Bitterroot Lake

“I know, everyone thought she deserved what she got. And no denying, she had problems, long before …” Peggy waved her hand, as if to wave away the memory of what Sue Nielsen had done. “But when she was sober, she was nice. And funny.”

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed. “How did you know her?”

“Pie, of course.”

“What?”

“We bonded over pie. I used to treat myself to a piece now and then, at the Spruce, when I was feeling the need for a little sweetness. Sue was a terrific waitress, and we had some great conversations.”

This was a side of her mother she’d never seen.

“You can tell, sometimes,” Peggy continued, “when someone needs a friend. So I stopped by more often.”

“For pie.”

“Or just coffee and a chat. To keep an eye on her. You and Holly were off in Missoula, and so was Janine. Connor was in high school, busy with sports and girls and who knows what else.”

“But then …”

“But then, we had staffing changes at the school and I picked up more hours. Something had to give.”

“Pie.”

“You graduated and moved out to Seattle. And you know what happened.”

She knew. But why had she never known that Peggy felt guilty over Sue Nielsen’s fall—or plunge—off the wagon and into hell?

Guilt, the legacy that keeps on giving.

They finished in silence, then moved to the sewing room. Part of the fun of hide-and-seek games in the lodge had been dashing out the door that opened onto the balcony, then disappearing around the corner and sneaking back in through her grandparents’ bedroom.

Sarah was dusting the gold-framed pictures on top of the bookcase when they heard a car approach. Peggy went to the window and pushed the lace curtain aside, as Sarah had done this morning when Leo arrived. Had that really just been this morning?

“Well, that’s a relief. You won’t need to buy a new phone.”

“I better go talk to her.”

Downstairs, Janine stood by the windows, arms crossed, staring out at the lake. At the sound of Sarah’s footsteps, she spoke. “I didn’t run off with your phone.”

“I didn’t think you had. Janine, I know you didn’t kill Lucas. I know you only went to see him because …” Sarah interrupted herself, aware of Peggy coming up behind her.

“Because of the letter,” Janine said.

“Letter? What letter?” Peggy asked. “Why did you go see him?”

“I know,” Sarah said. “Everyone who knows you knows you couldn’t have hurt him. Even though he hurt you. Even though he threatened you.”

“What are you talking about?” Peggy said. “What letter?”

“I drove into town.” Janine sank into the nearest chair, a peeled pine armchair, the back a dark cordovan leather, the seat cushion reupholstered with a vintage Pendleton blanket. “Drove down every street we lived on, my mother and I. Past every run-down hovel, though most of them are gone now, replaced with cute little houses. Town is very cute now.”

That could have been a compliment or a put-down.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Janine continued. “When I think of Deer Park, I don’t think of those places. I think of the lodge and the lake. Despite what happened with Lucas. This is a good place.”

“I am so sorry. When the wreck happened on the highway, we lost each other, too. I hate that.”

Janine clenched her jaw and nodded. “But would you and Jeremy have gotten together, if it hadn’t been for— everything?”