Chapter Thirty-One
THIRTY-ONE
Finn and I walk out of Tori’s office building shrouded in a heavy silence that seems to hang over just us two, like our own personal storm cloud.
We’re both too stunned to speak to each other on the way back to the car.
I’m afraid to even glance at Finn, as if the slightest tilt of an eyebrow will loosen the scream I am holding so tightly.
It isn’t until we are both back in my car, the door shut, and we are in our own muffled semi-soundproof space that I let out a guttural howl.
“What the actual?” I turn to face him. “I don’t even know where to begin.
I know I’m supposed to be horrified that she was sleeping with Van, but all I can think about is my daughter was involved, yes only briefly, but still involved with someone who is violent and controlling. I mean, am I being self-involved here?”
“No, you’re a mom and you’re freaked out.”
“Thank you. I am a mom who’s freaked out. I mean, I’m grateful that nothing really bad happened to Rachel, but my gosh, this kid is a piece of work.”
“Umm, so is Tori.”
“Oh, I agree. Totally. I mean, what is wrong with that woman? I wanted her to keep talking so I didn’t interrupt her, but seriously?”
Finn nods. “Completely insane. On so many levels. And she’s a therapist treating other people.”
“Right?” I try to piece together what Tori Price confessed with the timeline of Rachel’s junior year.
It seems like Tori’s affair with Van was way after he ended things with Rachel.
So at least my daughter is not involved in any way.
“And she was basically saying what? That she thinks Van killed Autumn. I mean, that is what she was saying, right? That he lost it when she broke up with him?”
Finn shrugs, looking nauseated. “I don’t know what to think. But it’s definitely what she was implying. That he had a temper.”
“That’s what Rachel said too. He wouldn’t let her leave his room. He made her crawl out a window.”
Finn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay, so that’s not good. He sounds very controlling about women. But do you think he could kill someone? Did he have access to a gun?”
I shrug. “Why not? More people own guns than you might think. The Allards really changed when Daniel inherited all this money from his dad. You could kind of tell they thought they had leveled up or something. But it wasn’t just money.
It was a sense of entitlement. The way they would throw their weight around, get rules bent to favor their kids. ”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s weird. They always acted like the sun rose and set on Van.
I remember when he played on the same youth soccer team with Zach and Jo felt the coach wasn’t giving Van enough time.
She got him fired. I don’t know how she did it.
But after Daniel inherited that money, they lost touch with reality.
In high school they bought him a Range Rover.
” She turns to squint at Finn. “Do you know how much a Range Rover costs? Close to a hundred K.”
Finn lets out a low whistle.
“He totaled it in the first month. A girl was in the front seat and she broke her collarbone. No consequences for Van. When I saw the Allards right after, I distinctly remember thinking that they must be mortified but they both laughed it off. They replaced it with a Jeep. Daniel said, ‘Until he stops crashing cars, he’s going to have to drive a Jeep.’ He actually said that. ”
Finn shakes his head in disgust and we drive in silence down River Road for a few minutes.
As we wend our way past the familiar houses in my neighborhood, I feel like I am seeing it through Finn’s eyes and I don’t like what I see.
Well-maintained houses with tasteful lawns hide the pulsing, grasping, striving that permeates everything.
The feeling that this world is in danger if we don’t stockpile what we can and guard it with our life.
Finn pulls up in front of my house and parks.
“What now?” I ask.
“I’m going to reach out to that detective I told you about and tell him what we learned. That’s the only thing I can think of doing. What about you?”
“Obviously I want to talk to Kenya and Shawn about the message that you saw. But don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble.
I feel like I’m in the middle of some horrible elaborate prank that everyone is in on except me.
Even Miguel and Yumi. It looks on the surface like it was about that gold bracelet, but that’s not enough to explain all these lies, all this manipulation. ”
“Murder. That’s a motive.”
I stare out the window at my house. “I agree,” I say. “But I just don’t see it. There’s no reason why someone like Kenya or Yumi would protect Van. I know Miguel wouldn’t. There has to be something else going on.”
“Those officers should have told Detective Aziz about what happened to you. I think it’s connected. I’m going to mention it just in case he hasn’t heard.”
“That’s fine. But I probably need to give Kenya a heads-up. If you tell that detective about the stolen bracelet, that Noah and Van took it, Kenya’s going to need to get a lawyer.”
“You might need a lawyer too.”
“You’re right.” I sigh. I don’t want to drag Rachel into this, but this is too big to sweep under the rug.
“Are you having second thoughts?” Finn asks.
