Before anyone can respond, there is a squeal of tires on pavement. A rusty white truck bumps onto the curb right in front of the coffee shop. It grazes the side door of a car that’s parked right next to it, but the impact doesn’t stop the truck’s momentum. It keeps going. In fact, it looks like it’s going to smash right into the window right in front of where they’re sitting.
They all jump to their feet at the same time just as the truck finally jerks to a stop. Joey scoops up the paperwork and clutches it to her chest. A man tumbles out of the truck. Straw hair covers one eye. The other is shot straight through with red veins.
Tom Winter. Elena didn’t realize how familiar his face would be. It’s been more than fifteen years since she’s seen him in person. He spots the three of them inside the window, and his eyes meet hers. She takes an involuntary step back. She’s seen that look before. When she was fifteen, Elena’s mother shoved her into a closet and rage-screamed fifty-three Hail Marys through the slatted door. When Elena was seventeen, her mother bound her to a chair with a shoelace before pelting her in the face, hard, with the Bible.“You don’t earn God’s love by being a slut!”
It comes from the soul, that kind of fury, and she would recognize it anywhere.
Tom flings open the door, nearly taking it off its hinges, and marches toward Elena. He leans in until his red-spidered nose is touching hers. “Whatdidyoufuckingdo.” His words blend together, consonants slurred. His breath is rank. Elena grits her teeth, her hand tight on the chair. She does not lean back. She doesn’t give an inch, even as his sweaty forehead touches hers. Adrenaline lights up the muscles in her limbs, and she shoves him away with a forearm. He grabs her, his watery gaze unsettlingly direct.
In another second, he’s being pulled back. The grumpy guy from behind the counter is there, grabbing Tom’s arm, pushing his body between them. Tom growls, keeping his eyes locked onto Elena’s. He spits as he talks. “A woman came to my house. From the movie. Somehow, she heard about Quinn. Asking all these questions, wanted to use Quinn as inspir—” he fumbles over the word—“inspiration for her character in thegoddamn movie.I asked her how she found out about Quinn, and get this, she told me it wasyouwho told her, Elena.” He breaks off as a new emotion ripples through his anger. “Said you told her what happened to Quinn wasn’t an accident. Said you thought it was murder. Now why would you say that?” He tries to wriggle free, gasping. “Tell me why, goddammit! Why would you drag my little girl into this?”
Elena’s thoughts are yanked back to the warning Cal Pierce gave her this morning. He was right. She shouldn’t have trusted any of them. And as for Nicola Bianco, who she has no doubt is the “actress” Tom’s referring to, that was lightning quick. What did she do, wake up this morning, fresh-faced, and think,Gee, I’ll go track down the dad of the deceased teenager Elena told me about twelve hours ago? It’s true that Elena shouldn’t have polished up Quinn’s death like it was in-person clickbait, but what a weird thing for Nicola to do. Like, what the actual fuck?
There are a few patrons in the coffee shop now, and each of them—every single one—is glaring at her. She can feel their gazes like shards of glass in her back.
“Leave her alone.” It’s Joey who says it, and Elena wants to tell her it’s fine, she can handle it, because she doesn’t need Joey to stand up for her, not after she did this to herself. She can blame Nicola all she wants, but this was her.What is wrong with you, Elena?she thinks.
But Tom Winter is not done. He turns to Joey now, inches from her face, spitting rage. “And you. I saw your car leaving my house. Yeah, that’s right. I saw you. The knife you left on the counter… What wasthat, a warning? And her sweatshirt. Her beautiful sweatshirt. What the hell did you do to it?” It’s a statement, not a question. “I told that lady cop. I told her you broke in, that you messed with my baby’s stuff. You’ll go to prison for breaking into my house. You’ll go to hell. What is wrong with you? You were supposed to be her friends. It’s not right. It’s not right what you did.” With each word, his passion deflates slowly, giving way to sorrow. Finally, exhaustion seems to strong-arm his anger altogether, and he begins to shake. “Why, goddammit? Why did you touch her stuff?”
Elena sees him crumble, noticing how slender he is, how his bones look like they would crack under the slightest pressure, and how he stands with a stoop, as if in constant pain. She watches him as he loses control of himself and slides to the floor. She is horrified that she has caused this, that she wrecked a man still consumed by grief. He is angry, but this does not seem like a man who killed his own daughter.
She becomes aware that everyone in the coffee shop is still staring at her—at Joey and Sophie too—but mostly her. And she knows why. She has been home for two days and already she’s kicked a hornet’s nest. At her feet, Tom Winter brings skeletal fingers up to his face and sobs.
27Sophie
They sit, now, in the storage closet at the back of the coffee shop. It’s cramped in here, and it smells like coffee beans, a smell Sophie would normally like, but it’s too potent. Half-open boxes of paper cups and napkins line the walls. She takes a seat on one of the boxes, and a mop clatters onto her knees.
Joey rounds on Elena and whispers aggressively. “What was that? Did you tell Nicola Bianco that Quinn was murdered?”
Elena doesn’t back away. She only stands taller. “Yes,” she says, not betraying any emotion.
It feels like a punch. “Why would you do that?” Sophie asks.
A moment of something passes over Elena’s face, but she prepares her defenses fast. “I don’t know. It just came out. I guess it was on my mind.”
“You guess it was on your mind?Elena, you can stop pretending. We know why you’re here. You think you’re hiding it well, but it’s so obvious that you’re not here because you care about Quinn. You’re here for the movie, for your career.”
Elena laughs abruptly and tosses two hands into the air. “You caughtme. I am background in the film. And yes, maybe I want to network with some people in the industry while they are, frankly, sitting ducks in this little fucking town. And maybe that led me to say something out of turn. But honestly, who gives a shit? I’m here now, and I saw the same sweatshirt yesterday that you did, and I can’t get it out of my head. Whether I came because of Quinn is irrelevant. I’m pretty sure, at this point, it’s the staying that matters.”
“Enough,” Sophie says. She needs to cool them both down before this goes too far. “All that matters now is finding out who did that to our friend.”
They both breathe heavily, still facing off. Joey hasn’t dropped her pissed-off face, but she has slackened her grip on the door handle.
Sophie says, “Listen, Tom said he toldthe lady copthat you broke into his house. Is the lady cop Marissa? What do you think he told her?”
Elena shrugs. Joey makes a “hmm” sound.
“I’ve been thinking,” Sophie goes on. “Tom did drink a lot, and yes, the state of his house yesterday was…ick. But he was never a mean man—current behavior aside. Plus, Barbara said Quinn was spending a lot of time with him in those last few weeks. They were close, or as close as they could be. Maybe it’s just me, but it just doesn’t feel right. I know he was pissed off at Elena, but he was also sobbing. I don’t know. I just don’t get murderer vibes from him.”
“It could be an act,” says Joey.
“Or guilt,” adds Elena.
They drop into a thoughtful silence, and Sophie is at least glad the tension is at a simmer. “Okay, listen,” she says, finally ready to change the subject entirely. “I need to show you both something.”
They turn toward her, and she realizes she’s sweating. She reaches into her bag and plucks out the journal. She sets it on her lap. The watermelon-pink sticky note sits dead center on the cover.Read me.
“What is this?” Joey asks. She leans in closer. Elena leans in too.
