Page 46 of What Happened to Lucy Vale
Lucy was now agitating around the kitchen, going nowhere in particular like a moth caught in a lamp. “He’s a total alcoholic. He dated Bailey’s mom for, like, one minute and completely destroyed their Christmas. Bailey said he was so hungover in church, he literally threw up into the nativity scene.”
“He was also the last person to see Nina Faraday alive,” Rachel said.
Immediately Lucy stopped pacing. “Really?” she said. “Where?”
“At school. She was crossing the parking lot. According to Woody, it looked as if she were heading to the Aquatics Center.” Woody Topornycky had a Substack and, from what Rachel could tell, a devoted community of readers who liked their local history dashed with conspiracy theory.
“According to Woody, aliens have military bases under the poles. He’s a nutcase. You should see his YouTube channel.” Then Lucy added, “He didn’t see her after that?”
“If he did, he’s never admitted it,” Rachel said. It was an odd thing. At the time, the new Aquatics Center was still under construction, the pool unfilled. It seemed unlikely that Nina would have gone there looking for Tommy. On the other hand, Woody Topornycky wasn’t, as Lucy pointed out, the most credible witness. And he hadn’t actually seen NinaenterAquatics. Maybe he’d simply been wrong about where she was heading.
“Maybehekilled her,” Lucy said.
“Maybe,” Rachel said. “The police thought it was possible.”
“The simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” Lucy said sagely. “My bet? Tommy Swift killed Nina in a fit of rage, and Coach Steeler lied for him afterward.”
It was, from what Rachel could tell, the predominant opinion everywherebutRockland County.
“Is that what Arianna thinks?” Rachel asked. Arianna was the postgrad student who’d screamed so piercingly when Lucy rocketed out of the house brandishing her bike pump—thinking, Arianna later confessed, that they had triggered the old curse and reanimated the spirit of Nina Faraday to take her bloody revenge. After the confusion abated—after Arianna and her friends accepted that Rachel and Lucy were neither ghosts nor trespassers—they had proven to be polite, thoughtful, and appropriately sheepish about their illegal entry. Ever since the podcasters had broken through the gates, attempting their dig for proof of murder, Lucy had been emailing back and forth with the production team. Rachel wasn’t sure it was a good idea; Lucy already seemed to be in Mrs. Steeler-Cox’s crosshairs, frequently reporting hallway demerits for things as minor as spitting her gum in the trash or lingering in the cafeteria after first bell.
Rachel blamed herself. She should have made more of an effort to fit in. She should have joined the PTA, or the Woodward Moms’Association, or one of the other acronyms that Mrs. Steeler-Cox chaired. At the same time, she enjoyed being an outsider. An uncategorizable element. Something, and someone, who Didn’t Quite Belong.
“Tommy’s the one with all the motive,” Lucy said, ignoring the question. “Nina dumped him, didn’t she? She had a new boyfriend.”
“No one knows that,” Rachel said. “That’s what people saidaftershe disappeared. And besides, Tommy had an alibi.”
“Right. He was with Coach Steeler.”
“And the rest of the club team,” Rachel said.
“That doesn’t count,” Lucy said. “They could have lied too.” She took a handful of candy corn from the bowl on the table and began siphoning them one by one into her mouth. “You know, there’s a psychic online who says that Nina never ran away. She says Nina was killed and buried next to water.”
“That’s very helpful. Maybe we should drain the Ohio River and look there.”
“I’m just telling you what shesays.”
“Don’t you have other things to think about? Halloween? Dance rehearsal? Your homework?”
Lucy gave her a look. “I’m just saying, if Coach Steeler really did cover up for Tommy Swift, I don’t think Woodward should build a whole big memorial to him. Not until we know for sure.”
Rachel’s scalp prickled. “What memorial?”
“I don’t know. It’s some pavilion named after him. There’s a message about it in the portal. We’re all supposed to vote.” Lucy yawned. “And just so you know, I’m done with all my homework.”
“Really? Even French?”
“Oui, oui, madame.”
Outside, someone honked. Lucy immediately pivoted for her jacket, sweeping her phone into her pocket. “That’s Bailey. I gotta go,” she said. She leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. She smelled like honey. “Love you.”
“Remember, you promised me a pumpkin!” Rachel called after her. Lucy turned around and gave her a thumbs-up. When the front door opened, Rachel caught a glimpse of her daughter’s friends: beautiful, smiling, dressed in shrunken T-shirts despite the October chill. Cool, Rachel thought. Her daughter’s friends were cool.
“Bring a jacket!” she shouted. But the door was already closing, snuffing out the sound of laughter.
Moved by a sudden impulse, Rachel went to the living room windows and watched the four girls move in a giggling pack toward Mia’s brand-new BMW. A gift, Lucy had told her, from Mia’s father, once a swimmer himself.
She found herself thinking again about webs, about veins of money that ran from Aquatics to the sprawling Steeler clan and back again. She thought about connections, and pack animals, and Tommy Swift’s alibi. Twenty-two members of the swim team and their coach.
