I’d make a lousy detective because I lost her in traffic a few minutes later, but it didn’t matter. I knew where she lived. I’d catch up with her eventually. Curiosity compelled me to circle back to the cemetery. Whose grave had Lizzie so lovingly attended to? Retracing her steps, I found the tidy, shiny headstone and read the name.
Caryl Daryus
1936–2013
Loving wife, mother and grandmother
I almost laughed when the meaning of what I was looking at hit me. The reason I couldn’t find Carol Darius online was that I’d misspelled both her first and last names. Not to mention that the woman lived most of her life before the internet, dying at the age of seventy-seven in 2013. And yet,Carol Darius was the spelling the landscaper had given me when he wanted to be paid for mowing the lawn at Cozy Glenn Lane.
Pulling out my phone, I easily brought up the obituary. Caryl Daryus, mother of five, grandmother of fourteen, including Samantha Martins Price. Lizzie.
Why had Lizzie assumed her dead grandmother’s name? I still had so many questions. But at least now I knew that Lizzie Martins and Caryl Daryus were the same person.
I went back to Lizzie’s and parked a couple of houses down to wait for her to come home. She showed up about forty-five minutes later, carrying a couple of overloaded grocery bags inside. I sat in my van, forearms resting on the steering wheel, contemplating whether to knock on the door. Before I had a chance to decide, she came back out, climbed into her car, and drove off again.
This time, I followed her more closely, determined not to lose her. She eventually pulled into the parking lot of a state park. She got out and headed toward a hiking trail. I jumped out of my van and hurried to follow.Bintibarked after me in protest, unhappy about being left behind in the van. I’d cracked the windows open so she’d have fresh air. Plus, I didn’t plan to be gone for long.
Quickening my pace, I tried to catch up with Lizzie. There was no telling how long her hike would take, and I didn’t want to spend the night in Durham. Once I got what I came for, I’d get back on the road. I had every intention of sleeping in my bed that night.
Luckily, I was wearing tennis shoes. Not the sort for long trail hikes, but they’d do the job. Lizzie was a brisk walker; she moved in long, sure strides and was much faster and more agile than me. I hadn’t hit a real trail since before Ali died.
She looked back a couple of times, seeming hyperaware of her surroundings, but she didn’t recognize me from a distance. At least not at first. When I got close enough, she finally spotted me.
She shrank away. “What are you doing here? Please leave me alone.”
“I’m not here to hurt you or for anything bad.” I approached slowly so that she wouldn’t take off running into the woods. “I just need to know why Ali bought you a house.”
“You should trust him,” she said quietly. “He was a good man.”
I stopped about five feet from her, giving Lizzie her space so she wouldn’t feel cornered. “I just need to know about the house. Why did he buy it for you?”
“He didn’t. He was just trying to help me out.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” There was a desperate tone in her voice. “For old times’ sake, maybe.”
“I think you do know. Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Because sometimes the truth is overrated. Believe me,” she pleaded. “You don’t want to hear the truth.”
“But I do. I can’t properly mourn Ali and move on until I find out.”
“You don’t understand. This has nothing to do with you. Atall.”
“Of course it does. Surely you can see that.”
“I can’t see anything except that you’re asking for trouble. Just let it go.” She turned to walk away.
I followed. “It’s not that easy.”
She picked up speed. “I paid you a lot of money so that I wouldn’t have to talk about it.”
“Why?” I demanded, trying to catch my breath. “What are you hiding?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It is if it involves my husband.”
