Except now I feel sheepish. This Darlie case is turning into an obsession, I fully recognize that. I should be researching jobs like I insisted to Mom I would. But this is what always happens when I find a topic that fascinates me. I tumble down rabbit holes and never want to come out.
Wyatt senses my embarrassment, and his smile widens. “It’s okayto be a raging nerd, Logan.”
“Not everyone can be a cool rocker like you, Graham.”
“Exactly.” He flicks the turn signal and makes a left turn. “So there’s no evidence that Darlie Gallagher even existed?”
“Oh no, she existed. I found her birth certificate, and there was an engagement announcement for her and Raymond Loughlin in theTahoe Tribune.”
“Wait. Loughlin? The same Loughlins who own that mansion on the cliff?”
“Yep,” I say triumphantly. “Darlie and Raymond knew each other their whole lives, but they didn’t start dating until they were nineteen. Her family was well-off but nowhere near as wealthy as the Loughlins. They’re the old-money kind of rich. And from what I’ve read, Raymond was one of those polished yacht-club dudes who was going to be a big-shot banker. Never had a job in his life. Darlie worked as a waitress in town, and they fell in love. She used to sneak out at midnight, paddle a boat across the lake, and meet Raymond under this huge tree on the Loughlin property.”
“So far, this sounds like a rom-com.”
“For all we know, maybe it is. I can’t find much else about these people,” I say glumly. “I think it’ll be easier to track down what happened to Raymond, because his family is still around, but Darlie basically dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Or dropped into the bottom of the lake. If we believe the boat weirdos.”
“And every true-crime forum. They all insist that Raymond left Darlie for her younger sister Dolly—”
“Darlie and Dolly? Really?”
“Hey, I didn’t name them.” I grin. “And their mom’s name was Dotty. According to the internet, Raymond and Dolly startedsneaking off together. They would meet at the lighthouse on Fannette island to hook up.”
“So basically this dude was turning every place in Tahoe into some kind of sex landmark.”
“And may or may not have caused a woman to drown herself.”
“Stand-up guy.”
“Right?”
We develop a routine over the next week. Wyatt writes or lounges during the day while I research Darlie and the Loughlin family. We have lunch. We swim. He strums his guitar while I tan on the dock. And after dinner, without fail, we sit at the dining table and work on the puzzle.
We don’t speak other than to trash-talk or argue whether a piece belongs to the dark sky or the dark water or the dark trees. The only fun part of this puzzle is the red canoe, over which Wyatt and I valiantly battle for domination.
“Why is this four thousand pieces?” he growls on a Monday night. “Aren’t puzzles supposed to be a thousand pieces or less? What kind of sadist decides to pick four thousand?”
“Maybe it’s an ex of yours who wants to torture you.” I pause, something occurring to me. “Wait. Do you even have any exes? Like a real ex?” I strain my mind, trying to remember his girlfriends.
“Natalie in high school,” he supplies. “That lasted almost a year. And six months with Rhett a couple years ago.”
“What a great name,” I say enviously. “I wish my name was Rhett.”
“No, you don’t. She was nuts.”
“That’s what all fuckmen say about their exes.”
“She slashed my tires after I broke up with her.”
My jaw drops. “I take it back.”
“But at least she isn’t holding my toaster hostage.”
The reminder makes me frown. “Oh, I already have a plan about how to get Hot Boi back. I’m gonna bribe Joseph to let me upstairs when I’m back in Boston.”
“And Joseph is?”
