Page 58 of Forget Me Not
“The divorce—” I start, thinking about how Natalie distanced herself from me, too, but Bethany is already shaking her head.
“It was before that,” she says. “That’s why I was surprised to hear you’ve been hanging around there. That place did something to her.”
“Did something,” I repeat, a quiet discomfort starting to slip up my neck at Bethany talking about Galloway as if it’s somehow alive.
“It changed her,” she adds, finally grabbing the bill from my hand. Then I watch as she slips it into the register, the drawer snapping shut like lockjawed teeth. “It devoured her.”
CHAPTER 38
I crash into my car before cranking it on, immediately reaching for the air and turning it up as high as it will go. Then I lower my face to the vent, a new sickness settling into my stomach. A rolling nausea like I just consumed something foul.
I force myself to take a deep breath, willing the cool air to travel in and out of my lungs. Then I close my eyes, attempting to fight the blinding light now funneling into my vision; the bright white spots in the corners of my eyes. I feel like I’m about to pass out. My head is spinning, my body numb, as I try to make sense of all these things I just learned.
I think back to that summer, the way Natalie had been acting so different, so strange.Screaming at my mother and sneaking out every night; spending all that time alone in her bedroom before slipping through the window and disappearing in the dark. Then I feel my phone start to vibrate in my pocket and I pull it out quicky, finding an unknown number on the display. I ignore it, not wanting to break my concentration as I keep racking my mind for more details.
For every single thing I now know about Galloway, every last thing I’ve come to learn.
I picture Liam walking me around on my very first day; spouting out facts as we picked in the vineyard and the picnic we shared beneath the shade of a tree.
Places like this don’t exactly do things by the book,he had said, an attempt to get me to open up, share a few details about my own life. We’ve employed plenty of people with shady pasts.
My mind goes still as I look to the side, Natalie’s shoebox still propped up on the seat. Then I lean over and open it, sifting through pictures until I come across the one of her and Jeffrey, Bethany’s words still whirling around as all these different currents pull me in too many directions.
Did anyone else go with you?I had asked, this very same picture at the forefront of my mind.
A couple other people. I think they were mostly her coworkers.
I blink a few times, a new clarity uncurling as I realize that Jeffrey and Natalie must have been coworkers. He must have worked at Galloway, too. That must have been how the two of them met and I pick up my phone again, tapping on the map before typing in an address.
Then I crank my car into reverse, backing out of my spot before speeding my way off the island. Heading in the direction of my hometown.
The Claxton Police Department is a tiny red building of chipped brick, as small and unremarkable as the town itself. It took me close to an hour to make the drive here and I ease into a parking spot outside the front door, turning off the engine before taking a deep, steadying breath.
I force myself to step out of the car, my legs walking me into the lobby as if they’ve developed a will of their own.
“Hi,” I say, approaching a receptionist tapping away at a keyboard, a series of closed doors in the hallway behind her. “I have some information regarding an old case and I was wondering if there was a detective available that I can speak with.”
The woman looks up, chewing gum gnashing between her back teeth.
“Chief DiNello is taking lunch at the moment. Do you have an appointment?”
I pause, surprised to learn that not only is Detective DiNello still here, but also that he’sChiefDiNello now… but then again, once I stop to think about it, that doesn’t actually come as a shock. People tend to stay put in a town like Claxton. He had seemed young when I met him, probably somewhere in his thirties when he first worked Natalie’s case. He must have spent the last twenty-two years climbing the ranks, his small role in Jeffrey Slater’s arrest the most scandalous thing our town had yet seen.
“No,” I say, though I now realize this might actually work to my advantage. “But I only need a few minutes of his time.”
The woman glances back at her computer, apparently not inclined to let me in.
“My name is Claire Campbell,” I add, willingly offering up my full name for the first time since I can remember, knowing it’s likely my only way in. “I’m Natalie Campbell’s sister.”
Five minutes later, I’m sitting in Eric DiNello’s office staring at a collection of plaques on the wall. There are newspaper clippings of various cases he’s worked, a matted diploma in the center of it all, and some pictures on the periphery flaunting his various stages of life: an official headshot in a navy-blue suit, shiny bronze badge pinned to the lapel. One of him on a horse with rolling hills in the distance, another of him shaking hands with the mayor.
“Claire Campbell,” he says, almost like he can’t even believe Iexist. I turn my head, my attention directed at him on the opposite side of the desk. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist seeing me, talking to me, considering the last time he’s actually seen me in person was when we both sat in my kitchen the day my sister disappeared. “Look at you, all grown up.”
I take him in slowly. I can tell he’s quite tall, even when seated, long arms resting on the top of the desk and a neck as thick and sturdy as a trunk. His hair is brown, cut short on the sides, and I glance at the wall again, the steady progression of his career, as I wonder if anything even mildly interesting has happened over the last two decades or if Natalie’s case was his professional peak. I would bet on the latter; Claxton, South Carolina, doesn’t get much murder. Our violence is petty crime–related, drug-related, and rarely ever involving a child… although, as everyone liked to remind us, Natalie was, at eighteen, technically an adult.
“What brings you in today?” he asks when I don’t respond, threading his fingers on top of some papers. “Does your mother know you’re in town?”
“She knows,” I say, not exactly the truth, considering she thinks I’m back in New York. “But I’m actually here because I have some new information pertaining to my sister’s case.”
