“Nora.”
I almost jump out of my skin. My mother is standing in front of me, holding a stack of three empty plates with a cup balanced on top. I quickly back away from the basement door, pretending I wasn’t trying to hear what was going on down there. My mother is probably going to tell me to stop being so nosy about the basement.
“Help me wash the dishes,” Mom says instead.
“Okay,” I agree. I squeeze my hands into fists. “When do you think Dad will be done making that bookcase?”
My mother is quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“But—”
“I saidI don’t know, Nora.”
I stomp my feet as I follow my mother back to the kitchen. I just don’t get why Dad is so secretive about his basement workshop. Why can’t I see what he’s doing down there?
After all, maybe I could help.
Chapter 13
Present Day
I’m glad I don’t have any surgeries today, because it’s impossible to concentrate after the visit from Detective Barber. All I can think about is Amber Swanson. And who could have possibly done this to her.
It could be a coincidence. I hope to God it is. But I’ve never really believed in coincidences.
But it can’t be my father. He’s inprison. For life. Foreighteenlives.
At around five o’clock, I retreat into our bathroom to take a breather. There’s a public restroom on the floor, but we have our own bathroom that only the four of us use. I lock myself inside and splash water on my face. When I stare back at my reflection, my dark eyes look bloodshot.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is going to be okay. I haven’t done anything wrong.
I open my eyes and splash water on my face one more time. Then I squirt some soap onto my hands. But before I can even lather up, the scent of the hand soap invades my nostrils. And I retch.
It’slavender.
I pick up the bottle of hand soap, suddenly furious. I yank open the door to the bathroom and stride down the hallway over to Philip’s office. I pound on the door, then open it up without waiting for a response. He’s sitting at his desk, dictating into his computer, and his eyes widen at the sight of me.
“What’s this?” I snap at him, holding up the bottle of soap. I shake it in his face.
His brow furrows. “It’s soap?”
“It’slavendersoap!”
He lifts a shoulder. “So…?”
“Where did it come from?”
“I ordered it.” He shakes his head at me. “We needed soap for our bathroom. I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”
I grit my teeth. “I hate lavender. I told you that before.”
“I don’t remember you ever telling me that.”
“I definitely did.”
“Jesus Christ, Nora.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s justsoap. Relax.”
I hurl the bottle of soap into his trash can, which shakes with the impact. “I’ll get some other soap tomorrow. Don’t buy soap again if you can’t remember what not to buy. Okay?”
