On Shadow Beach (16 page)

Lauren shook her head. “He didn’t.”

“He offered Abby a ride on his bike, but he didn’t take her to the high school. He took her to the Ramsay house. He tried to hit on her, and she said no, because she wouldn’t betray you. Shane got so angry he killed her. Everybody knew about his temper. He was always getting into fights at school. That’s what happened, Lauren. Shane Murray killed Abby. And he should have paid for it a long time ago.”

A shiver ran down Lauren’s spine at Lisa’s forceful words. It was the exact scenario that the cops had painted all those years ago, the one that made her doubt him. But she’d known Shane better than anyone. She never should have given in to her doubts.

“Shane did
not
kill my sister,” she said firmly. “He’s innocent and he always has been, and I should have said that a long time ago.”

As Lauren finished speaking, she realized a hush had come over the room. At some point she and Lisa had become the center of attention.

“Lisa, you need to go,” Kara said, as she and the other Murray women stepped forward with blood in their eyes. They wouldn’t stand for anyone talking bad about Shane in their presence.

Guilt flashed in Lisa’s eyes. “I’m truly sorry you overheard that, Kara. I spoke without thinking.” She set down her glass of punch and left.

“Maybe I should go, too,” Lauren suggested.

“No, you’re staying,” Kara said firmly. She glanced at her mother and grandmother. “I think it’s time to open presents. Don’t you?”

A murmur of approval broke out and the group began to chatter again as Kara’s mother and grandmother headed toward the gift table.

Kara turned to Lauren with gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you for saying that about Shane.”

“It was the truth, and long overdue.”

As Kara left to open her presents, Charlotte moved to Lauren’s side. “It looks like you’re the life of the party.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t have invited me.”

“Every baby shower needs a little drama. I can’t believe Lisa said that to you about Shane. She was certainly worked up.”

“She thought I was attacking her, because I asked her what she was doing the Saturday night before Abby died.”

“Why would you ask her that?”

“That movie producer made some comments to me, and I wanted to follow up on them.” Lauren paused. “Do you remember Coach Sorensen?”

“Of course. Half the girls in school were in love with him. Why do you ask?”

Lauren shrugged, not wanting to create any further speculation.

“You’re making me really curious,” Charlotte said.

“Is Mr. Sorensen still teaching at the high school?”

“Yes, in fact I’m doing a health lecture in his biology class on Tuesday. He’s still very good looking and very married. Erica had their third child about four months ago.” Charlotte paused. “You’re really getting pulled into the past, aren’t you? Are you sure you’re prepared to deal with all that again?”

“I don’t think I have a choice. I’m just afraid . . .”

“Of what?” Charlotte prodded.

“That I’ll find out I didn’t know Abby at all.”

“You knew your sister. Don’t let someone else’s doubts become yours.”

“It’s hard not to. I’d accepted that we were never going to have answers. But now everything has changed. Now I have to know what happened.”

“That may not be possible, Lauren. The case went cold because there weren’t any clues.”

“That’s what I thought, until Mark Devlin came up with something the police didn’t. Now I wonder what else got missed—what other secrets people are keeping.”

“Then start mingling,” Charlotte said. “Because if there’s one thing the ladies in this town do well, it’s gossip about other people’s business.”

The baby shower yielded no secrets, which was a relief, since Lauren was still trying to absorb the new information she’d learned. She’d enjoyed reconnecting with old friends and being part of the community again, though. It surprised her how easily she’d fit right back in.

Upon returning home, she’d spent several hours cleaning out her father’s kitchen, restocking the cupboards, and getting rid of all the expired food items. She’d washed the floor, scrubbed the inside of the refrigerator, and made a nice dinner. Her father had seemed to enjoy the fresh grilled halibut, green salad, and vegetables. He’d taught her how to clean and cook fish when she was a small girl, and for some insane reason she’d wanted to impress him with her cooking skills.

Of course, the best part of her meal had been the fresh berry tart with lemon cream that she’d whipped up. Lightly dusted with sugar, it had been pretty as a
picture.

