Jane raises her eyebrows at Callie. “Let’s go before we find out what she did.”
She helps Jane in the car, still not used to the new thinness to her arms.
They back out of the driveway and Callie tosses a paper bag of donuts into Jane’s lap.
“Oh, hell yes. Thank you for not making me share these with my child.”
“So maybe it’s because I’m an incredibly observant police officer but I’m picking up on some… vibes. What’s going on?”
Jane breaks a donut in half. “We’re fine. We’re all just sick of one another. I’m sick of being a burden on everyone. There were days when I thought I was losing my mind in that house with just a little kid and my husband during COVID and even after, when things started opening up again, and then it was like… the universe heard me think that, decided to really show me what an ungrateful bitch I was.”
“You’re not an ungrateful bitch. You’ve done so much for them. And your recovery, not being able to do anything on your own. Shit. I would be crazy too.”
“Thank god you are here. Maybe I’m really better. Just faking it a little bit so that you feel sorry for me and stay. I don’t want you to ever go.” She’s surprised at Jane’s tone—the bitterness that has seeped into her voice when she talks about being home. Had she really been going crazy before the accident, and Callie hadn’t noticed? From the photos and texts and calls, Jane had always sounded so happy. Pictures of Opal covered in flour after baking a batch of cookies. Damien with Opal in a pack on his back under a canopy of trees. Maybe Callie hadn’t been paying close enough attention, caught up as she was in her eighty-hour workweeks, making sure she went to every happy hour with the guys, every target practice session, brought cases home on the weekend. She should have visited. She should have gone on one of Jane’s foraging tours. She should have asked her friend some simple but crucial questions: Are you happy? Are you okay? What else do you need? Had Damien had a problem even then? It was a story she heard more and more, ordinary people cracking under the weight of the pandemic. Affairs, drinking too much, online gambling. Habits that pushed them into pits they couldn’t climb back out of as the world began to right itself.
“I’ll stay as long as you need me to. You know that. Just me, or did your husband not seem too happy to see me?”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s been weird aroundmelately.” Callie waits for the conversation to turn, the way it was about to the last time she was with Jane. Tell me, Callie wills her. Just tell me and I’llhelp. She’s brought the baggie, keeps it in her wallet, waiting for the right time to bring it up.
Jane claps her hands together, brushes the sugar from her fingers. “Enough about me. What’s the latest on your case?”
“I drove up to Princeton to see that teacher who signed Annabelle’s yearbook.”
“How’d that go?”
“She was super evasive. She knows more than she’s letting on, I think. It seems like she suspected there was something weird going on with the sisters and she should have had CPS involved but doesn’t want to catch flack for it now.”
“Can’t blame her.”
“She’s suggested that Sabrina Riley was in a relationship with a cop.”
“You think she was?”
“It’s possible. I need to dig up a roster from the ’90s, see who was on the squad that would fit the bill. Maybe ask Frank what he thinks about that.”
“Frank won’t tell you shit about any of his guys. I’ll tell you that right now.”
“What’s their deal? Frank and Lorraine? Why don’t they help you more instead of—”
“Instead of butting in down at the station? Yeah, no wonder the last guy at your job had a heart attack.” Jane sighs. “They’re helping us plenty.”
“Money?”
“We’d have lost our house if it weren’t for them. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve got some expenses of their own. I think they took out equity on their house during the recession, so there’s that. The rest is Luke.”
“Luke’s helping too?” Weed must be doing well, even better than she thought. Or, something else is filling his coffers. Getting all these kids high, getting them hooked. Even his own brother.
“Yup.”
The theory feels reasonable to her, but she hesitates mentioning it to Jane—Layla had seemed adamant that Luke wasn’t dealing, but maybe he’s not doing anything directly. He could be letting other people sell stuff at the nursery, taking a cut. And then there was that coffee cup in his car. Could be coincidence, but the shade of the lipstick print looked the same as Layla’s. Maybe they drive around together, meeting with buyers. Would Jane tell her, if Damien was buying drugs from Luke? Or someone who worked with him?
“You don’t like him. I didn’t notice it until I moved here. I guess I was never around the two of you together, aside from the wedding.” But now she hears it in Jane’s voice, the disdain unmistakable.
Jane looks out the window again. “You can almost smell the ocean.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“I didn’t hear a question.”
