Page 78 of Nowhere Good

He scribbled something down. “And what about when your mother was alive? Did you ever witness any violence or heated disagreements between your parents?”

“A disagreement, maybe… but not violence…”

Claire realized, rather abruptly, that she knew nothing about how things actually were between her parents. She didn’t know if her dad was abusive or controlling to her mom the way he had been with his daughters.

“Claire,” Seth said, “yesterday, I asked you if you think it’s possible your mother’s death wasn’t an accident, and you said maybe. Can you tell me more about that?”

The room was suddenly much colder, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. Claire looked outside the window and catalogued the few cars in the parking lot. Don’t freak out again, you idiot, she chastised herself. But she didn’t want to tell this to a recording—she just wanted to tell him.

“I—I need a break.”

Seth didn’t hesitate to pause the recording. Once it was off, his posture relaxed.

“You okay?”

“I am, but…” She took a breath. “Have you ever been scared of somebody before? Like even when you’re alone, you feel like they’re watching you. ’Cause every time you’ve tried to defy them, they’ve found out somehow and punished you for it.”

His eyes didn’t leave her face. “I guess I haven’t. Not the way you’re describing.”

It felt so strange, so surreal, to talk about it out loud; this thing that lived inside her, embedded so deep it had become her secret DNA.

“Is that how your father makes you feel?” Seth asked.

Weakly, Claire nodded. “He can be cruel.”

“Has he ever hurt you?” His voice was calm, but she didn’t miss the flare of anger that passed over him.

“Not in the traditional sense.”

“What does that mean?”

She clammed up again. She could tell him everything right now—God knew she wanted to—but she hadn’t told anyone about the cage since Mrs. Bell, and it was too much. She’d already made one accusation without evidence, and now she was about to make another. Three would be pushing it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Seth said. “I just want you to know that I’m on your side. Whatever it is, I’ll believe you.”

With the way the light pooled in, brightened up his eyes, he looked so honest, it made her heart hurt. Maybe this was foolish of her, but it was her only shot.

She forced herself to straighten up. “Turn the recording back on.”

TWENTY-THREE

Seth had done countless witness interviews in his career so far, but none had ever taken his breath like this one. He’d never forget this image; Claire Dyer across from him, her hair honey-toned as she tried to hold strong, concealing words that held so much power.

And she must’ve known they were powerful—that was why she’d been so afraid to tell him.

“I… found something,” she confessed.

He leaned forward. “What did you find?”

“A necklace. In my dad’s room. It was a silver chain with a butterfly pendant on it. I thought it looked familiar, but my sister said it wasn’t hers, and my dad hasn’t been with another woman since my mom died. That’s what he says, at least. I thought it must be my mom’s, but my dad’s never been one to keep stuff like that around. That’s not the strange part, though.”

Her hands were shaky as she took out her phone. After a few taps, she showed him her screen. On it, an article, dated just over twenty years ago. The website had an old-school look, too-large text over a gaudy green background, like it hadn’t been updated since posting this.

“An article about your mom’s disappearance,” Seth said. “Looks like this was from before she was considered deceased.”

“Yeah, but read this part.” She pointed to an italicized paragraph at the bottom of the article.

“Celine Dyer was last seen wearing white sneakers, denim overalls, a blue knitted sweater, and a silver necklace with a butterfly pendant on it,” he read out loud. As he did, the weight of her discovery dawned on him.