Page 54 of She Didn’t See It Coming

Lizzie lies in bed on her side. She stares at her computer across the room on her desk, without lifting her head from the pillow. She feels its pull.

It’s quiet beyond her bedroom door. She heard her mother leave a while ago. She doesn’t know where she went. She doesn’t care. But she thinks her father is still here.

She gets up and makes her way out to the kitchen. Her father is sitting at the table reading the newspaper, which he sets aside. He smiles tentatively at her, but doesn’t give her the third degree, the way her mother would.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says simply. No accusations. No frantic questions. It’s a relief. She pours herself a coffee and sits down with him at the table. It’s well past lunchtime.

“You want anything to eat?” he asks.

“No.” She has no appetite. “Where’s Mom?”

“She went out for a walk.” He says, getting up, “Let me make you some toast.”

She doesn’t stop him. It’s nice to be taken care of.

He puts a plate of buttered toast in front of her and settles down across from her, picking up the newspaper again.

She takes a bite of toast and realizes how hungry she is.

They sit in silence while she polishes off the toast and finishes her coffee.

“Thanks, I needed that,” she says. He looks up and smiles at her.

She can tell that he’s worried about her, but he’s not invasive, like her mother.

Lizzie goes back into her bedroom and turns on the computer.

She can’t stay away. Her obsession, her addiction pulls at her.

She wants to be noticed, listened to, befriended.

She wants to belong, to be part of something important, exciting.

That’s why she did this in the first place.

She logs on and clicks into the Facebook group page.

There have been a lot of posts since she shut down her computer late last night.

She smiles at the posts about Derek Gardner’s wife—people are piling on about her, speculating that she might have killed Bryden, even saying that maybe she’s the one who murdered her mother.

Lizzie remembers the woman who sat beside her on the park bench, who told her to tell Sam that he wouldn’t get away with it.

So sure of herself. She’s not going to like this , Lizzie thinks.

She wonders which user name Alice is hiding behind on here, because there’s no one posting as Alice Gardner.

Lizzie’s about to write something when she sees a post by Karen Hennin that almost makes her heart stop.

Apparently there is an eyewitness. Someone who saw a person in the elevator with a suitcase at the exact time the murderer is supposed to have been there. And they have a description. But they’re not sharing that just yet.

Lizzie stares at the post. The detectives haven’t said anything about an eyewitness. A wave of anxiety knocks her back in her chair.

···

Donna returns home, walking the half hour from the station after her talk with Detective Salter.

She arrives to find her daughter in the living room with her father, watching TV.

Lizzie doesn’t flee to her bedroom at the sight of her mother.

Donna feels a slight glimmer of hope that she’ll be able to get Lizzie to talk to a counselor after all.

She has the information in her handbag. She smiles at her daughter.

She must take a gentle approach. She must make amends for her frantic behavior last night, which was driven by fear.

She’s still terrified, but she can’t let her fear for her daughter show.

“Where have you been, Mom?” Lizzie asks.

Donna tells the truth. “I was at the police station, talking to Detective Salter.”

“Why?” Lizzie asks.

“I wanted to get some information on grief counseling.”

“Oh,” Lizzie says. She asks abruptly, “Did Detective Salter say anything about an eyewitness?”

“An eyewitness? No. Why?”

“I heard there was an eyewitness. Someone who saw the killer come down the elevator with the suitcase.”

Donna, taken aback, stares at her daughter.

She’s puzzled. How is her daughter coming up with this stuff?

“Where did you hear that? Detective Salter never said anything about an eyewitness. She didn’t tell me anything.

” But Lizzie doesn’t answer, hugging her knees up against her chest on the sofa.

“Lizzie! Where did you hear that?” Is her daughter imagining things?

Is she losing her mind? But Lizzie doesn’t answer. She just looks anxious.

And then Donna suddenly understands. Despite her protests, Lizzie must be worried about Sam.

She must be afraid that he might have killed Bryden, and she doesn’t want to face it.

That’s why Lizzie’s hiding in her bedroom.

That’s why she’s having a breakdown. Poor Lizzie—her sister has been murdered, and her brother-in-law, whom she thinks the world of, probably did it.

Donna just hadn’t realized her younger daughter was quite so… fragile.

Donna takes a deep breath. “Lizzie,” she says calmly, “I asked Detective Salter if there was anyone you could talk to about this. Like a counselor. And she gave me the name of somebody who is apparently very good.”

“I don’t want to speak to anyone,” Lizzie says quickly.

This is exactly what Donna was afraid of. “Why not?” Donna asks, stifling her panic, trying to speak gently. “What’s the harm?”

But Lizzie doesn’t answer. She just sits with her knees drawn up to her chin and stares at the television.