Smiling to herself, Lauren started the dishwasher, then went into the living room. In his bedroom, her father was singing along to one of his Italian opera CDs and seemed in a great mood. She’d decided to table his medical issues and living situation for one night, and it had been a good decision. It had been nice to spend time with him without being in conflict.

She picked up the Sunday newspaper and organized it on the coffee table. This room needed a good cleaning, too. Maybe she’d do one room a day until the house was sparkling and reorganized. Then she’d hire a cleaning service to keep it up and find someone to cook for her dad.

Heading down the hall, she stopped at the linen closet to grab some sheets and blankets. She was tired of sleeping on the pull-out couch. It was time to brave the memories and make up her old bed.

Stepping inside the bedroom drove the upbeat feeling right out of her. She dumped the sheets on the mattress, already having second thoughts.

She sat on her bed, thinking about all the times she and Abby had talked after the lights went out. They’d speak in whispers, hoping their parents wouldn’t hear them. But eventually someone would say something funny, and they’d start giggling. Then her mother would come down the hall and tell them to be quiet. The silence would last five minutes after the door shut, then they’d break into laughter again.

When Abby got scared, she’d crawl into bed with Lauren, and Lauren felt a wave of sadness as she thought about all those times she’d told Abby it would be fine. There weren’t any monsters, there weren’t any bad guys. They were safe. Everything would be okay. And Abby had believed her. But Lauren had been wrong about the monsters.

What else had she been wrong about?

Lisa had assured her that Abby hadn’t been up to anything, but perhaps Lisa hadn’t known everything, either.

If Abby had had a secret, she would have written about it in her journal—the journal no one had ever found. Had it been in her book bag that day? Or had Abby hidden it as she had done so many times before? After Abby had caught Lauren peeking in her diary, she’d made a game of hiding it all over the house: at the bottom of the laundry hamper, in the back of the linen closet, under their parents’ bed, on a shelf in the garage.

But if Abby had hidden it somewhere, wouldn’t her father have found it in the past thirteen years?

He’d never touched this room, though—and the rest of the rooms were piled high with clutter. Could the diary still be somewhere in the house?

Lauren went to Abby’s desk, where she went through the drawers, then tackled the dresser. Her parents and the police had searched the room after the murder, so it was ridiculous to think she’d find anything now. But she felt the need to do something. After looking in all the obvious places, she found
herself slowing down, studying the photos, reading the birthday cards and progress reports.

For the first time, Lauren was starting to remember the good years they’d had together. Abby had been far more than just a tragic victim.

Lauren pulled a yearbook off the shelf and flipped it open. The first few pages were completely blank, which surprised her. Where were all the notes from Abby’s friends? Then she realized the yearbook had come out after Abby died. This yearbook was the one that Abby had most looked forward to seeing, because she’d spent all year working as a yearbook staff photographer.

As Lauren skimmed through the book, she wondered which photos Abby had taken. There weren’t any credits and she knew her sister had taken hundreds of shots at every event, hoping one or two might make the cut.

Hundreds of photos
. . . The thought teased at her mind. Abby and the two other staff photographers had loved catching people in candid, often embarrassing moments. It was high school, so the more humiliating the photo, the more fun it was.

Where had all those photos ended up? They would tell the story of the last year of Abby’s life. If Abby had had a secret, a boyfriend no one knew about, was it possible she’d captured him on film? The police might have looked through the yearbooks, but would they have looked through every picture that had been taken?

She’d go down to the school tomorrow and find
out if there were any photo archives. It was a long shot, but Mark Devlin’s comments had rattled her, and Lisa’s explanations had given her even more to think about.

She turned to the junior class section and ran down the class photos until she reached Jason Marlow. His face rang a distant bell. He was definitely attractive, with light brown wavy hair, brown eyes, and a flirty smile. Her sister might have had a crush on him, and he was still in town. Perhaps she should pay him a visit, as well. She’d been a fool to think she could come home to so much unfinished business and not want to finish it.

She closed the yearbook and rolled her neck, trying to ease her tight muscles. It was getting late; maybe she’d spend one more night on the couch. There was only so much of the past she could take.

She left the room, shutting the door. The opera music had stopped, and she heard her father bustling around in the kitchen.

