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I think of Coop and all the invisible barriers he’s built between us. Always nodding, never hugging. Not coming up to the apartment until he absolutely had to. It’s likely Nancy gave him this same spiel about keeping a distance. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who keeps her opinions to herself.
“It was only in the past five years or so that we became what you’d call friends,” she says. “I became close with her family as well. They’d have me over for Thanksgiving dinner, family birthdays.”
“They sound like good people,” I say.
“They are. They’re having a hard time with this, of course. That grief will be with them for the rest of their lives.”
“And you?” I say.
“Oh, I’m furious.” Nancy takes a sip of tea. Her lips pucker from the heat before flattening into a harsh line. “I know I should feel sad, and I do. But more than that, I’m mad as hell. Someone took Lisa away from us. After all she went through.”
I know exactly what she means. Lisa’s murder feels like a defeat. A Final Girl finally vanquished.
“Did you always suspect foul play was involved?”
“I sure as hell did,” Nancy says. “I knew Lisa couldn’t have killed herself. Not when she’d fought so hard to survive and had done so much with the hand she’d been dealt. I’m the one who ordered that tox report, conflict of interest be damned. I was right, of course. They found all those pills in her system but no prescription bottle in the house to keep them in.Thenthey looked at the knife wounds, which is something that should have been done in the first place.”
“When we all spoke on the phone, you said there weren’t any suspects. Has that changed?”
“Nope,” Nancy says.
“What about a motive?”
“Still nothing.”
“You sound like you don’t think they’ll ever catch who did it.”
“Because I don’t,” Nancy says with a sigh. “By the time those idiots realized what really happened, it was too late. The scene was already compromised. Me with those boxes. Some of Lisa’s friends and cousins. All of us clomping in here and dragging in God knows what.”
She leans forward, looks to the table.
“The whole time, that circle of wine sat right here. From the glass no one knew was missing. Whoever killed Lisa took it with them. It’s probably smashed on the side of the road somewhere. Tossed out a car window.”
My hands are resting on the table’s surface, palms flat. I quickly pull them away.
“They already dusted for prints,” Nancy says. “Couldn’t find any. Same with the bathroom, the knife, and Lisa’s phone. All wiped clean.”
“And none of her friends know anything?” I ask.
“They’re asking around. But it’s been hard. Lisa liked to be around people. She was verysocial.”
Nancy’s disapproval is obvious. She spits the word out as if it might leave a bad taste in her mouth.
“You don’t think she should have been,” I say.
“I thought she was too trusting. Because of what she went through, she was always willing to help people in need. Girls, mostly. Troubled ones.”
“Troubled how?”
“Girls who were at risk. Having trouble with their parents. Or maybe running away from a boyfriend who liked smacking them around. Lisa took them in, looked out for them, helped them get back on their feet. I saw it as her trying to fill the void in her life caused by that night at the sorority house.”
“Void?” I say.
“Lisa didn’t date very much,” Nancy says. “She didn’t trust too many men, with good reason. Like most girls, she probably once had dreams of getting married, having kids, being a mom. That day at the sorority house took all that away from her.”
“So she never dated?”
“A little,” Nancy replies. “Nothing that ever got very serious. Most guys split once they found out what happened to her.”