Page 102 of Old Money

“Mr. Brody saw Patrick from the terrace,” I add quietly. “He saw him go into the trees—those evergreens by the pool fence? That’s how Patrick snuck in.”

I wait for a shift in Theo’s expression—some sign that it’s sunk in.

There’s a third witness. It’s not just us anymore.

“No shit,” Theo whispers. “Of all people.”

I nod.

“It lines up perfectly with whatyousaw. Except you had an even better vantage point. You said you were out behind the clubhouse somewhere?”

“I think I said top of the path, yeah.”

“Right!” I scoot forward in my chair. “Brody could only see Patrick from behind, butyou’dhave seen him in profile.”

Theo just keeps nodding, wide-eyed.

“So.” I pause. Here goes. “I need you to tell them that—again, I mean. So it goes on the record.”

Theo’s eyes refocus. He looks at me, exhausted.

“Alice, I have to tell you something.”

My back goes straight and goose bumped.

Theo rests his elbows on the desk, scrubbing his palms against his face.

“I didn’t see him,” he says. “I didn’t see him walking to the pool.”

He pauses, searching my face for understanding. But I don’t understand.

“I saw him leave the party.” he continues. “When he left the ballroom—that was hard to miss. He had that look on his face. But—yeah. That’s it.”

For a minute, I just sit. I hear the whir of the fan. I smell the ancient wood varnish. I feel the hard edge of my chair digging into the back of my thighs.

“You mean—you saw someone else then?” I ask, my voice loud and hollow. “Like you thought it was him and didn’t realize until after?”

Theo shakes his head.

“It wasn’t a mistake. I lied to them.” He swallows. “To you too. I’m sorry.”

My brain is still trying to fix it—to reorder the facts in a way that will disprove Theo’s admission, simple as it is.

“Why would you do that?”

“Why?” He almost laughs. “Because I could see what they were doing. It was obvious, the second the cops came. Everyone was already saying she drowned! Meanwhile, you’re sitting there with bloodstains all over you.”

A whiff of that earthy, iron stench wafts up from my memory.

“You were this little kid, and they were treating you like—” Theo shakes his head, disgusted, lost in his own memory. “I still think about it—those assholes trying to railroad you. ‘Oh, she probably passed out, doesn’t know what she saw.’ And everyone just let it happen! Nobody even stops to say, ‘Hey, she’s shivering. Can we get her some dry clothes?’ ‘Hey, maybe have this conversation elsewhere, you fuckin’ amateurs?’ ”

Nausea churns my stomach. Theo continues.

“I kept thinking, ‘They must have him already. That’s why they’re taking their time. They already have the guy.’ ” Theo does an exaggerated shrug. “Nope!”

My thoughts move in slow motion, jammed in the tangle of old memories and new information.

“I’m trying to remember,” I say. “I must have been so out of it.”