Page 51 of This is Why We Lied

“Hold up,” Keisha said. “Where’s Sara? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Will told her. “There’s been a—”

“I called the sheriff.” Chuck trotted down the stairs. “He said it’d take fifteen or twenty minutes to get up here. I couldn’t offer any details. I told him you’re a cop and gave him the code and said that he needs to hurry.”

“You’re a cop?” Drew’s anger kicked up several notches. “You told me you work on cars, man. What the fuck is going on?”

Will was about to answer when Delilah walked onto the porch. She asked the only question that should matter right now—

“Where’s Mercy?”

Will’s eyes found Jon. He was sitting on the stairs a few treads up from Monica. Bitty was standing beside him. She was so small that his shoulder came up to her waist. She kept his head pinned to her hip with a fiercely protective arm. With his curly hair slicked back, Jon looked young and vulnerable, more like a boy than a man. Will wanted to take him aside, to gently explain to him what had happened, to assure him that he would find the monster who had taken his mother away from him.

But how could he tell this child that the monster was probably his own father?

“Please,” Delilah said. “Where’s Mercy?”

Will swallowed down his emotions. The best thing for Jon right now was for Will to do his job. “There’s no easy way to say this.”

“Oh, no.” Delilah’s hand went to her mouth. She had already figured it out. “No-no-no.”

“What?” Cecil demanded. “For godsakes, spit it out!”

“Mercy’s dead.” Will ignored the gasps from the guests. He was watching Jon as he delivered the news. The kid was stuck somewhere between shock and disbelief. Either way, it hadn’t hit him yet. Maybe in a few years Jon would remember this moment and wonder why he had felt paralyzed sitting there with his head pressed against his grandmother’s side. The recriminations would flood in—he should’ve demanded answers and screamed and howled over the loss.

For now, all that Will could offer him were details. “I found Mercy down by the water. There are three buildings—”

“The bachelor cottages.” Christopher turned toward the lake. “What’s that smell? Is there a fire? Was she in a fire?”

“No,” Will said. “There was a fire, but the flames burned themselves out.”

“Did she drown?” Christopher’s tone was hard to decipher. He spoke with an odd air of detachment. “Mercy’s a good swimmer. I taught her in the Shallows when she was four years old.”

“She didn’t drown,” Will said. “She sustained multiple injuries.”

“Injuries?” Christopher’s tone was still flat. “What kind of injuries?”

“Hush,” Bitty said. “Let the man speak.”

Will debated how much to give away in front of all the guests, but the family had a right to know. “I saw stab wounds. Her death will be ruled a homicide.”

“Stabbed …?” Delilah clutched the railing to keep herself upright. “Oh, my Lord. Poor Mercy.”

“Homicide?” Chuck repeated. “You mean she was murdered?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Cecil answered. “You don’t get stabbed multiple times by accident.”

“Poor baby.” Bitty wasn’t talking about Mercy. She pulled Jon closer, pressing her lips to the top of his head. He clutched at her in anguish. His face had disappeared into the material of her robe, but Will could make out his muffled sobs. “You’ll be okay, my sweet boy. I’m here.”

Will kept addressing his words toward the family: “We secured her body inside one of the cottages. Sara has offered to sit with her until she can be removed.”

“This is awful.” Keisha had started to cry. “Why would anyone want to hurt Mercy?”

Drew pulled her close, but he still managed to pin Will with a look of unbridled hatred.

Will tuned him out. He was more interested in the family. He’d expected a collective sense of grief, but as he studied each person, he saw nothing even close. Christopher’s earlier detachment was still visible on his downturned face. Cecil’s expression was one of a man who’d been incredibly inconvenienced. Delilah had her back to Will, so he had no clue what she was thinking. Bitty was understandably focused on Jon, but the woman had shed no tears for her daughter, even as her grandson shook with grief beside her.

The thing that struck Will the most was that none of them had any questions. He had done countless death notifications. Families wanted to know: Who did it? How did it happen? Did she suffer? When could they see her body? Was he sure it was her? Could this be a mistake? Was he absolutely certain? Had he caught the murderer? Why wasn’t he out catching the murderer? What was going to happen next? How long would it take? Would they seek the death penalty? When could they bury her body? Why had this happened? For godsakes, why?

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