“But you have to admit her showing up supports my theory.”
So much for moving on. I capitulated. Engaging now might burn through his interest and save me from a full-blown aneurysm later. “Which is?”
“She killed them. Her family. Mom, Dad, and her brother, Noah. She burned down the family’s bookstore in town to cover her tracks or buy time. Not sure about that part.”
The bookstore. Her father, Patrick’s, vanity project. A place that specialized in what most people refer to as coffee-table books and very serious works of nonfiction and prizewinning historical fiction. Mostly, it operated as a vehicle for him to show off. He’d invite authors into town and host events. He spoke frequently to rapt audiences made up predominantly of what I’d describe as the PBS crowd. Answered questions. Talked about his writing process.
Lectured. Bloviated. Bored me to death.
The night the Tanners disappeared the bookstore burned down. The fire started in the kitchenette. The accelerant discovered on the first floor led to whispers about arson. Xavierinsisted it was an electrical fire and the timing was suspicious but unrelated. Not an easy sell to anyone except the officials in charge of investigating.
No one liked to talk about the fire that killed Xavier’s sister, Stella’s grandmother, decades ago either. That was the first mysterious Tanner fire. The bookstore was the second.
“Aubrey’s brother was only a kid, which makes this whole thing really sick.” Jeremy’s sour expression fit his haunting words.
For the thousandth time the facts I tried to block came rushing back. Noah. Eight. Old enough to fight back. To scream for help. “Most people assume it was a murder-suicide. That Patrick and Victoria had a marriage issue or some big secret that blew up and Patrick killed them all in a rage.”
Come over I need your help
That text from Patrick. I should have ignored it. The fact I didn’t led to so many bad choices and years of panic and shame.
Jeremy frowned. “Did he seem homicidal to you?”
“No.” Patrick didn’t give off a violent vibe at all, but I often wondered if I’d missed a clue.
If I’d gotten to the house faster. If I hadn’t lied to the police. If I hadn’t touched or seen anything. Theif onlys stacked up and condemned me.
“If a murder-suicide happened, why weren’t the dead bodies in the house? What did Patrick do with them? You’ve heard the podcasts and then there was theDatelineepisode. That question never gets answered,” Jeremy said.
Oh, damn. That episode would run again with some sort of update attached. This was worse than the rumors about someguy wanting to write a book about the whole disaster. This nightmare would never be over.
“Some people think Patrick moved the bodies and ran. Now we know Aubrey walked away. What about the rest of them?” Jeremy continued with a pile-on of loose ends. “Was she the only survivor? Is she the one who made everyone disappear? But how did she clean it up?”
So many questions. I couldn’t blame him since I had them, too.
Jeremy kept going. “Who really knew what was going on in that house?”
I did. I didn’t like to advertise that, of course, but me.
I’d spent a lot of time with the family. First as a wide-eyed, eager college student. I’d taken a part-time job with Patrick, doing background research and fact-checking his history books when I wasn’t busy running the register at the bookstore. I hadn’t known “historian” was an actual job until my professor told me about the open position as Patrick’s helpful sidekick.
My pregnancy changed that. I maintained a patchwork quilt of jobs after that to keep food on the table. I helped Patrick out, which Victoria hated. I also ignored the rumors and continued to work at the bookstore. I watched other people’s kids. Walked dogs. Whatever it took.
It was my main job, working in the café that I now owned, that saved me. I served food, washed dishes, and ran the register. Basically, I did whatever the then owner, Irene, needed done. In return, she let me bring Jeremy and put him in the office. We lived in a room in her house until she decided to retire. We worked out a rent-to-own situation for the café that let me buy the businessfor a ridiculously low price, including the apartment upstairs, where we lived even now.
During all of that, I was in and out of the Tanner home. Subject to the arguments and stilted dynamic. Victoria and Patrick’s marriage had been outwardly cheery and loving. Inside? Not as glossy.
Victoria tried to maintain the façade and build the perfect family, fighting Patrick’s ambivalence until her frustration blew. She would yell about her disappointment. How she’d married him expecting a certain type of life. Stable. Robust. Thrilling. The kind of partnership she’d always wanted and that his wealth had promised her.
Year by year, he broke Victoria down. Tested her with his enthusiasm for everything and everyone but her. Flirted with every woman but his wife. Ignored her in favor of his work and his friends as if she were a toy he’d grown tired of. Whatever love remained between them seemed to shrivel until their discussions, each interaction, operated with an outward sheen of civility behind forced smiles and sharp words.
The family had dinner together every night. Victoria’s rule. Part of what she thought a family should do. Having been a reluctant participant more than once meant listening to the standardwhat did you do todayquestions followed by grumbling answers and no follow-up because no one seemed to care about the actual responses.
I started the job with Patrick right before I turned nineteen, my work sandwiched in between classes. Five years later they were all dead... or missing... or whatever the current thinking was about the end to their existence.
“You said Aubrey was weird and creepy. Not to me, but I’ve heard you say it.” He smiled. “Because I’m not the only one in the house who’s gossiped about the Tanners.”
Not my fault. It was pretty hard to ignore a missing family. And I’d really tried. “It’s the town’s favorite pastime. Next to ghost stories and Halloween.”
