Page 29

Six days after

“You cannot believe the size of this tent we’re pulling off for Sweeney Anderson’s daughter’s wedding. They’re spending a million dollars on flowers alone.”

Autumn has been flitting around my house for the last few hours, rearranging bookshelves and throw pillows. She had shown up with coffee and a few breakfast pastries, wanting to check in onme.

“I am pretty sure that we’ve drained the ocean of caviar.” She stops and looks at me sitting on the couch, the untouched almond croissant in front of me. “Nora, you have to eat. Want me to warm it up?”

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry yet. I’ll eat it. I swear.”

“Should I not be talking about this wedding? Am I being insensitive? We should be talking about you and Will.”

I don’t know what to say to this. Will is all I want to talk about, but I’ve been painted into a corner.

Fritz doesn’t want me to go out. Constance thinks I’m some kind of criminal.

I haven’t heard from Ardell since he was in my kitchen, and every time I think about the lack of information coming from the police and the investigation into Will’s whereabouts, my entire body starts shaking.

Autumn’s mindless prattling about party decorations has been a nice reprieve from the anxiety coma my body keeps threatening to throw itself into.

“It’s okay, Autumn. Thank you for checking on me.”

“Where’s Este? She’s always here by now.”

I don’t want to tell Autumn about my fight with Este.

“I’m not sure—she maybe had an appointment this morning, or something,” I lie. “Everyone thought it was better for me to just…lay low.”

You know, since at least half the town thinks I am responsible for Will’s disappearance.

“I’m sorry, Nora.” Autumn comes and joins me on the couch. “I heard you had a run-in with Constance.”

Shit, did Constance launch a newsletter? Maybe it’s just a press kit titled “Nora Is an Evil Wench.”

“It was nothing.”

She just accused me of disappearing Will. No big deal.

“This all must be so much to navigate. So many…personalities.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Constance has had a tough go these last few months. I mean, I get it. You fully dethroned her with Will’s birthday party. And now Will is missing. She’s got to be spiraling like the rest of us.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Dethroned? I dethroned her?”

“Your party for Will was the party of the year. Everyone was talking about it in the weeks leading up. Tippy flew to West Palm just to get her dress. Constance could feel all of her friends pulling away. Moving on. She’s not part of this group without Will.

He’s the golden boy, and her identity has always been as his wife. ”

I hadn’t considered that until now, but it made sense.

The social circle Will moved in was as elite as it was intertwined.

Pull one thread and you can start to see how they’re all connected.

I always worried about bumping into Constance at the events Will and I were invited to.

After her antics with the wine and the haranguing at pizza night, I feared our paths crossing would create a scene.

But the run-in I dreaded never happened.

I should have known other people saw how sticky inviting her was, too, so they just left her off their lists.

My thoughts catch on one detail, though, and I frown. “I heard that Constance had her own party that night?”

“No. I mean, maybe that’s what she said she was going to do, but there would have been no way.

Ever since you and Will got married—maybe even since the divorce—Constance has known the tide would turn, and she would be collateral damage.

She had to have known. That’s just how things work around here, and she’s been as big a player in the social game as anyone.

But that birthday party for Will sealed the deal.

Everyone she might have cared about inviting would’ve turned her down to come here. ”

“Probably out of morbid curiosity to see how I would fuck it up.”

“Even if that was the reason, which it wasn’t, everyone was here. Constance got super drunk and yelled at the delivery boy who brought her food.”

So Constance was dethroned the night Will disappeared. And now she’s working on some kind of fucked-up comeback?

I turned this information over in my head.

“I’ve said too much.” Autumn covers her mouth. “I’m sorry I keep bringing Will things up.”

She stands and gathers the dishes. I follow her to the kitchen with my neglected croissant.

“It’s okay,” I assure her.

Autumn’s phone dings with a text. Then another one. Then it starts pinging in rapid succession. She picks it up, and her face falls.

“Shit. They didn’t bring the right dimensions for the stage and dance floor.” She catches herself. “Which can wait…”

“It’s okay, Autumn, you should go. Thank you for coming by.”

Her phone is still dinging angrily as she comes over and gives me a hug. Then she goes, and I’m left leaning against the counter, biting my lip. I can’t stop thinking about Constance suffering a social death the night Will went missing.

