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Natalie

It’s midnight and her feet are aching. But she’s still doing side work—wiping down serving trays and rolling silverware into napkins for tomorrow’s lunch shift.

In better news, she’s making fifteen dollars an hour for expediting, and the waitstaff “tipped out” thirty bucks to her on top of that. She didn’t even know that tipping out was a thing.

Her father is patiently waiting for her. He’s sitting at the bar, sipping a Coke and chatting with the bartender. He’s not going to let her bike home alone, even though it would be easier for both of them if he just left without her.

“Okay, that’s good for now,” the head waitress finally says, pulling off her apron. “You’re on tomorrow for the lunch shift?”

“Yeah,” she says, even though the idea exhausts her. “See you then.” She puts her apron in the dirty-linens bag and walks to the front of the house to find her dad.

“I’d better go,” he says to the bartender. “Thanks for the soda.”

“Anytime, dude. Can’t believe you have a kid. Where you been hiding her?”

He gives Natalie a wry smile. “She’s been busy. Right, Natty?”

“So busy,” Natalie agrees.

“How was it?” he asks as soon as they get outside.

She unlocks her bike. “Hard. I don’t have the table numbers memorized yet. And all the fried food looks the same.”

He laughs. “I don’t have a lot of life lessons to offer, except for one. Every new job you ever have will include a few days of thinking—what the fuck did I just do ? ”

She lets out a startled laugh, and they set off down Commercial Street toward home. “Good to know.”

“I mean it. Every single job. You’re not allowed to panic until the second week.”

“Fair. But I don’t want to screw up someone’s dinner.”

He grins. “You won’t. And they’ll eat again tomorrow, anyway. It’s not rocket science, it’s just labor.”

“I think this is part of Mom’s big strategy. She made me get a job just so I’d be stoked to apply to college.”

“I thought the point was making money?”

“That, too. Although Tessa is mad at me for taking a job without her.”

“Fine. Let’s get Tessa an application. See how long she’d last as an expediter.”

She smiles. “Not long, I bet.”

It’s a gentle uphill walk toward home, but it’s just dawning on her that she’s going to have to sleep tonight in a house where someone—possibly a murderer—recently broke in.

Her father is here, though, pacing quietly along beside her. It’s a comfort.

“Do you still love Mom?” she blurts out.

“Oh, Natty,” he says, and she already regrets asking.

But it’s late and it’s dark and it’s been a really weird day.

“God, just don’t ask your mom the same question.”

“I won’t,” she mumbles. “It’s none of my business.”

“Well, no. You have a right to wonder what happened. And it’s an easy answer for me—I’ll always love your mother. I never stopped. But things aren’t the same for her. I promised her we’d be together forever, and then I left her to raise you alone. I don’t think that’s something you ever get over.”

“Maybe not,” she agrees.

But it’s hard not to hope.

***

They get home fifteen minutes later. She locks her bike in the garage while her father sends a text to what is now their family group chat.

Harrison: We’re back. Coming inside in a second.

Lickie goes into a greeting frenzy, and the cat swings by to let her dad know she noticed his absence. “That cat really likes you.”

“Eh. I think it’s just that I smell like food.”

When they cross into the living room, they discover her mother is still awake. She’s cross-legged on the couch, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, and sheets of paper in various sizes covering every available surface.

“Mom? What are you doing?”

She glances up, clearly exhausted. “I got some new information. Tim asked a friend to run some background checks before he died. She’s good at that. Today she gave me the names he wanted her to check, so I’m doing some research.”

The mess makes more sense now. Natalie’s own bed looked the same way during finals. “Did you learn anything?”

“Yes and no. There are a lot of names, and they’re mostly partials. But I have some ideas.” She lifts a sheet of paper from the coffee table. “Tim didn’t reveal where all these names came from. But his friend cracked the code. These at the top”—she points to a section of names that she’s circled in pink highlighter—“were found in news stories via regular Google searches. And the names below are from the birth ledger I found at the mansion—the ones Tim took off my phone.”

Natalie scans the list of mothers’ names, noting the gap between the early years and the eighties. “But I thought you’d found Tim’s birth? In 1979?”

“I did—but later,” her mom says with a wave of her hand. “Tim only saw the sample pages—plus four names in back.” Her mom hands Natalie her phone so she can look at the photo. It’s a picture of four names: M. McNamara, T. O’Neil, B. Jones, and C. Vespertini.

The four names are printed at the bottom of the paper list, as well.

“Wait, do you think B. Jones...” Natalie glances at her father.

“Is my mother?” her dad finishes the question. His elbows are propped on the back of the sofa as he leans over to listen.

“Possibly.” Her mother takes the phone back, squinting at the photo like it might reveal more details. “The first time I saw this, it didn’t occur to me.”

“Why would it?” he asks, perching on the back of the sofa. “Jones is, what, one of the top hundred most common names?”

“It’s the fifth most common surname in America,” Mom says. “And you weren’t exactly top of mind when I found the ledger.” She picks up her list of names again and stares at it. “I’m trying not to see things that aren’t there.”

“Hey.” He puts his hands on her mother’s shoulders and digs his thumbs into the muscles there. Her mother visibly tenses. But he doesn’t let go. And after a second, she relaxes. “I know you’re doing good work here, and that this is important. But what if you and Natty drive over to your dad’s house, so you could forget about this for a few hours, and get a good night’s sleep?”

She squints up at him. “You think I’m losing it.”

“I think you’re tired,” he says carefully.

“My life has been taken hostage by a freak who wants... vengeance? I don’t even know what he wants. Of course I’m tired.”

He digs his thumbs into her shoulders again. “Do you feel safe in this house?”

“I don’t feel safe anywhere right now,” her mother says. “We could wake my father up and sleep there. But for how many nights? The wallet was meant to scare me, and it did. But it’s not the only thing I’m scared of. I can’t let yet another man control my life.”

Natalie’s dad winces. Like he knows he’s at the top of her mother’s short list of men who make things difficult.

“Look,” her mother says, casting the papers off her lap and onto the mess on the table. “Quick family meeting. Harrison, you’re looming. Move somewhere that isn’t there.”

Her father walks around the couch, shoves the papers aside, and perches on the corner of the coffee table. “Talk,” he says. “How can we get you out of this mess?”

“All we can do is be careful. Natalie”—her mother places a hand on her knee—“there’s a cop driving by our house every fifteen minutes. But do you want to sleep at Grandpa’s?”

“No,” she says immediately. “I want to stay here with you.”

“I bought you some pepper spray,” her mother says. “It’s up on your bedside table. I need you to carry it, and keep your phone on and handy at all times. If you don’t, swear to God I’ll microchip you like Lickie until they catch this guy.”

“Gross, Mom.” She’s pretty sure that isn’t even legal.

“And if your father isn’t working the same hours, I’ll pick you up. No exceptions.”

“Or Dad can get me on his motorcycle,” she says.

“No,” her mom says immediately.

“We’ll walk,” her father says.

“Or I’ll pick you up in the car,” her mother counters. “I just don’t want you on your own at night until this is done.”

“All right,” Natalie agrees. Then a yawn practically cracks her jaw in half.

“We’ll try to sleep,” her mother announces. “If I look at that list anymore, my eyes will cross.” She starts gathering her papers into a pile.

“Night.” Natalie gets up off the couch and heads for the stairs. At the top, she looks back down at her mom, who’s bent over, trying to scoop sticky notes off the floor.

Her dad is helping, a fond expression on his face.

But her mother doesn’t even seem to notice.