A warm feeling spreads across my body. I feel so vindicated I could cry. I show her the picture of Margot next.

Her face scrunches up as she scrutinizes it. “I think that’s her. But I can’t say for sure. The whole time she was in here, she was wearing huge sunglasses and a baseball cap. I remember that clearly because I always think it’s so rude when people indoors won’t take off their sunglasses to speak with you—it’s so snooty—and that’s exactly the air she was giving off.”

Oversize sunglasses. Definitely Margot.

I beam at Stacey and I can’t help it; I pull her into a hug.

“I’m just sorry,” she says, her voice breaking, “that I didn’t do more for her.”

I squeeze her, and tears prick my eyes as I think about Abby and what she went through. “You’ve helped me so much. And now, I can help the police with finding out exactly what happened to her.”

I stash the newspaper back in my bag, and we head out into the lobby. Scanning the ceiling for cameras, I spot a few near the front desk.

“Do you know if these are closed-circuit cameras?” I ask Stacey.

“That’s exactly what they are.”

“Great, I’m stepping outside to call the detective now. And I’m sure he’ll be in touch.”

66

I WAIT UNTIL I’m back on the freeway with the AC blasting before I call Flynn. I can’t get out of Dallas fast enough, but even with the slow crawl of traffic, I should hit Mapleton long before sundown.

He answers on the first ring.

“Sophie. Took you long enough.”

“Mike, listen, I’ve had a—”

“Hold up, there’s something I need to tell you first; it’s why I’ve been trying to reach you.” His voice sounds warmer than it has lately, so I let him continue.

“Okay, then you go first.”

Even with my windows up, the sound of traffic creeps inside the cabin, making it difficult for me to hear him. I raise the volume on my cell, press the phone to my ear more tightly.

“I understand that you know a man in your neighborhood by the name of Harold?”

Bloody hell. Is he dead, too?

My mouth is dry but I manage to answer Flynn. “Yes, yes I do. I mean, I don’t know him all that well, just the occasional wave or quick chat from the trail. Why are you asking me?”

A black Suburban in front of me blocks my view of traffic, so I swerve around it, moving into a faster lane.

“He came to the station this morning. With a photograph of you.”

The hairs on my arms rise, and an unsettled feeling washes over me.

“Okay, this is sounding creepy.”

“I’m not gonna lie, it is creepy, but in this case, it works in your benefit. Evidently, Harold was out on the trail in the early hours of that Saturday morning when Abby went missing. He snapped a picture of you, jogging. On his phone. It was taken at three fifteen a.m., which confirms your alibi for that portion of the night. He said he had read about you in the paper and hated to see you mixed up in all of that, so he wanted to try and help clear your name.”

I’m speechless. And relieved. It takes me a second to find my voice again.

“Does this mean that you believe me now?”

He sighs on the other end. “It helps, Sophie. But I need you to know that this in no way exonerates you. Again, it just confirms your alibi for that portion of the night.”

The freeway is opening up now and I lurch into the far left lane, pressing the accelerator until the needle on my speedometer inches to eighty miles per hour.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Mike. I’m in Dallas. Well, I’m not in Dallas anymore, I just left the city, and I know I wasn’t supposed to leave town but I had to and when you hear me out, you’ll know why.”

“I’m listening.” I hear the faint tap of what I assume to be his pen striking the edge of a desk, or maybe the console in his patrol car.

“First, Brad knew that Abby was pregnant.”

“And how are you going to prove that—”

“Just listen to me. Jamie told me—I’ll explain how and why later—but he also told me that Abby had visited an abortion clinic in Dallas, caving under pressure from Brad to get rid of the baby.”

“Go on,” he says. I hear the crackle of his CB before he lowers the volume on it.

“So, on a hunch, I drove to Dallas last night and hit a bunch of clinics today. Mike, I just left the one that Abby went to.”

“What’s the name of it?” he asks, his attention fully pricked.

“OB-GYN Group of Highland Park. I had a feeling that Margot, with Callie’s help, drove Abby there, and possibly by force. And guess what?”

