Alexis crossed the grass to Falcon and Apollo. She grabbed Falcon's hand and made him drop the slobbery tennis ball. Over her shoulder, she said, "Zara. It was Zara."
Alexis and Falcon trudged toward the bus stop on the corner. Alexis didn't look back.
My mind raced. Zara Hayward. Camille's daughter.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Three times in quick succession.
I pulled it out. Message requests from my Facebook account. The previews made my stomach lurch.
Your daughter is a killer. When she goes to prison, inmates will?—
You are a monster. We know where you live. Someone should push YOU off that cliff and see how you?—
Your daughter deserves everything coming to her. So do you.
I hit delete without opening any of them. My hand shook so badly I had to try twice. Another notification appeared immediately. I silenced the phone and shoved it back in my pocket. I couldn't think about what the rest of the world thought.
Zara. I needed to focus on Zara.
ChapterTwenty-One
My mind looped through Alexis's words as I walked Apollo up and down the neighborhood.
After Alexis boarded the school bus with her brother, I'd taken Mia to school. Then I returned home, braving the media gauntlet each time, and settled at my desk to work all day.
I finally finished the communication with teens assignment and turned it in. The irony was not lost on me.
It was after 3 p.m. by the time I leashed Apollo and headed out the door. The crisp air carried the heady scent of blooming flowers. Crocuses, daffodils, and early tulips pushed through the mulch in every front yard.
Guilt tugged at me. I'd threatened an abused kid. Used her bruises as leverage. The memory tasted bitter in my mouth.
But it had worked. And now I knew.
Someone had screamed at 12:40 a.m. that night. Was that scream from Leah, when she was pushed? Zara's sleeping bag had been empty at 12:30 a.m. What did that mean?
Zara, who'd found the body. Zara, the quiet one everyone overlooked. Zara, who'd been missing when Leah was killed.
Alexis wasn't off the hook, either. Not yet. No one couldalibi her; she'd been alone at the gazebo. She still had a motive to shut Leah up for good, to protect herself and her secrets.
Mrs. Atkins stood at the curb when Apollo and I approached. One hand rested on her rolling trash bin, the other lifted in a practiced little wave. She wore a prim twinset with pearls, her gray hair shellacked into tight curls.
I slowed. Apollo's leash went taut.
My first instinct was to cross to the other side and keep moving. Instead, I stopped at the edge of her driveway. Politeness opened doors. Lately, I needed every door.
Plus, I remembered the detectives mentioning Mrs. Atkins's testimony in Mia's interview.
Apollo leaned against my leg. "How are you doing? Everything okay?"
"Well," she said, drawing the word out, "I suppose I'm as 'okay' as anyone can be with… all this." She flapped the hand not on the trash bin, taking in the whole street, the bluff, the lake, the houses. "You move into a place like this, you don't expect crime-scene tape and detectives knocking on doors at all hours. It's not what this neighborhood used to be, I'll tell you that much."
She waited, watching me intently.
"They were pretty thorough. They mentioned canvassing the whole neighborhood."
She pursed her lips, pleased. "They certainly did. In and out of every house. Taking notes. Some people didn't have much to say, of course."
"But you did?" I kept my tone light, curious, not desperate. She'd smell desperation.
