Never smile at strangers

Maybe what she was saying in Provost’s was her way of talking about Mac without really talking about Mac. Tiffany had never been able to keep a secret. She always told Haley everything, even stuff she wished she’d never heard. Maybe she felt the urge to share and was going to leave the fact that it was Mac out of the equation? Of course, it all sounded far-fetched and ludicrous to her, but Mac’s one lie had opened a can of worms. And besides, she was drunk and she knew it.

“You ever flirt with her?”

“What? Flirt with who?”

“Tiffany.”

“For Chrissakes why would you ask me that?”

“Why wouldn’t you? She’s gorgeous. Any guy would be attracted to her. She’s my best friend and I love her, but I know who she is and what she’s capable of.”

Mac glared at her. “I never flirted with her because you’re my girl. Besides, she’s nothing but trouble. You can see that a mile away. Look, I told you, I just gave her a ride. I don’t like where this is going, Haley. You sound like you don’t trust me.”

She had a flashback of the cover of the pornographic magazine and laughed. But it came out meaner than she’d intended.

A vein in Mac’s neck pulsed. He was angry.

But in her drunken state, she didn’t care. She thought it somehow fair to make him feel some of the same hurt she felt.

“So, you’re telling me I should trust you?” she asked, her words tumbling out sloppily.

There was an odd expression on his face, one she wasn’t familiar with. “You want me to leave? Because if you do, just say the word.”

Her head ached. She rubbed her temples. “I don’t. . . know what I want. I don’t know anything these days.”

“What’s that mean? You sayin’ yore not sure you want me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Christ, you don’tknow?”

The room was silent for a while. She was sure Mac was waiting for her to say something to the contrary. To take it all back. But she didn’t. Part of her wanted to because she knew she wasn’t in the best state of mind, but the other part—the one that won out—couldn’t.

When he broke the silence, there was fury in his eyes. “Fine, I’m not goin’ to beg you to be my girl if you don’t want to. You just let me know if and when you change your mind.”

And before she could fully process everything that had just happened, he left.

Chapter 40

RACHEL WAS TIRED of Detective Guitreaux’s impromptu visits and his endless string of questions. It had been three weeks since Tiffany’s disappearance and he was still interested in her. Why was that? What were people in town telling him?

When he responded to her call late Friday evening, she explained what she had seen outside Kelsey’s window, but she didn’t like his reaction. He had just studied her, as though trying to gauge whether or not he believed her. Like her call was some part of a master plan to manipulate him into thinking that someone other than Tom or she was responsible for Tiffany’s disappearance.

He had walked out to the backyard and trained his flashlight on the tree line for no more than two minutes, then left.

Some detective work.

Before he left, he’d said to her, “I find it disturbing that you let your daughter run the streets at night. Don’t you remember that a girl went missing?”

Let?

She hadn’t let Kelsey do anything. What did he expect for her to do? Chain her daughter to her bed? Didn’t he know that teenagers had a mind of their own, and that she was doing all she could do?

Or was she?

And Tom was another story. He didn’t seem fazed about Kelsey sneaking out. He had told her to handle it. She understood that he didn’t care about her anymore, but didn’t he still care about his children?

Tom didn’t even seem concerned by the detective’s countless visits. He would simply hand Guitreaux a beer, invite him into his office, and close the door.

Secrets.

What secrets was he telling the detective that he didn’t want her to overhear?

Grimly, Rachel realized that things always had a way of changing. She just never imagined Tom doing so. . . not this much.

After her classes Monday afternoon, she worked on the house. She was determined to have it spotless each and every time the detective came by una

Rachel picked up Tom’s khaki shorts, underwear, and a golf shirt that he’d worn the previous day off the floor. She checked the shorts’ pockets, then went into the bathroom and ran a rag over a small mound of crusted toothpaste he’d left on the counter. Next, she used the rag to scoop up a pile of short hairs from his electric shaver.

After the master bed and bath, she decided to check the children’s rooms. Kelsey’s room was a zoo. Rachel stood in the middle of it and looked around. A ceramic ballerina lay toppled over on her vanity table. A can of hairspray lay on its side on top of her bed, and layers of clothes were strewn all over the carpet. The room smelled moldy. Wondering if there was a wet towel in Kelsey’s closet, Rachel walked across the room and opened the door.

“What are you doing in here?” A voice demanded.

Rachel jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the house. “Dammit, Kelsey. You frightened me!”

“You were snooping!” the girl snapped, standing in the doorway. Her blue eyes were shining behind the black eyeliner she wore too much of.

Despite the July heat, she was wearing all black. A black t-shirt, long, black baggy shorts. Her bare legs appeared unusually pale against all the dark material.

“I was not snooping!” Rachel cried, then realized how defensive she sounded. Calm down, she told herself.

“I saw you!”

“Kelsey, do not raise your voice to me,” Rachel said as calmly as she could.

“Don’t snoop in my room!”

“You know you’re grounded, and are not to go anywhere but the library until school starts, young lady. Where’ve you been?”

Her daughter pressed her lips together. “The library,” she said sarcastically.

Like hell, Rachel thought. She was rebelling. Rachel remembered rebelling, too, at her age. Hell, she wanted to rebel now.

Maybe she was.

“Kelsey, we talked about your punishment for sneaking out at night. I was serious about–”

But before Rachel could finish her sentence, Kelsey spun on her heel and charged down the long hallway. Seconds later, the front door slammed shut.

Rachel hurried to a window and watched her daughter run across the lawn. She watched until she disappeared behind the next door neighbor’s house.

She sighed. She’d always imagined a much different life for herself. These days this life was no different than a prison—for her and her children. She couldn’t contain them, and she couldn’t contain herself.

She caught a glimpse of herself in her daughter’s vanity mirror. Her blonde hair looked like uncared for wheat. There were fine lines on her forehead and circles beneath her eyes.

She shuffled down the long hallway, to the kitchen, and grabbed the last bottle of wine from its rack. While uncorking it, she looked out the window.

Mac, the young man who had cut their lawn for years was walking to the shed. He’d grown into quite the handsome man. And so polite. She hoped little Tommy was as polite around people as Mac was. Mac had always had a certain charisma, too, even when he’d barely been a teenager. She thought of the cute little girl he dated, Haley Landry. The one from the diner. She bet Mac made Haley very happy. He didn’t seem the type to stray. No, not all men were like Tom.

She downed a glass of wine and watched Mac until he was out of view. She poured another glass before walking back to the kitchen table. She sat, thinking, sipping, and pouring for a long while.