“That they could get me a job at Crimson Edge. That Jo would negotiate it. A mid-six-figure salary and I would get to work from home. And health insurance. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut.”
“You agreed to stay silent for a job? For money?” I am in shock. I can actually feel my mouth open. I realize I don’t know this woman sitting next to me at all.
“Don’t say it like that. I was desperate,” she says, her voice shaky. “My editing work had dried up. They basically fired me and then rehired me as a part-time consultant with much lower pay. I was too sick to look for a full-time job. I even looked at going on disability, but it would have been only a few hundred dollars a month. I was going to lose the house, lose everything.”
“I didn’t know that. I mean, I knew your job situation had changed, but I didn’t know all the details. I didn’t know how bad it was.”
“I was ashamed.” She covers her face with her hands. “I’m fifty. I’m divorced, underemployed. I have one child who struggled in high school, still struggles if I am being honest. Where did I go wrong?” She looks up at me, her eyes searching. “I followed all the rules. I went to college, worked hard, got married. My husband still left me. I was still downsized. And I got sick.”
“You didn’t cause those things to happen,” I say. I feelconfused. A mix of sympathy and disgust swirls within me. “You know that.”
“Ryan was going to have to drop out of college. You know his dad refuses to pay a cent? And me? I would be plunged into poverty, real poverty. My medicine alone costs ten thousand dollars for each infusion, and the health insurance I was paying thousands out of pocket for didn’t cover it. The job at Crimson Edge offered me the kind of security that would make those problems go away. I could stay in the house, pay for Ryan’s schooling. Pay for my medication. I couldn’t say no.” Yumi bursts into tears. “I always hoped the police would figure out what happened to that girl without my having to say anything. I know I’m a coward. I wanted the jobandI wanted her to get caught. I really thought the police would figure it out. But they never did.”
“Finn figured it out.”
“Finn. I feel so guilty about Finn. I knew he was friends with Autumn before he told us the other day on my porch.”
“You did?”
She nods. “Of course. I feel like I know everything about everyone in this neighborhood. I run the Facebook page, Caren. Half of what people post doesn’t stay up for more than a minute because it’s so crazy and gossipy. Accusing other moms of pulling strings on sports teams, of dads being lecherous drunks. It’s insane how hiding behind a keyboard has made it so easy for people to express the worst parts of themselves.”
“Is that how you knew they were friends? From the Facebook page?”
“No. I saw them together. I’m on the damn porch most of my life. All I do is look at other people, out there living their lives. I’d see them walking together sometimes. And of course Isaw Finn put up those posters. A part of me kept hoping someone else would come forward with information that could solve the crime.”
“You mean someone besides you.” My tone is sharp.
“Yes,” she says quietly. “Someone besides me. When I saw Finn had started pet-sitting, I told Jo we should hire him. Keep him close. So I paid him to shop at the farmers market for me, and I tried to figure out how much he knew. But he never shared anything until the other day. And it made me realize.” She sniffs and wipes at her nose. “It made me see how awful what I had done was. I thought I was just protecting Ryan and me, but I was hurting people.”
We see the blue and red flashing lights before we see the police cars themselves. Right behind them is an ambulance with its own flashing lights. They pull up in front of the house as neighbors come out to look, and kids stop to watch.
“We’re the show in Eastbrook tonight,” I say.
Yumi reaches for my hand. “I’m so sorry, Caren. If I could go back, if I could do it again… I did it for Ryan. You’re a mom, you understand—”
“I know,” I say, interrupting her. I don’t want to hear any more. Any more excuses or explanations or justifications. It’s all clicking into place, even though it will take me a while to sort it out. At least now I can begin to try and understand. “I know.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
From the stoop of the Allards’ house, Finn watches Jo’s dark SUV peel away from the curb. He stands helpless, angry with himself that he didn’t stop her. But it all happened so fast—what was he supposed to do? Tackle her?
He notices a car across the street—a gray late-model Toyota sedan. The kind of nondescript practical car favored by the retirees of Eastbrook. At the same moment that his brain registers that it belongs to his landlady, the driver’s-side window rolls down, and Paula sticks her head out.
“Get in. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“Where are we going?” he asks as soon as he is in the passenger seat.
“You tell me. It’ll be easier if you navigate and I drive.” She nods at her phone, which is attached to the dashboard vent. Finn grabs the phone and watches as a small dot travels out of Bethesda. “Are you tracking Jo? How?”
Paula grins. “One of those Apple doohickeys. I duct-taped it to her car while you were inside talking. Now where is she?”
“She’s on the Clara Barton Parkway. Heading toward the Beltway.”
“Hold on,” Paula says. She presses the accelerator, and the Toyota charges up Massachusetts Avenue. “You did it, Finn. You didn’t lose your cool,” she says, taking a sharp left past the Glen Echo fire station. “You just let her talk. I’m so proud of you.”
“It was surreal. I couldn’t believe the things she was saying. Did you catch the conversation?”
“Catch it? I recorded it. Now maybe is a good time to call your detective friend. What was his name?”
