But now, for the very first time, she felt the words differently.It was an accident.Her mother hadn’t killed Annie. Nic hadn’t killed Annie. Annie had run into the road. Nic had called after her, tried to stop her. Her mother had been coming around a blind corner, she’d slowed down, ready to turn into the driveway. It was a confluence of circumstances, of small decisions and actions that on any other occasion would have left their minds. They were devoid of moral underpinnings, no matter how desperately anyone wanted to believe otherwise.
And when a series of actions come together to create a tragedy, that’s what it’s called—an accident.
She wondered how her mother thought of it. If she still said those words inside her head.
I killed my child.
She wondered if all those conversations with her support group had fueled the fire. No matter how hard people pretended, it would have been difficult to hide their judgment of her. Nic had felt it sprinkled over their kind words in the emails. Even her father—the way he spoke of it, of his wife behind the wheel of that car. It was so much easier to believe that it could never happen to them.
The casino was half an hour from Hastings. Back onto Route 7. Fifteen miles south. Left on Laguna Drive, then another five miles into the alternating woods and fields. Her father had not wanted her to come here when they’d done the canvas. He’d wanted her to go home.
Kurt had been right about Thursday nights. The lot was nearly full. Nic parked in the back.
Through the front doors, across worn, turquoise tile that matched some kind of island-themed decor, she made her way in the crowd past the registration desk to the casino. The bar was at the far wall, after rows of slot machines with people gathered around each one, playing, watching. Loud bursts of cheers came from a craps table through an archway to the right. The noise was oppressive. The air thick with cigarette smoke. Nic could not imagine her mother here. Not for an hour, let alone four days. Or a week. Or longer.
The security cameras were up high, as the police reports haddescribed. Looking straight down, looking for acts of theft more than faces. It would be hard to spot one blond woman among the sea of humanity that now surrounded her. People had seemingly come from all over—skinny blondes in fancy dresses and heels, overweight blondes in jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers. Plenty of brunettes as well, and men wearing everything from tailored sports coats to muscle shirts.
Nic was looking for Chief Watkins. But her eyes were drawn to the women, each one pulling at her, wanting her to see her mother so she could take her home and have all of this be over.
Her phone rang when she reached the bar. She took a spare stool between two sets of couples and picked up the call.
“Sweetheart? Are you all right? Where are you?”
Nic heard the concern in her father’s voice. Yes, she was at a bar. But for once, she waved off the bartender who stopped to offer a drink.
“I’m fine. I’m just out. Meeting someone who might have information.”
“What information? Is it about the truck?” He was beginning to panic.
“No. Something else. Probably nothing.”
He waited, but Nic didn’t offer more. It was hard to hear with the noise in the room, but more than that, she didn’t want to say the words out loud.
Chief Watkins may have…
And then what? May have helped her mother disappear? Kurt Kent’s story felt absurd now.
She changed the subject.
“Dad—Evan told me you saw a fence behind the inn. He said you told him that you had to stop searching the woods because of it.”
“Why? Did something happen? Tell me!” His fear was a tinderbox. She chose her words carefully.
“No, Dad. Calm down,” she lied. It wouldn’t do him any good to picture her like that. Alone in the woods in the town where her mother disappeared.
“Okay, okay… yeah, I remember that. I went with one of the search parties. We walked straight back from the road through the property behind the inn and diner. The Booth property. We walked until we hit a fence.”
“With coiled barbed wire?”
“Yes. It was pretty tall. One of the locals said it was probably left there by the old chemical company. They thought the two properties might back up to each other. It was hard to tell how old it was. Why? What’s going on?”
Nic thought about this, about the property that might be on the other side.
“Did anyone search that property—the one on the other side of the fence?”
“I’m sure they did, sweetheart. They searched over thirty miles of land. What is this about?”
Nic fought for a way to tell him about the hole she’d found, but then she’d have to confess to going back there. Maybe she could say Roger Booth went with her…
