Never smile at strangers

Going on no sleep, and her adrenaline fading, Haley stood at the edge of the Seacrests’ property, breathing in the damp morning odors. It was nine o’clock, about twelve hours after Austin’s suicide. She hadn’t left the property since the previous night. Neither had Erica, who now sat next to her, writing furiously in a notebook.

Half of Grand Trespass had shown up. Everyone peered from the property line at the east side of the Seacrests’ house, hoping, but too far away, to get a glimpse of the excavation that was taking place in the pond.

Detective Guitreaux had told Haley and Erica to go home a countless number of times. But when they’d refused, he gave them blankets, and told them they could nap in his car until there was more news.

Instead of napping, though, they poured fourth cups of coffee and sat, cross-legged, at the entrance of the woods, a few yards from the pond, the blankets tight across their chilled bodies.

The sky broke every now and then, light drizzle falling, thumping against the leaves of the tall oak trees, soaking the blankets, but Haley just sat next to her friend, her lips pressed too hard against the Styrofoam cup.

They hadn’t talked much since the evening before. They only spoke when they had to, to the authorities, and to their families who had shown up an hour before dawn. Becky and Haley’s mother were standing near Rachel, Pamela, and Erica’s father on the side of the small house. There was a policeman standing guard, keeping the spectators at bay.

Haley was still in complete shock at what had happened, and at what was happening now right before her eyes. So shocked she wasn’t even completely sure what kind of news she was waiting for.

But when one of the four divers pulled out the first body, dread slammed into her body, and she wished for miles of scorching pavement or a grove of anthills to escape in.

When the body was safely on the embankment and the plastic bag encasing it had been sliced open, the sheriff called out: “It’s a man!”

Mrs. Perron, who stood next to her husband a few yards away from Haley and Erica, began wailing. Haley supposed it was from relief.

She stood and squinted to get a better look at the body, but she was too far away and didn’t dare walk closer to the overgrown pond. She couldn’t risk one of the FBI agents forcing her to leave. Not before she knew whether or not Tiffany was in the water.

“Haley.”

It was Mac. He stepped out of the woods and took the wet blanket from around her shoulders and draped a jacket in its place.

Haley started to sob.

“Shhh. . .” Mac whispered, enveloping her in his strong arms. She breathed in his familiar scent and suddenly felt much safer. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

“Here are two more!” a diver on the far side of the pond called out.

Haley turned back to the pond. Mrs. Perron’s howls pierced the air again, and her husband grabbed her by the shoulders. Then, he and a police officer led her away. She kicked and screamed, but in the end they won out.

“Lord Almighty,” the sheriff said, making the sign of the cross. “Another one.”

Ten minutes later, while Mac held her close, Haley watched as they pulled the second and third bodies from the water. She was nauseated.

A few minutes later, they sliced open the first lawn bag. “It’s in really bad shape,” she heard the Sheriff say. “But there’s no way this can be the Perron or Greene girl. This is the body of an older woman, and the decay is much too progressive for their timeline.”

“Any women besides the Perron or Greene girl go missing around here in the last several years?” Guitreaux asked.

The Sheriff shook his head. “Not that have been reported.” He knelt down, so that he was closer. “Well, lookie here. A backpack.”

A backpack had been thrown in the bag with the body. The Sheriff muttered something about initials embroidered on the backpack’s front flap. Then, he read them aloud.

Suddenly, Erica shrieked and her notebook tumbled to the ground. Her voice trembled as she shouted: “What? What did you just say?”

“Erica?” Haley said, reaching out to her friend. “Erica, what’s wrong? What’s. . . going on?”

Erica glanced at her, her eyes wide, but she said nothing. The girl shuffled stiffly past Haley, toward the pond. Everyone’s attention was fixed on the body and backpack so no one yelled at her to leave. She kicked off her flip flops, bent and turned one over. The left one. Then she straightened and walked closer to the water’s edge.

She started weeping.

“What the hell?” Mac muttered.

Startled, Haley watched her friend bend over again and plant her palms against her knees. Haley hurried over to her.

“Miss, you can’t be out here right now,” the female FBI agent said, finally noticing Erica. Erica gazed into the female FBI agent’s face, her lips set in a thin line and tears rolling down her cheeks. Then her attention went back to the pond.

The agent touched the girl’s shoulder. “C’mon with me, Miss Duvall.”

Erica shrieked and pulled away.

Suddenly, Erica’s father was at her side. He brushed the agent away and pulled his daughter into his arms. “It’s okay, hon. At least we know now. It’s all going to be just fine. We’ll get through this.”

Haley’s head was swimming. Austin, the pond, the decaying bodies laying next to each other at its edge, Mrs. Perron screaming at the top of her lungs, Mac being his old self once again, Erica reacting so oddly. . . everything was just too much, and became a blur to her. This wasn’t reality. It couldn’t be.

Then she heard it. It came from the sheriff.

They had sliced the third bag open. “Looks like her. The Perron girl. Heaven help that poor bastard.”

EPILOGUE

Six weeks later. . .

Rachel walked from room to room, her footsteps echoing through the empty house. She still couldn’t wrap her head around everything that had happened. She dug in her pocket for another tissue and blotted her cheeks and eyes. Then she headed downstairs.

Although the house was empty, it looked so much smaller than it had just six weeks ago. Smaller and entirely different. Like they’d never lived there at all.

She walked to the kitchen and ran her finger along the wall by the backdoor where, for years, she’d measured her children’s heights. Although it had been long ago, it only felt like yesterday when Kelsey had been small enough to hold in her arms. Only yesterday when Tom still fawned over her.

She thought of the young man who had taken so much from her family. From the town. Of his sickness and the strange fascination he seemed to have had with her.

Why me? she wondered for the millionth time. “And why. . . kill Tom?”

But she knew why. He’d outlined it all in the letter, part of a package addressed to her that the authorities found in the Seacrests’ mailbox the night of his suicide. It contained her gold bracelet, strands of hair, and a note confessing that he had been inside her house, had borrowed her belongings, and was very sorry. That he wasn’t well and had finally come to the conclusion that he never would be.

It had made total sense to him. Protect her and her honor by killing her cheating husband. He’d been sick alright. Just thinking about him sent chills up her spine.

The kids were still struggling to come to terms with Tom’s death. Especially little Tommy. His father had been his world. Unfortunately, along with Tom’s death had come a newfound hatred in Tommy’s heart for Rachel.

She didn’t understand it. It hadn’t been her fault. Besides, she’d lost someone, too. Someone who had once meant everything to her.

But Tommy was a child. One day he’d understand that none of it had been her fault. At least she hoped he would.