“I think her asking you to come over the same day you met with Tori Price, the same day that you learn her son may very likely be Autumn’s killer, that means something.”
“If I can get something from Van’s room, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, something with his DNA on it, we can match it to the DNA profile the police have. Maybe it’ll clear him.”
She groans. “Not a good idea.”
Finn stands up. “You worry too much.”
“Finn, listen—”
Finn cuts her off. “Thanks for the late lunch or early supper or whatever.” He tucks his phone into his back pocket. “I promised a friend I would stop by and say hi at work.”
“Oh, Finn.” Paula looks up at him with gray-blue eyes, concern crinkling the corners. He looks away. He doesn’t want to see how much she cares.
“Fine, but if you insist on going, let’s at least have a plan. Right before you walk through the Allards’ front door, I want you to call me. I’ll keep my end on mute, but leave the phone on so I can hear everything. No one will know I’m listening. All right?”
“I guess.”
“I’m serious now,” she says, gathering his empty plate and stacking it atop her own. “If you hang up, if we get disconnected, if I hear anything I don’t like, I will pop in. You got it?”
“I got it.” He smiles. “It’s going to be okay. I’m not afraid.”
“Maybe you should be.”
THIRTY-THREE
“Caren, what on earth?” Kenya says, her eyes boring into me, her voice flinty.
Kenya and Yumi stopped chatting as soon as they saw me enter the backyard. Such a dreadful yet familiar feeling, one I remember from middle school, that silence that screams,We were just talking about you!
Yumi at least has the decency to stare at her hands, which lie in her lap.
“How’s the nap going, Yumi?”
She shakes her head and mumbles a barely audible, “I’m so sorry.”
“Caren, what’s going on?” Kenya asks, all curt and officious. As if she’s going to make me feel self-conscious for barging in on her afternoon tea party. But we are way past niceties. I walk over to where they are seated beneath a yellow umbrella and pull out one of the heavy wrought-iron chairs, relishing the way it screams as I drag it over the flagstone. “Why did you lie to me, Yumi?”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I wanted time to finish talking to Kenya—”
“Not about that. About Rachel. Why did you tell me you saw Rachel with Van the night Holly Stone’s bracelet was stolen? I checked and we were visiting Zach at college that weekend. Rachel was away the whole weekend.”
She looks up at me, dark circles under her eyes, and I wonder if she’s been crying. “I panicked,” she says. “When you called and told me about the stolen bracelet, I already knew. I had seen Van break into Holly Stone’s house. I thought if I told you it was Rachel that you might drop it, you know, be willing to be more forgiving. It was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what to say. I feel more confused than hurt by the betrayal. “But why?”
“Please, I’m sorry, Caren. I never meant to hurt you.”
“You have to stop saying you’re sorry.” My voice trembles with anger. “Why did you tell me you saw Rachel? You didn’t have to say anything, but you specifically told me you saw Rachel. Make it make sense.”
“You were going to keep digging. I know you. You’d ask around, stir things up. But if you thought it was Rachel who was with Van that night, maybe you’d let it go. Look, I’m not excusing what I did. It was wrong. I’m just trying to explain it.”
“Who were you protecting?”
“Oh, leave her alone,” Kenya says. “She was protecting me if you want to know. Noah, to be precise. Are you satisfied?”
My eyes go back and forth between the two, seeing a bond that had previously been invisible now materializing before my eyes. How many conversations, how many text messages have they sent back and forth, conspiring to keep me in the dark?
“You don’t know what it’s like, for Kenya and me, raising boys,” Yumi says, her voice plaintive.
