“But I do.”

“Okay, you just did.” He smiled. “And I can honestly say I’ve never given it another thought.”

They continued down the road, the sound of their footfalls filling the silence. “I’m so sorry about your family,” Jessica finally said.

Matt nodded, still not sure how to respond to the condolences. As if acknowledging the tragedy made it real.

“How long are you in town?” she asked, trying to evade the awkward moment.

“I’m not sure. The funeral is Sunday. I’ll probably leave soon after that, depending on whether my aunt needs anything.”

“Cindy is a character. I was surprised you weren’t staying with her.”

“I’m deathly allergic to cats. All my friends from New York are staying at the Adair Motel, so it made sense.” The truth was that his aunt was best taken in small doses, so the cats were a convenient excuse.

Jessica nodded as if she remembered his severe cat allergy, but he suspected she didn’t. Matt flashed to a memory of himself as a young boy, visiting a family friend, gasping for air, wheezing, his mother running the shower, rubbing his back, telling him to breathe in the steam.

“A bunch of reporters were at the bar last night, complaining about the motel. I heard them talking, saying even more are on the way. The national newspeople.”

“Not surprising. They love the Danny Pine show.” The never-ending fascination was an ongoing curiosity to Matt.

“You aren’t kidding. They asked me a bunch of questions, but I said I didn’t know anything.”

“Like what?”

“You know, stuff about all the conspiracy theories.”

Matt looked at her, gave a small shake of the head. He was probably the only person in the country who hadn’t kept up with the case. The vast conspiracies from the talking heads and internet detectives, grown men and women with too much time on their hands.

“They asked if I’d ever seen any of the Hayes family in town, if I thought they’d have a reason to hurt your family.” The Smasher’s family. Matt had watched the documentary—just once, which was enough—but he’d never forget that sinister brood.

Jessica went on, “One of the reporters had super-weird ques tions. Asked if I’d heard rumors that Charlotte was still alive, that she faked her death to get away from her dad. Or was taken by sex traffickers.”

Matt snorted. “The tabloids…”

“He said he was with the Chicago Tribune.”

Matt shook his head in disgust.

“They wanted to talk with Ricky, but I wouldn’t let them.”

“Why would they want to talk to your brother?”

“Didn’t you watch the documentary? Ricky was the one who identified the Unknown Partygoer.”

Matt had no recollection of that. More memory gaps. “If he identified the U.P., which helps my brother’s case, then why did he say those things tonight about—”

“I told you, he gets confused.”

When he saw the yellow glow of her house’s porchlight in the distance, Matt experienced a moment of déjà vu.

Jessica must’ve felt it too. “You remember that night we met here?” she asked.

“A little,” Matt said. Just the softness of your lips, the volcano erupting inside me, the feeling I’ve been chasing since I was fourteen years old, before loneliness settled into my bones.

“You?” Matt asked.

“A little,” Jessica said in a playful tone that acknowledged they both were lying.

Without thinking it through, Matt asked, “Did you see anything that night? Anything unusual?”

She considered him. “Like, what do you mean?”

He made no reply.

“All I remember is you and me, right here.” She seemed to blush, since they were standing near the spot of the famous kiss. “And then later hearing Ricky’s truck pull up. He was drunk and had no business driving. He and his date were fighting.”

She looked up at him now, as she had that night. Matt had the urge to pull her close, to kiss her. She had a similar look in her eyes.

“It was great to see you, Jessica,” Matt said, breaking the spell. He held out his hand for a shake.

The corner of her mouth turned upward. “It was good to see you too, Matthew. Let’s not make it another seven years.” She turned and vanished into the darkness, just like she’d done that night.

Matt ambled back along the road to the Hub. He stopped in the grass at the center, the moon peeking out from the clouds, providing a sliver of light. He half expected to see the back of his brother’s letterman jacket—PINE in yellow letters above the shoulder blades—pushing a wheelbarrow toward the creek. All at once, he had another memory that had eluded him: the figure stopping in shadows, head pivoting toward Matt. The darkness concealed his face. Yet there was no question: he was staring directly at Matt.

CHAPTER 39

OLIVIA PINE

BEFORE

Liv tipped the bottle so the rest of the pinot noir dripped into her glass. She’d already dispatched a text to Noah, apologizing that she couldn’t make it to dinner. After the encounter with Detective Ron Sampson’s former partner and widow, she’d had her fill of the past. Of this town. She’d have time to lobby Noah to grant the pardon after he was appointed governor. So she’d resorted to every parent’s secret weapon to get out of an engagement: Tommy’s not feeling well.

The truth was that Cindy took Tommy out to dinner. Liv didn’t know if it was because her sister really wanted auntie time with Tommy before they left tomorrow, like she’d said, or if she’d sensed that Liv needed some alone time. Cindy had left not one but two bottles of pinot on the counter, so Liv thought it was the latter. Liv was twisting the corkscrew into the second bottle when her cell phone chimed.

She was going to ignore it, but ever since that morning with Danny when she’d let her calls go to voicemail on her race home from the hotel, she never ignored calls.

Certain things made her superstitious, irrationally so. She’d been taking a nap in the middle of the day when her mom died, and she never napped during the day again. It brought bad things. It had been a lazy winter afternoon when she’d snuggled up with the family dog and gone to sleep, then awoken to Cindy shaking her shoulders, bawling, the last time she’d seen her big sister cry. So no matter how tired she was, she never napped. Even in college, and even when the kids were babies and she was dead on her feet, she never, ever took a midday snooze. Similarly, after she missed Maggie’s call saying the police had taken Danny—correction, after she’d ignored Maggie’s call—she never let a phone go unanswered.

“Hello,” she said expecting a telemarketer or robocall.

“Mrs. Pine, this is Alvita from Twilight Meadows,” the woman said in a Jamaican accent. “I’m afraid your father is missing.”

* * *

It was bad enough she had to deal with her father sneaking out of the home on her last night in town, but even worse was having to ask Noah for help. She’d had too much wine to drive. And she didn’t want to ruin Cindy’s evening with Tommy or put her son through the ordeal. She had little choice but to call him. Besides, she told herself, Noah would be better with the nursing home staff. And he liked playing the white knight; he always had.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Noah said, his hand on the steering wheel. He was one of those people who never lost their cool. She couldn’t recall a single instance when Noah Brawn had lost his shit. When she’d broken it off in college, he was as cool as a cucumber. It wasn’t that he lacked passion. His speeches on false confessions were the stuff of a brimstone preacher. Even his stump speech for mayor back in the day had some fire in it. It was just that his steady-as-they-go demeanor also revealed an emotional distance.

“I know,” Liv said. “I’m just so pissed. I mean, how hard is it to keep an eye on an elderly man with dementia?”

Noah just nodded as he navigated the dark roads to the rural highway. After a time he said, “So, I’m waiting.”

Liv looked at him quizzically.

“For you to say the magic word—pardon.”

Liv regarded him. He looked straight ahead, the profile of his strong jaw and his serious expression reminded her of segments from “A Violent Nature.” Maybe it was all the wine, but she decided not to insult his intelligence and deny that she wanted his help.

“Can you—help, I mean?”

“I’d like to.”

“But…”

He turned his head to her, then looked back at the road. “But assuming Turner resigns, which is probably a safe bet, I’ll be the new guy. I wasn’t elected into the office, so I need to tread carefully. It’s not just my decision. I’ve got to convince the pardon board, and two of the three members are Turner lackeys.”

“I understand,” she said, deflated.

“I didn’t say no. It’s just we’ve gotta be smart about it. I’m gonna need you to follow the usual procedures.”