And pray that Van didn’t do anything stupid.
She couldn’t lie to herself—she had lost control of her little game.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The trill of the doorbell pierces my sleep. I sit upright, heart racing, my mind swimming in a fog of confusion. The throbbing in my head that sent me to a darkened room an hour ago has lessened slightly but is not gone. Fumbling for my phone, I squint at the time—almost sixPM. Two missed calls from Miguel and a text message about takeout. My fingers hover over the screen as I recall Jo’s words earlier in the day.
I need Miguel to come home.
I need to ask him what Jo meant.
I need to tell him about the blood in the basement.
But instead of telling him that, I text him that takeout sounds good.
When the doorbell rings again, I drag my leaden body to the front door and pull it open to see Finn standing in the early-evening sunlight, his expression unreadable.
“Oh, hi.” I rub my eyes, trying to focus.
“Did I wake you?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“No. Yes. It doesn’t matter. Come on in.” My movements are mechanical as I snatch the mail from the mailbox before shutting the door. In the kitchen, I toss the stack onto the island with a dull slap and stumble toward the sink, desperate for water. “Anything for you?”
“I’m set, thanks.”
His eyes follow me as I gulp down the water. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not sure if I told you, but I got a concussion on Saturday night. It makes me tired.”
“I can come back. I should have texted. I was just on the way home—”
“No, no, I’m glad you’re here.” I sound eager for company, and I realize I am. Especially his. After that conversation with Jo, I just want to talk to someone sympathetic. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m good. I just wanted to tell you that I checked, and Autumn wasn’t home the weekend that Yumi saw someone go to her house. So, whoever it was, they must have been visiting Tori Price.”
“I’m sorry, I just woke up. Walk me through this.”
“No, it’s me, I’m talking fast because I feel like I’m onto something.” His fingers drum an anxious rhythm on the countertop. “I have this theory, and it sounds crazy to even say it out loud, but what if she was having an affair with someone in the neighborhood? Tori, I mean. And whoever killed Autumn actually meant to kill Tori that night. Not Autumn. Did I tell you that when Autumn was killed, she was wearing Tori’s robe?”
My breath catches. “How do you know that? Was that in the police report?”
“I saw her wearing it. I think I told you that I was FaceTiming with her before she answered the door. She told me she’d be right back. That one of the neighbors was at the door.’”
I let this sink in, what it must have been like for Finn to be on a FaceTime call when Autumn was killed. How it must have magnified the whole trauma of losing her a thousandfold. “And you think whoever shot Autumn thought she was Tori,” I say quietly.
He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve always wondered that. And now I can’t help but think, maybe it was an affair gone wrong. And the killer came through the hedge in the yard. So someone who lives in Eastbrook. I mean, who else would know about the hole in the hedge?”
I think of the men who live nearby. Shawn and Daniel, of course. A few other dads. They are all committed family men. “I can’t picture any of the guys I know doing this. But I checked Jo’s Insta and she and Daniel were at a neighborhood party the night Autumn was killed.”
He shakes his head and sits at the counter, accidentally knocking the mail to the floor. “Sorry,” he says, bending down, hands visibly shaking. “I’m just nervous.” He scoops up the scattered envelopes and places them back on the counter with unnatural precision. “That’s why I need to talk to Tori. I need to find out if she was seeing someone and who it was. But I don’t want to go alone.”
“I would go with you,” I say, trying to ignore the warning bells clanging in my head. “But we don’t know where she lives.”
“Actually, I do.” A flash of triumph crosses his face. “I got her address today from a friend. Well, a friend of a friend. She lives in an apartment in Chevy Chase.”
“Wow. Nicely done.” My admiration is genuine despite the unease churning in my gut.
“So you’ll go with me?”
“You don’t mean now, right?” I’m too wiped out tonight to confront a woman about the married man she was sleeping with.
