Bitterroot Lake

“How did you know he lived in Deer Park?” Sarah asked.

“I googled him,” Janine said sharply, but a flush crept up her cheeks.

“What? You saw him, didn’t you? Recently, I mean. Did you at least tell Leo?” Not waiting for an answer, she swiveled her attention from Janine to Holly and back. “We have to tell Leo. About your letter and about—I can’t believe you saw him and you never said. You sat right here and you never said.”

“It was more than a year ago.” Janine’s voice held a note of irritation. “I’d delivered an order of desserts to a restaurant downtown and when I walked out, there he was. Standing on the sidewalk, in a suit, talking to so

meone. It was near the court—I assumed he came down for some legal thing.”

“Did you talk about—what happened?” Holly asked. “About any of us?”

“We didn’t talk at all. I just stood there and he—” She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard. “He recognized me right away, I could tell, and he had this look on his face. A sneer, like he thought he had some kind of power over me. Then he just walked away, like I wasn’t worth acknowledging.”

“He didn’t threaten you?” Nic’s tone was probing but careful.

Slowly, Janine shook her head.

Unbelievable. This was all so unbelievable. Sarah scanned the letter again. Unless … She sat back and folded her arms, hands gripping her elbows. “Unless there’s something else only you two knew. You two, and Lucas.”

“No,” Janine snapped. “I told you everything that happened. How he got me into the cabin. What he did, what I said. How he wouldn’t stop and I finally got away and ran. You saw me, all of you. And I told the sheriff everything, fat lot of good it did me.”

“But the letter,” Nic said, “is suggesting there’s something you didn’t say.”

“There isn’t,” Janine said, leaning forward, biting off the words. “There isn’t. We told them everything.”

No, they hadn’t, Sarah knew, but it wasn’t Janine keeping the secret. Secrets, plural. Did Nic and Janine know Holly had invited the boys to the lake so she could cozy up to Jeremy? Did they know how much Holly hated her, envied everything she had? Not that her sister didn’t have a good life, with a great job and a trendy urban condo. Let it go, her therapist had said. He didn’t reciprocate, never even knew. If you want a relationship with her, you have to let it go. The memory of the admonition started the stupid song playing in her head. Abby had been eleven or twelve when Frozen came out, too old to put on her favorite princess dress when they went to the movie theater, but not too old for a tiara. Sarah had worn one, too, borrowed for the occasion. Abby’s tiara sat on a shelf in her bedroom, not part of the ridiculously large wardrobe she’d taken to college. The image of that tiara, shining into the silence in the house in Seattle, tore at Sarah’s heart.

At this rate, she would have no heart left, the muscles and arteries ripped to shreds for the birds to pick.

Deep breaths, her therapist would say. She inhaled, heard how thin and ragged her breath was, how short the exhale. Focus. In, out, in, out.

As for the rest—well, Holly knew part and Jeremy had known part. But no one had known it all, not even her therapist. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything now.

“Sarah? Sarah.” The sound of her name brought her back to the room, to Nic pressing a hand on her arm.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She shook Nic off, tried to shake off their concern. She was tired of everyone’s concern, at the same time that she craved it. What a mess she was.

“Okay,” Nic echoed, not sounding convinced. “The question is, what does the letter writer want? Or what did he want, if it was Lucas?”

“You don’t seriously think it wasn’t him?” Holly said.

Nic held out both hands. “I’m saying we’ll never get to the bottom of this if we don’t consider every possibility. We can’t start with a conclusion and get anywhere.”

Across the table, Janine closed her eyes. Though she was forty-seven, she looked like a teenager right now, younger than Abby, and scared as hell. Sarah ached to comfort her. But that wouldn’t help them get at the truth, would it?

Janine opened her eyes, exhaling heavily. “Okay. Every possibility, right? No matter how unlikely. No matter what other—issues it might create.”

All for one and one for all, Sarah thought. She stifled the urge to squirm. Any movement more substantial than the flicker of an eyelash and the fragile peace would shatter.

Janine took another deep breath before speaking. “What if the letter isn’t referring to the wreck? What if it’s referring to my mother?”

“Oh, God,” Sarah said. “But what would that have to do with Lucas?”

“Or with me?” Holly asked.

“Nothing, as far as I know. But you said”—Janine glanced at Nic—“every possibility.”

“Go on.”