“Yes.” She gulped from her own water, her throat gone dry. “Dad ... do you know Allan Svenson? He teaches at the university.”
Her dad flinched almost imperceptibly. “I know him.”
“Do you know . . . ?”
“Yes.” His voice held no inflection, and suddenly, she didn’t know how to read his face either. “I know about his relationship with your mother.”
“Did you know before she disappeared?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Our marriage wasn’t perfect, Charlotte. We both had our ... indiscretions, but we were committed to raising you together as a family.”
What?Charlotte’s face burned at the implications. “You both ...” She coughed. Oh god, what was she supposed to say to that? What was she supposed tothink?
“Maybe we should have made better choices, but we were doing the best we could. And the sheriff’s department assured me that Allan had a rock-solid alibi for the day of her disappearance, so ultimately, I don’t think he’s relevant.”
“But you? Who wereyousleeping with?” This time, her voice came out sharp and biting.
“No one at the time of her disappearance. I’d been trying to convince Terri to give us another chance. I thought ... well, it seemed like she was willing to try.”
“I don’t know what to think. You were both sleeping with other people? That’s ...” She mimed her head exploding.
He looked pained. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
He fiddled with his water glass, although she wasn’t sure if he was thinking or stalling. “There was a duffel bag missing, a small bag your mother sometimes packed for weekend trips. I didn’t notice right away that it was missing, and by the time I did, well, I was starting to second-guess myself.” He shook his head. “I can’t be sure when I last saw that bag. She might have lost it or thrown it away. It might have no relevance at all. I just don’t know.”
“A duffel bag.” Charlotte didn’t know what to say, what tothink. But suddenly, it felt horrifyingly obvious what she’d be thinking if this was anyone but her dad. She’d be thinking the jilted husbandkilled his wife. It wasalwaysthe husband. Everyone knew that. But she just ... she couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t picture him ever being violent.
She also knew people made this mistake all the time. No one wanted to believe their family member was guilty of a crime.He seemed like such a nice guy.Wasn’t that what people always said when they discovered that someone they knew had done something horrible?
She’d never imagined either of her parents capable of having an affair, and she’d been wrong about that. What if she was wrong about everything? What if neither of her parents had been who she thought they were? Was she about to lose her dad, too, like ripping off a mask and revealing someone she didn’t want to know?
Charlotte had come to Vermont looking for answers, but if she discovered that her dad had murdered her mom ... it might ruin her. Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because her dad’s eyes flashed with pain.
“I didn’t hurt her. She headed out to meet her friends for book club, and she never arrived. That’s all I know.” He looked devastated, and for the first time, she wondered what it had been like for him, living under a shadow of suspicion after his wife disappeared. If she’d heard the rumors that he killed her, surely he had too. That must have been terrible for him.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “You promise there’s nothing else you’re not telling me?”
He held her gaze, his expression earnest and unflinching. “I promise.”
She exhaled. “Okay.”
She believed him. She had to. What choice did she have? He was her father.
Chapter Eight
Marin attempted to project a confidence she didn’t quite feel as she entered the classroom where Northshire University’s Pride Coalition held its meetings. She was excited to get started in her new role as faculty advisor, but also ... intimidated. She’d planned to walk into this meeting as an outwardly queer woman, to introduce herself that way from the start.
Now that it was time to actuallydoit, well, she was quaking in her boots. So far, she’d only come out to one person—Charlotte—and while the NU Pride Coalition was virtually guaranteed to be a safe place to share her truth, the words didn’t come easily for her yet. She was nervous as hell as she lingered at the back of the room.
There were about ten students in attendance so far, a mixture of genders. They’d moved their seats into a semicircle and were deep in conversation, barely seeming to notice her arrival. Marin wasn’t sure what was expected from the faculty in this situation. Should she join their conversation, or was she supposed to be more of an observer?
Before she could decide, another woman entered the room, a fellow professor if Marin had to guess. She looked to be in her earlythirties, with light-brown hair and a warm smile. “Hi,” she said to Marin before waving at the gathered group of students. “Are you Professor Easterly?”
“I am,” Marin confirmed.
The woman’s smile widened. “I’m Dr. Lind ... Audrey. I’m an art history professor here.”
