
Tori looks up sharply, as if struck. She narrows her eyes. “How did you find me? I’ve been very careful.”
“We’re not here to get you in trouble,” Caren says, her voice kinder than Finn expected. “Or blow your cover, or whatever.”
“I made promises that I would never talk about this.” Tori twists the tissue into a knot.
“Who did you promise?” Caren and Finn ask at the same time, their voices overlapping.
“You mean the Allards, don’t you?” Caren asks.
“They can’t know I’m talking to you. That’s part of the deal we made,” Tori says, her eyes darting to the door as if expecting someone to burst through it at any moment. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see justice done. It just can’t come from me.”
“So, let us help,” Finn says.
“Hold on,” Caren says, raising a hand. “What deal?”
For a moment the room is silent and Finn wonders if they’ve run out of luck.
Gotten as much information as they can from this woman.
She’s not right, he thinks, there’s something really wrong with her, like an alien who’s pretending to be a human but either underreacting or camping it up.
But then Tori looks right at him and nods.
“I was in trouble. Out of money.” Tori’s words tumble out. “I couldn’t stay in that house after what happened to Autumn. The Allards offered me money if I…” She hesitates. “If I didn’t tell the police—” She stops abruptly, horror spreading across her face as she realizes she’s said too much.
“Tell the police about what? The affair?” Caren asks, leaning forward. “You were sleeping with Daniel Allard, weren’t you?”
Tori hangs her head. “No.”
“We know,” Caren says. “We know you were seeing one of the dads in the neighborhood.”
Finn glances at Caren out of the corner of his eye. They know no such thing. It’s a long shot.
“It’s worse than that,” she says in a tiny voice. “I was sleeping with Van.”
Beside him, Caren sucks in her breath. “He’s, what, half your age?” Disgust colors her words.
A slight flush creeps up Tori’s neck. “He was nineteen, it’s not illegal.”
“We don’t care about that,” Finn says, shooting Caren a look. “What does this have to do with Autumn?”
“It didn’t end well with Van. He got angry.”
“How angry?” Finn’s mind whirls with this new information.
A bad breakup. A jilted lover. And Autumn, wrapped in Tori Price’s pink kimono.
He can see it in his mind, like a movie.
An enraged Van showing up at the house, maybe drunk, seeing the kimono shimmer in the dark hallway.
Making a mistake. “Was he angry enough to become violent?”
“You don’t understand,” she says, her eyes filling with fresh tears that spill over onto her cheeks. Her hands tremble as she reaches for another tissue. “I had no idea Autumn would get hurt. You have to believe me.” Desperation bleeds through her words, begging for absolution he cannot give.
Finn leans forward until he’s perched on the very edge of the sofa, his entire body tense with anticipation. “Is it possible that Van came to your house that night looking for you? And that he mistook Autumn for you and shot her instead?”
Tori looks up at him, her eyes glistening with tears.
“You have to swear that you won’t let them know you heard it from me.”