“Was the name redacted?” Vivien asked. “Or was the tipster called ‘anonymous’ through the whole document?”
“You know, I’m not sure, but Peter might know. He wasn’t allowed to copy or take pictures of the files.”
“Doesn’t that seem weird to you?” Vivien asked. “I mean, it’s a thirty-year-old closed case and Dad’s long gone, so…”
Eli shrugged. “I asked Peter, and he said it’s at the chief’s discretion. Or that the FBI got involved at some point, because they are very tight with clearances and files no matter how old the case.”
Crista folded her arms, her dark brows knit with the strain of the conversation. She rose from her seat and walked to the railing, leaning against it to watch Nolie play, sighing repeatedly as she put her hand on her stomach like she could feel the stress right in her gut.
“Our mother insisted it was Artie,” she said suddenly, turning toward the rest of them. “Why would she make up something like that?”
Vivien’s posture was calm but cautious as she leaned forward, her gaze on Crista. “Maybe she believed it to be true. Maybe she needed someone to blame. Maybe Roger told her that to ease his own guilt. There are a lot of reasons, but it doesn’t necessarily make it a fact. Anonymous doesn’t automatically translate into Artie.”
“Thank you!” Tessa exclaimed. “Nothing translates into Artie.”
“But he’s not exonerated,” Crista said.
Eli watched the flicker of anger in Tessa’s eyes, the way her lips pressed together before she spoke. “If the source was anonymous, then that means there’s no proof it was him. That means my father doesn’t have to be the villain in this story.”
“You want to believe that,” Crista replied. “I get it. But it also doesn’t prove it was someone else.”
“Remember,” Eli said, feeling a fight brewing. “Peter said he has connections and some more trails to follow. We could still learn something more definitive. But with this question?—”
Crista let out a sharp breath. “What question? Maggie said Artie turned him in and that was the cause of their big falling out. Why would she lie? Why else would they end a long friendship?”
“Kate and Jo Ellen are coming in a few weeks,” he said. “So we can?—”
“I can’t.” Crista threw both hands in the air, one of her common gestures when she was losing the battle with her emotions. “I can’t do this. I can’t have this conversation or let Artie off the hook for being anonymous. I don’t think I can continue to hobnob with…his family.”
“Crista!” Vivien launched out of her seat. “Don’t do this. We’ve made so much progress. You and Tessa and?—”
“That’s a Band-Aid that isn’t going to heal the wound,” she said, taking a step away. “And the wound is deep. Dad died in prison. Do you think that would have happened if he’d been home? Mom would have called an ambulance at the first pang in his chest and he could very well be alive today. But he was alone, in a cell!”
Tears sprang to her eyes, surprising Eli because she hadn’t cried in so many days.
“You can’t blame me for your father’s death,” Tessa ground out.
“I’m not blaming you,” Crista insisted. “I just…promised my mother and…” She turned again, swiping at tears she obviously didn’t want to shed. “I’ve lost sight of everything.”
Her murmured words were carried on the breeze, but Eli heard them and he and Vivien both went to her.
“Come on, Cris,” Eli said. “You know that’s not true. Nolie’s made progress.”
At the mention of Nolie’s name, they all looked down at the beach, watching the child dance in the sand while Aunt Pittypat scampered around her. Lacey was clapping and singing a song, the two of them laughing in the sunshine, bathed in what Eli thought of as the enchantment of Destin.
Crista looked at him, something dark flickering in her eyes. Guilt, maybe. A mother’s worry and a daughter’s doubt. Then her expression hardened and she pushed off the railing, past all of them.
“Anthony’s right,” she said softly. “She’s just playing. Not learning.”
Tessa flinched like she’d been struck.
“Are you kidding me?” Her voice wavered, but anger burned behind it. “You promised you’d stay if she passed the third-grade test. We’re taking it today. That’s why she’s down there. We thought she could decompress and?—”
Crista shook her head, taking a step back. “I can’t do it, Tessa. I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve been programmed my whole life to hate a Wylie.”
“Programmedis right,” Tessa said with a bitter laugh. “Do you ever think for yourself, Crista Merritt? Or just follow the orders of your Queen Maggie or your husband?”
Crista stared at her, breathing so hard her nostrils flared. She opened her mouth to say something, then slammed it shut.