When she entered the room, she was stunned by the mess. Her father stood at the stove, whipping eggs in a frying pan. There were bowls all over the counter as well as milk, eggs, flour, and butter. Pieces of bread were sticking out of the toaster. A pot of water was boiling over. Her dad moved to the sink, took out a glass, filled it with water, then put it back in the cupboard.

“Dad, what are you doing?” she asked.

“It’s time for dinner. I’m hungry.”

“We ate two hours ago. I made you halibut.”

Her father laughed. “You haven’t made me fish in years. I bet you don’t even remember how.”

“I made it tonight,” she reminded him. “You said you liked it.”

“How do you want your eggs? Sunny side up or scrambled?” He moved back to the stove and started to whip the eggs. “Do you know the trick to the best scrambled eggs?”

“What’s that?”

“Water, not milk.” He set down the whisk and walked out of the room. She waited a second, then finished scrambling the eggs. When he didn’t return, she turned off the burners and went searching for him. He was in his bedroom and had put on his pajamas. He was fiddling with the TV channels.

“Dad, aren’t you going to eat your eggs?” she asked, feeling a heavy weight in her heart.

He looked at her in confusion. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?” He jumped to his feet and backed toward the far wall, his eyes growing wide with fear.

“I’m Lauren, your daughter.”

“Lauren doesn’t live here anymore. She hates me. She won’t come home.”

“Dad, it’s me. I’m Lauren,” she repeated, desperate to bring him back from wherever he’d gone.

“Go away. Get out. I’ll call the police.”

It was clear that he had no idea who she was. He was scared of her, and she was terrified by what was
happening to him. “Dad,” she said. “Please, try to focus on my face. I need you to remember who I am. I’m your daughter, Lauren. I’ve come home to take care of you.”

Her father looked at her for a long moment. He blinked his eyes rapidly and pressed his hand to his temple, as if he had a terrible headache.

“Dad? Are you all right? Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“Doctor,” he echoed. “What—what are you talking about, sweetheart? What are you doing in here? Did you need something? I was just about to go to bed.”

Did “sweetheart” mean her, Abby, her mother? Who the hell knew? Frustrated tears welled in her eyes.

“Lauren?” he questioned.

The reality of his condition hit her hard. Despite his clear, lucid moments, he was slipping away from her. Someday he wouldn’t come back. Someday he wouldn’t know who she was. Someday she’d lose him forever.

She’d told herself for years that she didn’t need a father. She’d stopped crying when he didn’t call on her birthday or on Christmas, pretending it was fine. But he’d always been alive and well; she could go see him if she really wanted to. But now he was disappearing right in front of her, and it was the most frightening thing she’d ever seen.

“Turn off the light when you go, Lauren,” her father said as he got into bed. “I’ll see you in the
morning.”

She watched him settle into the pillows, then she hit the light switch and closed his door.

She walked into the kitchen and picked up the frying pan, dumped the eggs into the trash. She put the milk, butter, and remaining eggs back in the fridge. Looking around, she saw not just the mess in the kitchen, but the mess in her life. Her well-controlled existence was in complete chaos, and she had no idea how to fix any of it.

She couldn’t stay in this house. She needed air. She needed to walk off the adrenaline coursing through her body. She needed—something.

Grabbing her coat off the rack, she headed out the back door.

Shane had spent so much time on the water in the past ten years that he’d become accustomed to the roll of the waves under his feet, the slap of water against the boat, the smell of salt in the air, and the moonlight dancing off the ocean. He sat down in a deck chair and opened up a beer, propping his feet on the rail of his boat. He could see Ned Jamison’s boat, dark and empty. Had Lauren managed to convince her father to leave town yet?

He drank his beer, enjoying the cool slide of the liquid down his throat. Lauren had been on his mind all day. Had she gone to the police and told them that he’d broken into the law offices the night Abby was killed? He didn’t know why he’d told her that
after keeping it a secret for so many years. Maybe it was the sadness in her blue eyes when she spoke of Abby, or the fear he’d heard in her voice when she wondered if he and Abby had hooked up. Maybe it was just that he’d
wanted
to tell her.