At the door, Rowan paused. "Don't forget, we're meeting at noon to finalize the details for thememorial."
I raised my brows. "Um, I didn't get that text."
Rowan looked aghast. "Oh, I'm so sorry. You must've been left off the text string accidentally. Normally, I'd never let that happen, you know that. I'm just not myself this week. I did the same thing the other day, for which I apologize profusely. Brooke is hosting. Say you'll come."
I forced a smile. "Of course, I'll come."
Rowan beamed at me. "Excellent."
Chloe gave Mia a pensive wave, then followed her mother out. I watched them walk down the front path. Rowan paused to say something to a police officer at the curb. Chloe toed at a crack in the concrete. Her head down, shoulders tense, like Mia.
Mia lingered in the entryway, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes distant, fixed somewhere just past my shoulder like her mind was a million miles away.
"How's your head?" I went back into the kitchen, opened the cabinet next to the sink, and handed her some Advil. Apollo weaved in between our legs in a sinewy figure eight.
She gave me a thin smile. "Getting better. Thanks."
"I bet you're starving. How about turkey sandwiches on sourdough with extra tomatoes and a side of Baked Lays for the crunch factor?"
"Sure." She leaned against the counter, phone in hand, frowning at something online. That pink emblem again. It looked like an Instagram account. She saw me looking and swiftly pocketed the phone.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
The image of the slippers pushed in, damp and gritty with sand. My tongue felt thick. The question was right there, pressing against the back of my teeth.Why do you keep lying to me?
I pictured her face if I asked her again. The flash of hurt, or worse, something I didn't know how to name. How fast she would shut down, shut me out. I wasn't sure which answer I feared more, yet another lie or a terrible truth.
Instead, I collected the supplies from the fridge and the cabinets. I lined everything up in a neat row: bread, mayo, turkey, tomatoes, lettuce, chips. An assembly line of normal.
I picked up a slice of turkey, laid it on the bread, then another. "Hey. Vivienne mentioned Leah's diary was missing. Do you know if she kept it anywhere specific?"
There was a small pause. "Her diary?"
"Mm-hm."
Mia's mouth pinched. "I mean, she moved it around. She was always paranoid someone would read it."
Paranoid enough to hide it. "Do you know where?"
Her gaze slid past me, toward the window. The detectives were still outside, going from house to house. "I'm not supposed to say."
I kept my tone gentle. "Viv's tearing the house apart. If that diary holds a clue to who hurt Leah, then the least we can do is help her find it."
"Leah didn't want anyone to know, okay? She made me promise. She said if her mom ever found it, she'd die. She made me swear I wouldn't tell."
I put my hand on her shoulder. Her body went rigid under my palm. "I know. And you kept that promise when she was alive. You were a good friend. But whoever did this to Leah is still out there. Leah would want us to find the truth. She'd want you to be safe."
Mia’s face contorted. She was conflicted, torn between her promise to her dead friend and her desire to see her friend’s killer brought to justice.
"Whatever is in that diary can’t embarrass Leah anymore, okay? The little things don’t matter anymore. Telling us where the diary is could help the police believe you’re cooperating, that you’re telling the truth."
Finally, Mia nodded, as if the movement physically hurt. "Leah, she… the last time I saw it, she'd taped it to the back of one of her canvases."
"Taped it?"
"Like, duct-taped it flat. You can't see it unless you take thecanvas off the wall and check the other side. It's the one with the scarlet flowers in the dunes, downstairs in the movie room, on the back wall."
