"Maybe somebody found out what I'm doing here, and they don't like it. Maybe they were trying to scare me into leaving."
My fingernails scrape against the scruff on my jaw. I hadn't bothered to shave after the shower I took, I was too antsy to get back out to Mallory. To take her anywhereshe might need to go. "Why would anybody in this town care what you were doing?"
Using extra care, I take the turn off Summerhill Road, heading for town. Mallory is quiet, almost as if she doesn't want to answer me. Almost as if she would prefer I reach her conclusion on my own.
When I don't have anything to say, Mallory drums her fingertips on her thighs and says, "My job is kind of like putting together a puzzle. I try different pieces to see if they fit, and eventually that means enough pieces fit together to form a picture. That also means I try a lot of pieces that don't fit together. Solving an unsolved crime, or any crime, really, means there are usually many failed attempts to fit enough puzzle pieces together to reach the truth."
"Got it." I nod. "Why do I feel like you're setting me up to receive bad news?"
She shakes her head, and the gold hoop earrings she wears swing. "I'm laying down a foundation of knowledge. It won't do either of us any good if I tell you what I'm thinking without preparing you."
"Consider me prepared." I'm not though. In truth, I feel a little bit sick to my stomach. Mallory's been at this for a long time, but every step is new to me.
"I think it's worth considering that whoever took those photos of me last night was trying to scare me into leaving because they found out I'm here to learn about your dad, and that would only matter if?—"
The lightbulb goes on in my head, the answer screaming at me. "If there was something to learn."
A wedge forms in my throat as I do my best to grapple with a possibility I wish were impossible. "That would mean someone in Olive Township either has information about what happened, or—" I cut off, blinking hard. I can't keep driving.
Slowing, I pull over onto the shoulder of the road and shift to Park. Propping my elbow on the car door, I press a fist to my mouth, and say, "Or it means the person who killed him still lives in Olive Township. And if that were true, it would mean I have been living around them my whole life." My voice wobbles. Cracks.
"Hugo," Mallory murmurs. She unbuckles her seat belt, tenderly touches my face. I turn toward her, letting her cup my cheeks. Her touch is soft. Soothing. "All of this is an attempt to put the puzzle together. We're talking out loud, seeing if the pieces fit. I know this is asking a lot of you, but try to remember these are queries, not conclusions."
She's right. Lord, she's smart. Balanced. Levelheaded. Strong.
"Alright," I answer, my gaze falling over her face. She's so beautiful it hurts. No makeup face. And those shoulders, exposed by yet another loose-fitting sundress.
I get a sudden idea. "What do you think about going somewhere a little further than Olive Township?"
"I'm game," she answers, a question in her eyes.
"I think you should go shopping."
Her eyes narrow at me. "You don't like my clothes?"
"That's not what I said." I point at her waist. "Buckle up."
"I have clothes, you know." The click of her buckle connecting is the only sound, then she says, "I bought a few more things when I extended my stay the first time."
"You're going to need more clothes. More everything."
She scoffs. "And why is that?"
"Because I'm going to ask you to stay longer. Keep trying puzzle pieces."
She fights a smile. "Is that right? When do you plan on asking me?"
I fight the same smile. What is it about this woman that has me feeling ok even though there is the looming possibility that something terrible may have been happening under my nose all these years? It's like the terrible thing can still exist, but facing it with Mallory makes it bearable. Makes it into something that won't take me down.
"When the time is right," I tell her. And ok, yeah, I'm flirting. Friends can flirt, right?
Mallory comesout of the dressing room in a dress that shows off her pregnancy. Or maybe it doesn't show it off as much as it doesn't hide it. In fact, everything she has tried on for the last two hours we've been shopping has highlighted the small bump she sports. As a bonus to me, everything she's tried on has also shown off her perfectass, round and generous, and begging to be touched by me.
It is absolutely, one hundred percent notmyhands that are begging to touchherass. Not at all.
Mallory seems to prefer dresses and skirts, and when the saleswoman approaches with maternity skirts, Mallory balks. "There's a pouch," she says, nose scrunching as she pinches the draping fabric on the front of the skirt.
"That's for your belly, dear," the woman says sweetly. "Just wait until you really pop. These non-maternity stretchy skirts you've been trying on won't cover you."
