“It was something I only spoke about with a few people in strict confidence. If someone is going around and bringing this up again—” She was getting worked up, her gaze flicking back and forth between Allie and Sam.
“I got the impression they didn’t hear it from you, but from their own personal observations,” he said, chivalrously trying to deflect attention from Meredith. “I gather there were signs that couldn’t be overlooked. I’m assuming by your reaction it was true?”
Tiffany took some deep breaths, focusing her attention on the carpet at her feet. “If I tell you, I want to know what you’re going to do with it. Why this information is necessary. And why the police. This is very private, and my kids—” She broke off, her hand to her mouth. “I told Kevin, of course. But since I gave the baby up for adoption, I thought it would be too painful for the kids to know.”
“We only need to know one thing. Was the baby Mr. Williams’s?”
Tiffany stood abruptly. Her whole demeanor changed. A rigid mask slipped over her face, and she gained control of herself.
“Sam. I don’t know why this is coming up now, or why you would think we were ever close enough that I would share such intimate details of my life. I’d like you both to go now.”
Neither of them tried to object. Allie didn’t know how Sam was feeling, but she felt like she needed a shower. The bright, warm sun that greeted them didn’t seem appropriate for the mood she was in as they walked to the car. The door shut firmly behind them, although Allie was certain Tiffany was watching their progress to the car.
“She didn’t exactly deny it, did she?” Allie said when they pulled out of the neighborhood.
“No. I might try to contact her again. But not just yet. Maybe in a couple of days. See if she’ll talk with me alone.”
“No, just leave it. I don’t think she had anything to do with Mr. Williams’s murder.”
“How could you possibly say that? You just admitted she hadn’t exactly denied the possibility she and Mr. Williams had been an item, or that he was the father.”
“Think about it. If it were true, she would have been very pregnant and very scared at the time he disappeared. How would she have dumped his body? Or driven his car without help? And why kill him to begin with?”
“True.”
“I just don’t think that would have been the act of a terrified, pregnant teen. Besides, the woman I just met, if she knew someone was in any way responsible for his death, she would have come forward to the police long ago and let them know her concerns.”
He exhaled. “I think you’re being naïve. It’s like you told me before, when you were afraid to admit there was a connection between the fire and the discovery of the body. Good people don’t want to accept the worst of others. Even if Tiffany suspected someone she knew might had done it, she probably would dismiss the possibility out of hand. No one wants to believe someone they know and like could be so coldblooded.”
“I’m not naïve,” Allie said, bristling at his comment. But his gaze remained on the road. “We’re overlooking the obvious. We should identify the woman who wrote those letters. She’s the connection. And if ‘E’ didn’t do it, she might lead us to whoever did. Such as the jealous husband?”
“She didn’t do it,” Sam said so forcefully it left Allie stunned. He looked away, and they both saw the light had changed to red. He slammed hard on the brakes, and she grabbed the dash to steel herself.
Then she realized exactly what he’d said. And the implications. “She, who, Sam? Who is ‘E’?” A cold prickling crept up her spine.
He wiped his hand over his face. He sounded more tired, resigned, when he said almost pleadingly, “Allie, can’t you just trust me here? Please believe me, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
She studied him carefully. It only took her a second for it all to come together. The knowing look Señora Sanchez had given him when she’d talked about the affair. An affair with a married woman with a kid who was a student at St. Andrew’s. And Allie remembered seeing Mrs. Fratto—Elizabeth Fratto—at every soccer game that Sam had played in. She’d thought, at the time, it was just her being a devoted parent, especially since Sam’s dad never showed up to stuff like that—he’d always been too busy. But maybe Mrs. Fratto had been there to see a lot more than Sam play soccer…
Maybe to stay connected to a secret lover?
Allie recalled Sam saying his parent’s marriage had been a lie. And his reaction when she’d wanted to turn the letters in to the police, how moody and distant he’d become. Had he mentioned finding the letters to his mother that night? And then had Elizabeth Fratto, desperate to keep up the pretense of her life, come to destroy them, knocking out Allie in the process? But she hadn’t found the letters. She must realize they were with the police now.
“Your mother wrote those letters, didn’t she?” Allie said. It sounded like an accusation, but it was meant to. He’d been withholding this from her. Something so vital.
“Yeah. I think so.” He sighed heavily. “I mean, I didn’t have the letters to compare with, but it definitely looked like her writing.”
Anger coursed through Allie. Along with something else. Disappointment, maybe? After she’d shared everything with him—including her previous crush. But he hadn’t shown her the same trust. Not even close. “You were willing to protect her identity, even at the risk of my safety?”
“It’s not like that. My mother isn’t the one behind all this stuff going on. She couldn’t be.”
“And you’re saying this as an impartial observer?” Allie drawled. “Hardly, Sam. You’re too close, and you can’t see the obvious.”
“No,” he said. “I know she couldn’t have done this.”
“She had access to the school. She could have gotten downstairs to those boxes, set them on fire. She knew I would be downstairs looking through everything. Sam, she was at the meeting.”