As I understand it, the kids were told that their dad had business to attend to, so they had to leave the lake early. They didn’t make a fuss. At first, I thought they were profoundly adaptable little beings, but I found out they were headed to Debbie’s mother’s house—where there’s a pool and the promise of an arcade and chocolate cake. So much for attributing superior coping skills to them.
Becca peers up at me, her big, wide puppy-dog eyes shimmering beneath a thin coating of tears. “Thank you, Izzy, for being our friend. I love you.” She wraps her arms around me like she will never let go.
And that’s it. That’s all it takes. There’s no magic umbrella to whisk me away. Nope. I’m stuck right here, ill-prepared for this moment, and there’s no preventing the waterworks that spill out of my eyes.
A pit opens in my stomach, so deep I fear it will swallow me whole. The cry that emanates from this well of sadness is the result of the most genuine, loving feeling I’ve experienced in ages. Like miniature radio antennas, the little ones pick up on my sorrow and start to cry as well. In a matter of seconds, the three of us are ahuddled, blubbering mess until Debbie honks the horn, breaking the spell.
“Kids, let’s go. In the car, please,” she calls out through an open window. “Grandma is expecting us.”
We wipe our eyes at the same time. I help them into their car seats, adjusting their buckles and making sure everything is secure. This gives me one last chance to ruffle Brody’s hair and brush Becca’s cheek.
I can’t believe how close we’ve become since that initial car ride. “No fighting over the stuffie,” I say, patting Becca’s tiger on the head. Brody promises to comply, though it helps that he’s clutching a stuffed bear.
I remind them what a fun time they will have with their mother and grandmother and force a huge smile on my face.
I have no idea what will happen to these two precious beings. They didn’t ask to have a rapist and murderer for a father. But there are killers in the news every day, and many of them have children. It’s my hope that whatever befalls David, they will be as resilient as it’s possible to be. All I want is for them to have a happily ever after, but since I can’t make magic happen, I simply say a silent prayer and hope for the best.
I close the car door. It shuts with a click. Becca blows me a kiss through an open window, and I return one to her. To my surprise, I swear I feel something magical fly off my palm. It’s as if my wish somehow became tangible, carried on the wind, sticking to them like a fountain of gold glitter, coating their clothes and hair with my love and best wishes.
And that’s it. That’s our final goodbye. They wave to me as Debbie drives away, and then they are gone.
I’m stuck with a pervasive feeling of sadness. It’s for the children, Aunt Susie, and myself as well. I feel directionless. I’ve accomplished what I came to do. I’ve solved the disappearances of Lake Timmeny. A man here at the lake murdered his pregnant paramour, Anna Olsen, to keep his double life as a Mob fixer safe, and David took my aunt’s life to keep her from pressing rape charges againsthim. It’s her bones that were unearthed in that field. I’m sure of it, and so is Detective Baker. She took my DNA for comparison, but it will be weeks before we have confirmation. The Fiona mystery remains, but I’m confident it was my former employer and not the lake that took her.
In my mind, the case is closed, albeit with a few unanswered questions. I should spend some time here doing interviews, taking pictures, and tying up loose ends for a wrap-up episode of the podcast I plan to produce, but really, all I want to do is leave. This mission was my fuel, and now I’m depleted. Part of me worries that my future podcast about my family’s tragedy is disturbing an ancient burial ground, like I’m doing something sacrilegious with this obsession of mine. But Aunt Susie doesn’t have a voice anymore, so I feel compelled to speak for her, to let the world know who David Dunne really is.
I wander around to the back of the glass house, where I stare at the lake for a time. It’s a quiet and serene afternoon. My eyes follow the path of a snow-white egret that’s found a good fishing spot near a strip of land that juts into the water. I enjoy the peace and solitude. Lucas isn’t playing music for once. Taylor is hidden away in her room, exhausted, I’m sure, from her emotional day. Julia is over at Erika and Rick’s place. With so much to talk about, they could be there for hours.
As for me, the urge to leave before David gets back from the police station—if David gets back—is compelling. Perhaps they’ll arrest him, and he’ll have to spend the night in jail before his arraignment. A quality crime reporter knows the proper procedures for criminal processing, which is how I know he could also return at any moment. I can’t be near him if he shows up, but where do I go? He was my ride to the lake, and the others aren’t packing to leave.
I can probably stay with Julia and Taylor and catch a bus in the morning. That way, I can wrap up a couple of things. Afterward, I can keep an eye on everything from a distance and, hopefully, see David held accountable for his actions through the media. I’ve had enough close contact with murderers for one summer.
But what a hypocrite I’m being. Here I am, wanting David to be held accountable for his actions while avoiding taking responsibility for my own. I resign myself to what I must do. Honesty might be the best policy, but that doesn’t make it easy.
I take out my phone and call my mother.
“Hey, dear, I was just thinking of you,” Mom says.
Her voice tears a hole right through me. I should have been up-front with her from the start, but just the mention of Lake Timmeny would have sent her anxiety skyrocketing. However, I can’t avoid her any longer. Who knows when some of these developments will hit the mainstream news and spread all over the internet?
“Hi, Mom,” I say, the words rubbing against my dry throat. “How are you?”
“Oh, fine. Nothing new here. How about you? Are you getting a lot of articles written? Anything published yet?”
My lie bites back at me with venom.
“No, Mom. Nothing published. But I have a question for you. I’ve been thinking about Aunt Susie, and I’m wondering about something… Did she ever say anything about being assaulted by some guy at the lake?”
The line is so quiet I can’t even hear her breathing. “Mom?”
“I heard you,” she says, her voice harsh. “What are you up to, Izzy? Why are you asking me this?”
“Did she, Mom?” I press again. “Was she—raped?”
“Yes,” she blurts out. “She was, if you have to know. It was some good-for-nothing boy who lived in the house across from us. And he got away with it, too. I thought Susie was brave to go to the police and speak up for herself, but nothing ever came of it.
“Your grandmother and I spent years trying to get someone to investigate her rapist after she went missing, but the police insisted there was no connection—and no rape. The case was basically dropped. There were rumors about corruption in the local force, and Susie said something about an Irish mobster in the area—but we don’t know for sure if that was the reason we were stonewalled.We never got to the bottom of it, but the police weren’t going to pursue charges against that boy, that much was clear.
“But how do you know this, Izzy? Why are you asking about Aunt Susie? What are you up to at the newspaper?”
