Page 155 of This is Why We Lied

“What could I do? I wasn’t mad at her. I pitied her. Look at how she’s living up here. Everyone in town despises her. She’s trapped on this mountain with the father who framed her for killing her best friend. The whole family buys into her guilt. She lost her face because of that man. Think about that part. Mercy’s own father took away her face, and she’s living with him, working with him, eating meals with him, taking care of him. And on top of that, her own ex-husband, or brother, or whatever you want to call him, took ten grand off me for the truth, but he’s never told her what really happened? It’s just so fucking sad.”

Will asked, “How did Dave know the truth?”

“That part I cannot tell you.” He shrugged. “Offer him another ten grand. I’m sure he’ll capitulate.”

Will would get to Dave later. “You didn’t seem fazed this morning when I announced that Mercy had been stabbed to death.”

“I was very drunk and very high,” Paul said. “Gordon stuck me in the shower to sober up. That’s why I wasn’t at my best when you saw me. The water had turned brutally cold.”

Faith asked, “How are you sure that Mercy didn’t know her father was responsible for Gabbie’s death?”

“The husband/brother told me she had no idea. Worse, he came across as a bit of a prick about it. Arrogant, like ha-ha I know this thing that she doesn’t know, look at how clever I am.”

That sounded like Dave all right.

“I knew it was true the very first time I talked to Mercy,” Paul said. “I was trying to pull it out of her, right? To see if she really knew what her father had done. I talked about the money this place brings in, how nice it is up here. I thought maybe she was in on it, or was covering for her father.”

“But?” Faith asked.

“I asked her about the scar on her face, and she tried to cover it with both hands.” Paul shook his head. The memory clearly stirred up some emotion. “Mercy looked so damn ashamed, you know? Not just regular ashamed, but the kind of shame where you feel like your soul has been punched out of your body.”

Will knew about that kind of shame. The fact that Dave had forced it onto Mercy, that he had used it to punish the mother of his child, was unconscionably cruel.

“That’s why Gordon and I were fighting on the trail. I knew I had to tell her the truth. And I tried, but she made it clear she wasn’t interested. Gordon was right. I’ve already lost my sister and both my parents. It’s not my job to fix this fucked up family. It’s all beyond repair.”

Faith put her hands on her knees. “Do you remember anything else about Mercy last night? Or the family? Did you see anything?”

“Maybe I listen to too many podcasts, too, but it’s always the thing you don’t think that matters that actually ends up mattering. So—” Paul shrugged. “When Mercy went into the house and slammed the door, I was still absolutely stunned. I stood there for a moment staring in disbelief. And I swear to God I saw someone on the porch.”

“Who?” Faith asked.

“I’m probably wrong. I mean, it was dark, right? But I swear it looked like Cecil.”

“Why would you be wrong about that?”

“Because after the door slammed, he stood up and walked back inside.”

20

Sara matched her pace to Jon’s shuffling stride as they followed the Loop Trail to the dining hall. She had delayed their departure because she wasn’t going to take a sixteen-year-old to cocktails. This seemed like a silly line to draw considering Jon was stoned when she’d knocked on the door to cottage nine. She’d bribed her way in with bags of potato chips and two Snickers bars that Will was certain to miss.

Jon had absorbed the news of his father’s innocence in shocked silence. He was clearly overwhelmed by the events of the last twenty-four hours. He’d stopped trying to hide his tears. He’d only stared at Sara in disbelief, his hands trembling, his lower lip quivering, as she’d relayed the facts: Dave was innocent. They had another suspect, but Sara wasn’t at liberty to tell him any more than that.

She had offered to take him to his grandparents, but Faith had been right. The boy was in no hurry to go home. Sara had kept him company as best she could. They had talked about trees and hiking trails and anything but the fact of his mother’s murder. Sara could tell by the way he spoke—the lack of uhms and ers and likes that peppered most teenagers’ sentences—that he had been predominantly raised in the company of adults. That those adults all shared the last name McAlpine was a very bad luck of the draw.

Jon kicked a pebble off the path, his foot raking through the dirt. He was visibly anxious. He knew better than Sara that they were close to the dining hall. He was probably thinking that his presence after being gone for so many hours would create a stir. The last time he’d been inside the building, he’d been blind drunk and screamed at his mother that he hated her.

Sara asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not exactly private. A lot of the guests will be there, too.”

He nodded, his hair flopping into his eyes. “Will he be there?”

Sara knew he meant Dave. “Probably, but I could be the one to tell your family that you’re back. You could wait for them at the house.”

He kicked another pebble, shook his head.

She assumed they would continue on in silence, but Jon cleared his throat. He glanced at her before his eyes went back to the ground.

He asked, “What’s your family like?”