She took a deep, shaky breath and visibly made an effort. “It can’t be easy for you either,” she said. “He was your father.”
“Oh no,” Ledger said. “I don’t care.”
“Must be nice.”
This time Clemmie took the napkin. She dabbed at her eyes, crescents of mascara left on the cloth, and then blew her nose noisily on it.
“I can’t do this at home,” she said. Then she twisted her mouth, all matte-red lipstick and neatly applied liner, into a bitter, sidelong grimace as she glanced down at the menu. “I can’t really do it here either. My husband’s the chef. He’s not jealous or shitty or anything, but you can mourn an ex, but you can’t fall apart. And I have kids. They don’t want to see their mom like this. They shouldn’t.”
Ledger pushed his glass of water over to her.
“I’m sorry. I wish Bell had… done one good thing before he died,” he said. “Syder told me how hard he’s been trying to get some closure for—”
“Fuck Syder,” Clemmie said. She picked up the glass of water and took a drink. “You ever think thatmaybeif he’d not just written Ben off as a runaway, told everyone that he was disturbed because he loved those pulp horror books he got second-hand, and told everyone I’d probably cheated on him? That if he’d actuallyinvestigated, we wouldn’t have had to wait five years to find out what happened? Or maybe even had someone to bury? He didn’t care that much then, and it’s a bit late to care now.”
She drank again and then set the glass down hard on the table.
“I guess he’s doing his best,” Ledger said. “And it’s not like it hasn’t cost him. His wife left him over his obsession with this case.”
“Is that what he told you?” Clemmie asked. When Ledger half nodded, she snorted and leaned forward. “He’s a fucking liar. His wife left him years ago… Jesus, it was only a couple of years after you left town, I think… and it wasn’t because Syder cared too fucking much. He losteverything. That big house they had? All their savings. The lot.”
“What happened?”
Clemmie turned her mouth down at the corners in the expression equivalent of a shrug. “Take your pick. The gambling. The women. The second family he had one town over. I mean, he had a whole other wife—well, girlfriend—and kid. He was in another PTA! It’s no wonder your dad got away with everything for so long. Our sheriff was too busy juggling family life in two different school districts to look into any crimes.”
“How did that all come out?”
“The question is how it didn’tbefore,” Clemmie said. “It was like he’d hardly even tried to hide it. I guess his luck just ran out. I don’t know how he even kept his job. Pity, I guess, after he killed his kid.”
Ledger cocked his head to the side. “He killed…?”
Clemmie nodded and glared at him as if she wanted him to argue with her. Then she looked down at her hands, wedding band wide and gold on her finger, and her face softened.
“Or maybe…” She shook her head. “It was an accident. He lost his son. A job isn’t much to make up for that. I should get back to work.”
She braced both hands on the table and pushed herself up. A deep breath squared her shoulders, and she tucked her hair back behind her ears. “Are you ready to order?
Ledger looked at his phone. Nothing yet. “Give me another minute?” he asked.
Annoyance pursed Clemmie’s mouth, but she sighed, nodded, and left him to it. While he waited, Ledger sat back in his chair and flicked through apps on his phone as he texted “?” to Wren, forwarded an email to Stella, and—prompted by his phone—paid the rent on the shop.
He’d had to cancel his flight yesterday.
If everything had gone to plan, he’d be home by now.
Clemmie circled back around. The time away had shattered their fragile understanding, and she looked irritated with him instead.
“If you aren’t going to order,” she said. “You’re going to have to leave. It’s not like you’re good for business.”
Ledger glanced at the menu. “The walnut salad,” he said. “Two of them, and could you box it up to go?”
Clemmie rolled her eyes and stalked back to the counter. By the time she returned, food boxed, bagged, and ready to go, Ledger had gotten at least one of the texts he’d been waiting for.
“Syder’s son,” he asked as he extended his card. “Was it—”
“Look it up if you’re so interested,” Clemmie said flatly. She pulled the card out of his hand and swiped it. “And don’t come back. The last thing we need is for people to turn our cafe into part of the Sutton Horror Show.”
Fair enough.