“What? No, not at all. Whatever happens, happens. We need to find out the truth. You need to find out what happened to Autumn. And if that somehow involves our kids…” I don’t finish the sentence. I don’t want to think about what it will mean for Rachel.
Finn cuts the engine and we get out. He hands me the keys.
“Whatever you do, be careful, Caren,” he says. “We don’t want to tip the Allards off that we know about Van and Tori Price. Who knows what they might do?”
As soon as I open the door to my house, I am confronted with two duffel bags, a tennis racket, and a rolled-up sleeping pad. Evidence that Rachel is departing later today and has not reconsidered my offer to stay in Bethesda and work at Ledo’s for the summer.
“Oh good, you’re back with the car.” Rachel bounds down the stairs and slips on the flip-flops lying near the front door. “I need to get some stuff for camp. Shampoo, body wash, you know.”
“You mean now? You need the car?”
“If that’s okay.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek, plucking the car keys from my hand. “Love ya!” she calls and heads out the door.
I watch her drive off, my heart swelling. She’s become a wonderful young person—responsible, smart, kind. In a few months she’ll be at Georgetown, launching her college life. What am I risking by digging all this stuff up from her junior year? Is it really worth it?
I check on Kugel and make sure he has fresh water.
I don’t know what to do. Finn is calling the detective he knows, and whatever happens there is out of my hands.
But what happens with my own circle of friends is up to me.
I need to talk to Yumi. I call her and once again it goes straight to voicemail.
I decide I’m just going to go over there. If she’s napping, I’ll wake her up.
A few minutes later I’m on her screened-in porch, sweaty and out of breath, but there’s no Yumi in sight. The door to the inside of the house is locked and when I ring the bell, I get no answer. Yumi doesn’t go places. She orders her groceries and she Zooms or Teams her work meetings.
Visions of Yumi on the bathroom floor fill my head. She lives alone; Ryan isn’t home for the summer yet. I’m her emergency contact. I’m about to head home to get the key to her house when my phone rings. Yumi.
“Hey,” she says sounding sleepy. “Did you just call me?”
“Yeah, I really need to talk to you. Are you home right now? Can I come over?”
“Sure. I mean, I just woke up and I want to shower. Can you come over in, like, thirty minutes?”
“Yeah, that works.”
“Great. See you then.”
I look up at her house, silent and still. Something gnaws at me. Why hadn’t I told Yumi that I was right here, outside her house? I open up the Find My app. I don’t track Yumi, not the way I tracked Rachel during high school. But we share each other’s locations just in case.
And when I click on the little dot that represents her, she’s not napping or showering or doing anything else at home for that matter.
She’s a few blocks away, at Kenya and Shawn’s house.
It takes me all of five minutes, speed-walking in the midday heat, as sweat drenches the backs of my legs, along my neck, and under my arms, to reach the block where the Williamses live.
Their house is modest from the front, like so many in this neighborhood, but boasts a huge addition on the back that eats up most of their backyard.
I’ve spent many afternoons on their deck, watching our kids over the years, planning school events, prepping for the yard sale with Kenya.
In front of the house is Yumi’s Subaru, its back bumper covered in the suburban mom’s version of tattoos—stickers with letters and symbols that represent high school, college, favorite vacation spots, spelling out to those in the know what exact subtype of people own this car.
I am more than halfway down the path that runs alongside Kenya’s house when I stop short.
I can hear the two of them talking before I see them.
Hear their low voices murmuring, the unmistakable clink of metal against glass—an iced-tea spoon stirring in a squeeze of lemon, perhaps.
My two friends, Kenya and Yumi. I inch a little farther along, where an overgrown oakleaf hydrangea droops over the flagstone path, its long stems weighed down by huge white panicles.
Maybe I can decipher what they are saying, grab a familiar word out of the hum of conversation.
Closer, closer, closer, until I can finally make out a few words.
Yumi’s voice, low and full of sadness. “I hate lying to her.”
“I do too, but what choice do we have?” Kenya asks. “You know Caren. She’d go straight to the police.”
The words ricochet inside my head, tiny spasms of pain. My hands go to my temples, as if pushing against them can manually squeeze out the pain. I don’t want to move, hoping that by staying still the pain recedes. But a rustle coming from the yard next door grabs my attention.
It’s a little boy, standing rigid in an inflatable pool, his round belly straining over the drawstring of his swim trunks, staring at me with a look of horror. I know that look—I’ve seen it on my own children’s faces when they were toddlers.
It’s only a matter of seconds until he starts screaming bloody murder.
I have no choice.
I straighten up and walk briskly into the Williamses’ backyard, outing myself, trying to stay composed as I take in the shocked looks on the faces of my two closest friends.