“Maybe I didn’t hear him,” Reid says. “Or I made it up. Or Mom told me later on, and I reported it to the police as though I’d heard it myself. I was twelve years old, and didn’t understand how important it was to stick to the facts.”
“Mom hated what Paul was doing to Burkehaven,” I say. “And today, you were lurking by Freya’s truck. You used to have photos of her posted all over your bedroom walls.”
“When I was a teenager trying to convince my mother I was straight,” Reid says.
Reid seems to have an answer ready for whatever I throw at him. “Fine, maybe that’s true,” I say. “But today, by the trailhead, were you trying to distract Gilcrest from the homicide investigation? Is that why you did that to Freya’s truck?”
“What, exactly, was I distracting him from?” Reid asks. When I don’t answer, he says, “Okay, tell me if I’m getting this right: I lied about what happened to Isaac Haviland and Ialsokilled my own mother, to ... what? Cover up a two-hundred-thousand-dollar debt? In my world, two hundred grand is pocket change.”
Pocket change that selling a lake house would provide.
Reid comes at me. I brace myself, but he grips me by the shoulders and looks me in the eyes. “I didn’t kill Mom,” he says, “and no matter how mad you are, you don’t get to say I’m a murderer so you can get a little attention with some podcast no one will listen to. Unlike you, I live in a world where bills come in, and people need things from me, and there are expectations.”
Reid strips off his T-shirt and shorts, then swings his arms back and forth as he moves to the edge of the dock. “This house costs tens of thousands of dollars a year in taxes and maintenance,” he says. “Way more than you can afford, Charlie. If you want to buy me out, come up with the cash, because I have plenty of others lining up with offers.” He fits a red swimming cap over his blond hair and adjusts his goggles. “Tonight, when you’re lying in bed feeling awful about yourself, know that I love you and forgive you for every terrible thing you said to me, but I don’t want to see you right now. Also, I have an airtight alibi for the time Mom was killed. Do you?”
He dives into the water and takes off across the cove. I could accept what’s been told to me: My father killed Isaac Haviland; my mother dragged herself through the woods to save her children; my brother fled with me in a rickety old rowboat and floated offshore until a handsome, young police officer arrived to rescue us. And years later, a widow exacted revenge. That’s a story to remember.
But I don’t believe it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
As Reid swims across the cove, I pull Seton’s name up on my phone. I could text her. I could tell her what happened tonight, what Reid and I said to each other. She’s a friend. Someone I trust. But she’s also a cop, and not one who’d ignore accusations hurled from one brother to another, no matter how wild.
I’ll keep what was said to myself.
For now.
I nearly put the phone away. Instead, I find Freya’s text from earlier. I wish she were here right now, that I could test this latest plot twist in the hope that she’d poke enough holes in it to prove me wrong.??I could use a friend??, I type.
The tip of my finger hovers over send, but I delete the message. As Seton said earlier, Freya’s scared out of her mind, and she needs time to be on her own.
In the cove, Reid reaches the opposite shore. He turns and makes his way back, and when he touches in, he pushes away from the dock. “I told you I didn’t want to see you,” he says, lifting his goggles onto his forehead.
“And I told you not to swim alone.”
“Well, I’m finished,” he says.
I top off his martini glass. “Have a drink.”
“I’m not doing this, Charlie,” he says. “Not tonight. I’m too angry. Give me some space and we can talk tomorrow.”
I start to argue but stop myself. Reid won’t say more, not tonight. The best strategy is to let him stew in his anger until later. I leave him in the water and cross the footbridge, following the path along the shore until I emerge on Burkehaven Cove, where it takes a moment to realize I’m not alone. My aunt Hadley sits at the end of the dock, her feet dangling in the water. “Returning to the scene of the crime?” she asks as I approach.
“I could say the same of you.”
She pats the boards. “Join me. The bass are out. They’re giving me a pedicure.”
I kick off my shoes and settle in beside her, letting my bare feet dangle in the cool water. It seems like weeks ago that Freya found me in this same spot, but it was only yesterday.
“I expected to see you for happy hour tonight,” I say.
“Oh, I was there,” Hadley says. “I heard you and Reid talking on the dock.”
“More like fighting. How much of it did you catch?”
“Enough. Sounds like he wants to sell Idlewood.”
“And I sort of implied he killed Jane.”