“Go on.”

I exhale, slow down, and tell him every detail. About Stacey ID’ing both Abby and Callie. And possibly Margot. About how upset Abby was, and about how pushy Margot was. And finally, about the CCTV cameras in the lobby.

Flynn grows silent, and I wonder if he even believes me.

He finally speaks. “Sophie, if what you’re telling me is true, if we can verify it with the footage from the cameras, then this, of course, changes everything. I’ll need you to come in and give us a written statement first thing in the morning, but for now I’ll get my team on it ASAP. I still have friends on the force in Dallas and can call in a favor.”

“I’m telling the truth.” Even as I say it, I can sense that he believes me. Or, at least, that he really wants to.

“Let’s take this one step at a time. And in the meantime, stick close to your damn phone and answer it if I call.”

I let out a chuckle and swear I can feel him grinning across the line.

I end the call and relief floods over me. I call Graham next. But predictably, he doesn’t pick up. I don’t leave a message. It’s four thirty and I know he’s knee-deep in taking care of Jack after school, so I decide I’ll try him later, after Jack’s bedtime.

I take a sip of water and focus my eyes on the highway that’s now blissfully clear of traffic.

I want to talk to somebody else about this, and before I’ve even fully thought it through, I dial Jill’s number.

To my surprise, she answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

I’m not certain if she even knows it’s me who’s calling, and suddenly my neck grows hot and I’m having trouble stringing words together.

“Jill? Hey, it’s Sophie, I—”

“I know who this is.” She sounds detached, icy.

So I cut to the chase.

“I think I know what really happened to Abby,” I blurt out.

I hear the drag of a sigh on the other end.

“Margot was involved.”

Jill sucks in a quick breath. “How do you know?”

“Listen, I’m driving back from Dallas. I can explain everything in person. Can you meet me at your lake house in about an hour? I want to talk in private.”

“I dunno know, Sophie.” Her voice has grown cool again.

“Jill, I believe that Brad is innocent in all of this. And you have to believe that I am as well. And what I’m going to tell you will make everything clear. Everything.”

Silence. Silence so long that I fear she’s disconnected the call.

“Jill, you still there?”

Another long sigh.

“I’m trusting you. I’ll leave town now. See you out there.” She hangs up.

The flat stretch of highway begins to roll and dip over hills tangled with soaring trees, and I’m again back in the pine forest of East Texas. The mile marker to Mapleton reads eighty miles, but it’s twenty more minutes to Cedar Lake on the west side of town, so I should make it in an hour.

The clock on my dash reads five thirty. I’ll arrive at Jill’s well before sundown, which is perfect, because once I’ve told her everything I need to tell her, I’m heading home. To Graham. I’m not naive enough to think he’ll scoop me up with open arms—I’m not even sure he’ll invite me inside—but I want to see his face when I tell him, gauge his reaction and whether I have a chance in hell of ever making things right with him. I can’t even really think about that right now; it will crack my heart open so wide I won’t be able to function at Jill’s.

At the next exit, I veer off the highway and fill up my tank at a truck stop. While the gas is pumping, I text Flynn to let him know I’m headed to Jill’s. I certainly don’t have to, but now that he’s on my side again, or seems to be anyway, I want to keep him in the loop.

Back on the highway, eighteen-wheelers coast by, rattling the Highlander, and after half an hour of gripping the wheel, I’m grateful when I see the turnoff to the lake.

I lower my windows and breathe in the damp, sticky air. Even though it’s only six fifteen and the sun won’t set for another few hours, the skinny lake roads are engulfed by mammoth pines, dimming the sunlight, so that it already feels like dusk.

I curl around the final stretch of road leading to Jill’s and glimpse her white Lexus in the drive. My heart strikes against my ribs, and my hands shake as I kill the engine. I know I have been through a lot, but I can’t imagine what she’s been going through as well. To learn that Brad had indeed been screwing Margot, to have to deal with the pressures of the police suspecting Brad for Abby’s murder—I’m sure she wants to crack as much as I do.

67