How did I miss that?

My mind starts sifting through all the possible things this new information could mean. And while I think, I realize I’m ravenous.

I stand at the sink wolfing down the fig jam, cheese, and crackers from the basket Autumn brought over a few days ago. I can’t tell what brings me more relief, the food hitting my empty belly or the new puzzle piece that Autumn has handed me.

Constance was home alone the night of Will’s party.

Maybe this is finally a lead. Maybe her vitriol is masking whatever she’s hiding. But what would that be? And where does that leave Will?

I hear phone chimes from between two couch cushions and head back toward the living room. It’s a text from Perry:

10:23 a.m.

A friend of Dean’s is helping with the phone logs.

That’s more than I’ve ever gotten from Ardell.

Walking back toward the kitchen and my haphazard snacks, I look toward Este’s house, wishing I could tell her about this development.

I haven’t poked my head out since our fight.

I’m embarrassed that I was so shitty toward her.

She’s the only real friend I’ve had in Winter Park.

And I know deep down, even if I refuse to entertain the idea, that she’s right.

I have to at least leave the door ajar for the idea that Will really is just…

Gone.

I shudder at the thought and cram another cracker in my mouth to distract myself from the threat of panic squeezing my lungs.

But this is a dread no artisanal charcuterie can deactivate.

I dump the cheese back in the refrigerator and pull on my shoes, feeling my heart race.

My breaths are short and strangled. All of a sudden, I feel like if I don’t get out of the house, I’m going to die.

I’m partway across the hedge when I realize I don’t even have a bra on and my pajama pants are pretty see-through, but that doesn’t stop me.

I’m trying to outrun a panic attack. I cut up the yard toward the pool, where Beau is swimming laps.

He spots me, and I’m suddenly self-conscious about my lack of underthings.

I instinctively cross my arms. “Is Este here?”

“Hey.” He stops swimming and squints up at me. “How are you holding up?”

“Este and I got into a fight. I’m a fucking idiot. This whole thing has been a nightmare. It’s like I’m shedding brain cells with every hour that passes.”

“She said you needed some space yesterday,” he says gently. “Pretty sure she’s still up in bed. You can go on in.”

I start for the sliding doors.

“Don’t worry too much about the fight. Este has a tough exterior, but once you’re in, that’s it. She’d kill for you, Nora. Whatever happened, I’m sure she doesn’t care about what was said. We’re all worried. You most of all. She loves you.”

My shoulders drop about six inches. “Thanks, Beau.”

I wind through the house, and when I call out Este’s name, it sounds pathetic. I try again. “Este, you in there?” She doesn’t answer back. I push through her bedroom door and marvel at how perfectly decorated her room is.

“Este, seriously. You in here?” I realize she isn’t.

When I turn to leave, I’m stopped by the amazing black-and-white picture of her and Beau’s wedding day.

It’s like fairies and woodland creatures came and dressed her—a look only she can pull off.

She and Beau are perfect. Like they’ve been sculpted out of some other realm and dropped here with us mere mortals.

And she’s barefoot. Because of course she is.

I feel a pang of sadness that I don’t have this wedding portrait. Just a photo on my phone that the concierge had taken for us. Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful. But eloping means you skip the elaborate photo shoots.

I’m heading down the stairs when I see Este in the yard pulling mangoes from her tree.

She looks up when she hears the front door open but doesn’t give me much.

Just goes back to her tree. I walk over to her, picking up the basket, trying to be helpful.

She doesn’t rebuff me, but she doesn’t offer the opening either. I’m going to have to make one.

“Este, I’m sorry. About all of it.”

Este moves around the tree, pulling mangoes and dropping them into the basket.

“I completely freaked out, and I think…,” I trail off, searching for what I am really feeling. “I think that I already know deep down that I have to believe that it could all be…”

Bad.

Este looks up at me and I watch as the color drains out of her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, god. Nora…”

The next two minutes happen in slow motion.

As I turn through what feels like molasses, I see Ardell walking up the driveway in full police uniform, flanked by Fritz.

When Ardell sees me, he slowly pulls his police hat off.

I look at Este. I can see her moving toward me, but I can’t hear anything she is saying.

Beyond Ardell and Fritz, the press are all firing their cameras toward me.