Page 37 of This is Why We Lied

He stroked her arm with his fingers. Sara resisted the urge to close her eyes. She was feeling tired from the long day, and they had to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow for yoga, then a hike, then paddle boarding. All of which sounded fun, but staying in bed all day would’ve been fun, too.

She listened to Drew tell Will about what to expect on the hike, the packed lunches and the panoramic views. She could tell Will was still feeling disappointed about the campsite. Not that they were sure whether they’d actually found it. None of the McAlpines they’d asked during cocktails had been particularly interested in confirming or denying its location. Christopher had feigned ignorance. Cecil had launched into another big fish tale. Even Bitty, who was supposed to be the family historian, had quickly changed the subject.

They would try their luck with the Little Deer trail again tomorrow afternoon. There hadn’t been much time for exploring today because they’d wasted a good hour doing exactly the thing that Sara hated about camping, which was getting sweaty and stomping through thick underbrush, then having to check each other for ticks. Eventually, they’d stumbled upon an overgrown clearing with a large circle of rocks. Will had joked about finding a witches’ coven. Sara guessed by the beer cans and cigarette butts that they’d discovered a make-out spot for teenagers.

More likely, they’d found the site of an old campfire circle. Which meant that the campsite had to be close by. The kids at the children’s home had talked about bunk houses and a chow hall and sneaking around the back of the counselors’ cottages at night to spy on them. Many years had passed since Will had heard those stories, but still, there would be foundations or remnants of the buildings. Things that were carried up a mountain generally didn’t get carried back down.

Sara dipped back into the conversation just as Will asked Drew, “What did the two of you do this afternoon?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.” He elbowed Keisha, who was making a point of looking at the spots on her water glass. Drew gave her a firm shake of his head, urging her to let it drop, then he asked Will, “How’s the honeymoon?”

“Great,” Will said. “What year did you two meet each other?”

Sara unfolded her cloth napkin on her lap, hiding her smile as Drew provided not just the year, but the actual date and location. Will was trying to be better about small talk, but no matter what he said, he always sounded like a cop soliciting an alibi.

Drew said, “I took her to the home game against Tuskegee.”

Will said, “The stadium is off of Joseph Lowery Boulevard, right?”

“You know the campus?” Drew sounded impressed by the open-ended question designed to verify facts. “They were just breaking ground on RAYPAC.”

“The concert hall?” Will asked. “What did that look like?”

Sara let her eyes and ears wander toward Gordon, who was sitting on her left. She tried to pick up on the conversation he was having with the man beside him. Unfortunately, their voices were too low. Of all the guests, the two men were the ones who struck Sara as the most mysterious. At cocktails, they had introduced themselves as Gordon and Landry, but Sara had heard the two of them on the path earlier and she’d distinctly heard Gordon call Landry by the name Paul. She didn’t know what they were up to, but she imagined Will would get to the bottom of it once he started interrogating them about whether they were in the vicinity of cottage ten between the hours of four and four-thirty in the afternoon.

She tuned back into his conversation with the caterers.

“Who else was present?” Will asked Keisha, which was a perfectly normal question about a couple’s first date.

Sara dipped out again and looked down at Monica, who was listing beside Frank. Sara had purposefully not counted the drinks. At least after two. The woman was nearly in a stupor. Frank had to prop her up with his arm. He was an annoying man, but he seemed to be concerned about his wife. The same could not be said for the two late arrivals. Sydney and Max were seated closer to the head of the table. The man had his head buried in his phone, which was interesting considering the Wi-Fi restrictions. The woman kept flipping her ponytail back like a horse swatting flies.

“Twelve in all,” she was telling a very disinterested Gordon. “Four Appaloosa, a Dutch warmblood, and the rest are Trakehners. They’re the youngest, but—”

Sara blocked her out. She liked horses, but not enough to make them her entire personality.

Will squeezed her shoulder to check in with her.

She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Did you find the killer yet?”

He whispered back, “It was Chuck in the dining hall with the breadstick.”

Sara let her gaze glance over Chuck, who was devouring a breadstick. He had a gallon water jug on the table beside him because no one trusted their kidneys anymore. Christopher, the fishing guide, was on his left. They both looked miserable. Chuck probably had good reason. Mercy had practically bitten his head off. She’d tried to cover for it, but clearly, he made her uncomfortable. Even Sara had picked up on his creepy vibe, and she hadn’t said anything other than hello to the man.

She didn’t get the same read off Christopher McAlpine, who appeared to be as shy as he was awkward. He was seated beside his strangely cold mother, whose lips were puckered into a frown. Bitty saw her son reach for another piece of bread and slapped his hand away like he was still a child. He put his hands in his lap, stared down at the table. The only family member who seemed to be enjoying the dinner was the man at the head of the table. He’d probably compelled them to attend. He clearly loved being the center of attention. The guests seemed enthralled by his stories, but Sara couldn’t help but think he was the type of self-righteous blowhard who would cancel the prom and make dancing illegal.

Cecil McAlpine had a shock of gray hair and ruggedly handsome features. Most everyone called him Papa. Sara guessed by the fresh scars on his face and arms that he’d suffered a catastrophic accident within the last few years. In the context of bad accidents, he’d at least had some luck. The phrenic nerve, which controls the diaphragm, is formed from C-3, 4 and 5 nerve roots. Damage in that area would require spending the rest of your life on a ventilator. If you survived the initial injury.

She watched Cecil lift his ring finger on his left hand, indicating to his wife that he wanted a sip of water. He had offered Will and Sara a strong handshake with his right hand when they’d arrived for cocktails, but that had clearly zapped his strength.

Cecil finished drinking, then told Landry/Paul, “The spring that feeds the lake originates up the McAlpine pass. Follow Lost Widow Trail down to the bottom of the lake. The creek is about a fifteen-minute walk from there. Follow it for about twelve miles. That’s a good hike straight up the side of the mountain. You can see the peak from the lookout bench on the way back to the lake.”

“Keesh,” Drew whispered hoarsely. “Let it go.”

Sara could tell they were arguing about the water-spotted glass. She politely turned away, catching another conversation at the opposite end of the table. Cecil’s sister, a crunchy granola type in a tie-dye dress, was telling Frank, “People think I’m a lesbian because I wear Birkenstocks, but I always tell them I’m a lesbian because I love having sex with women.”

“Me, too!” Frank barked out a laugh. He raised his glass of water in a toast.

Sara shared a smile with Will. They were stuck too far away. The aunt seemed like the only fun one at the table. Sara guessed from the scars on her hands and forearms that she worked with chemicals. There was a much larger scar on her bicep that looked like an ax had taken a chunk out of her arm. She probably worked on a farm with heavy machinery. Sara could easily picture her with a corncob pipe and a pack of herding dogs.

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