“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I said, and hung up.
I never called her back. Life had gotten in the way. I sent her a birthday present a month later via Amazon Prime, something horse related and expensive that my dad had told me she’d wanted, and I remembered her thanking me for it. But maybe that had been a voicemail? Ugh. Ithad. I knew I hadn’t called on her birthday.
The last words I’d spoken to my little sister were blowing her off.
I burned under the judgmental gazes of the cops as I told them this. “I’m super busy,” I added as an afterthought. “Which isnota crime.”
“No one is accusing you of anything, Ms. Dearling,” Pullman chimed in. “We just want to cover all our bases.”
He was the “good cop,” it seemed. Newbury leaned forward in his chair so he was closer to me. “Do you have any idea of where your sister might have gone?”
“I don’t know her friends that well, but I’m sure they would know where she hung out. I know she spent a ton of time at McCullough Farm. The barns and stables especially. She loves to horseback ride.”
Newbury looked unimpressed. “Anything else that might be helpful?” he pried. I could tell even he was getting bored.
I had no idea where Hazel was or who she was with, but I did admittedly have one theory I knew they weren’t thinking about yet.
“Well, there is one more thing. Have you considered the obvious?” I asked.
“The obvious?” Newbury’s eyebrows were knitted together. Beside him, Pullman’s spine went ramrod straight. “What do you mean?”
I uncrossed my legs. “I mean, whoever killed Alexandria.”
The silence that followed was long and expected. Nearly an entire minute passed as the two detectives exchanged loaded looks. I could practically hear their thoughts.She can’t be fucking serious.
“AlexandriaHopely?” Pullman asked, his face tight. He clearly thought I was insane.
I nodded, annoyed with him. “What other Alexandria would I be talking about?”
Newbury sighed. “Rose, Alexandria Hopely was killed by your brother, William Dearling.”
“Believe me, I understand that you think that—”
“He was convicted by a jury of his peers and sentenced to life in prison. This is not my opinion. It is legal fact, and he is serving the required time.”
I was angry. “Then why is another girl missing? A girl with a connection to that case? Are you suggesting that there are two different people snatching girls off the same street?”
Pullman, clearly uncomfortable, shifted in his seat. I realized that he looked about Will’s age. I wondered what he’d thought about all of this when it happened. If he was local, he may have even known Will. Or at least had mutual friends.
“I’m not suggesting that at all,” Newbury said. “But there is no evidence that these two cases are related. Alexandria Hopely was found strangled to death in the woods behind your house mere hours after she went missing,” he snapped. “Your sister is still unaccounted for. There isn’t any indication she has been hurt either. So suggesting that she is being targeted by a killer on the run, eleven years after someone else was convicted of the crime based on solid forensic evidence, is ludicrous.”
“You asked what I thought,” I reminded Newbury, irritated. “I gave you my opinion.”
He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, I thought you might be able to offer somerationalinsight. My mistake. Anyway”—he started tostand—“let us know if you think of anything else. I am sure writing a book like yours means you have your fair share of ill-wishers. I can only hope this isn’t related.”
What a prick. I felt my molars grind together as I took a very deep breath, not breaking eye contact with the detective. I had heard a lot of heinous things about myself in the past year. That I was a liar. That I was a slut. That I should, and would, rot in hell. But Newbury was implying something even more insulting. I tried to count to three before I said anything further.
Marta’s sage advice for the rage that could suddenly come over me.
“If someone despised me enough to hurt someone, then it would be me missing, not Hazel.” The detectives shared another look, one that felt dangerously close to pity. “Are we done here?” I asked, the irritation in my voice evident. “I want to go find my sister.”
I got up without waiting for the answer and slammed the door.
3
The house was quieter when I left the computer room. The kitchen counters were still littered with the party trays and bowls of food, but the people had dissipated, with just a few cops lingering outside.
My family were congregated in the living room. Tommy was sitting on the faded tan sofa, staring at the floor, his children passed out beside him. He looked exhausted, years older than twenty-eight. I wondered if he had slept at all in the last twenty-four hours. Suzannah sat beside him, holding his hand, her presence steady and grounding. My father was across from them, his face still red and blotchy, though the tears seemed to have stopped.
