“Yoga," Hadley replied with forced lightness. She took the time to tuck the receipt into her wallet. “I take a yoga class three times a week. It does wonders for the body.”
Hadley ignored the way Rena’s gaze fell to the bag of antacids, all but calling her out on the lie. Making a snap decision, she diverted the discussion even though she could have exited the store.
“You usually attend the Cane County Harvest Festival, right? Did you notice Missy there last year?”
“Yeah, Donovan and I were there,” Rena replied, leaning forward and placing her forearms on the counter. “I had a booth selling my mom's apple butter and preserves. We didn't see anything strange, though. We didn’t even know Missy was missing until the next morning. Reed contacted Sheriff Turner, and then most of Cox’s woods were flooded with search parties. Mom called to let me know that she and her friends were joining in.”
“But you saw Missy that night?”
“Only from a distance." Rena rested her chin in her hand. “She was with Richie McCarthy and that whole crew. Looked like they were having a good time. Maybe too good, if you know what I mean.”
“They’d been drinking?”
Hadley had spent the entire evening reading through statements, as well as researching prior missing persons cases. She already had a theory, but she would wait to hear Reed’s supposition first.
“Come on, Hadley. What do you think? That girl was three sheets to the wind. They all were. Old Man Gleason's moonshine packs a punch, remember?”
Hadley recalled the yearly tradition quite well, and it had taken two full days in her senior year to recover. She’d learned her lesson, spending the next day on a cold bathroom floor next to the toilet.
“I do know that it was Mr. Cox himself who found Missy’s cellphone. That’s when Sheriff Turner brought in the dogs and a helicopter, not that anything came of it.” Rena glanced out the display window when a vehicle pulled alongside one of the pumps. She rested her hands on the counter before standing to her full height, which was at least four inches shorter than Hadley’s five-foot-seven-inch stature. “Two weeks later? Everything returned to normal except for the flyers that Amelia still puts up every Sunday after church, just like…”
Rena’s voice trailed off, and an apologetic expression fell over her face. She leaned forward again, as if doing so would emphasize her remorse.
“I’m sorry, Hadley. I shouldn’t have?—”
“It’s fine, Rena. I appreciate the information.”
Rena had been going to compare Missy Claymont’s disappearance to that of Emily Esten. The comparison was unwelcome, but the name would be hovering on the edges of every conversation in this town until the day she either left or closed the case.
Hell, who was she kidding?
Emily’s name would always be just below the surface.
“Oh, you should know that the Whistlerun Inn closed down three years ago. Marjorie Foster rents out rooms above her flower shop now. Though I guess if you're here on official business, the department might put you up somewhere nicer over in Emberwood.”
“I won’t need a place to stay,” Hadley said, keeping to herself that she would be commuting the hour and a half every day. Rena could take from the statement what she wanted, but Hadley wouldn’t be providing anyone with personal details of her life. “Thanks again, Rena.”
“Hadley?”
She winced, having made it all the way to the double glass doors. Two more seconds, and she would have been out the door. Instead, she pasted on another smile and turned to face Rena.
“Yes?”
“Donovan would never forgive me if I didn’t ask about Mason. Remember how he would let Donovan watch every crank of a wrench and ratchet? God, how old were we? Eight or nine?” Rena didn’t seem to notice that she’d entered into unwelcome territory. “Do you visit him a lot?”
Hadley couldn’t bring herself to answer. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on the pressure of her soles against the worn linoleum floor.
“I mean, Mason must be what—thirty-eight now?” Rena continued, missing Hadley's reaction. “I always thought—well, a lot of us thought—he didn't kill Emily Esten. And we didn’t think it was right for that prosecutor to put you on the stand. I mean, you were only ten years old.”
Hadley's throat constricted, the acid burn returning with renewed intensity. In Whistlerun, family loyalty transcended nearly everything else. Hadley's testimony against her brother had violated that unwritten code.
Rena’s question had been deliberate, a test to see how Hadley would respond to the implication. She’d been prepared for such tactics by several people from her past, but she hadn’t expected to be confronted so soon. Facts didn’t change, though, regardless of what those in Whistlerun wanted to believe. And it was time for her to remember that indisputable truth.
“I should get going, Rena,” Hadley said, her voice steady now that she’d gained some solid ground set in reality. “It was nice to see you again.”
“You, too,” Rena replied somewhat guardedly now that she realized she couldn’t manipulate Hadley. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t continue to try. “And if I didn’t already say it…welcome home, Hadley.”
4
