Page 70 of Such a Quiet Place
“This is all so horrible,” I said, the catch in my voice authentic. “But I have work. There’s so much to catch up on after the holiday week. And… my mind has been scattered, with everything.”
“Tomorrow, maybe?” he asked, and when I didn’t agree, he added, “I’ll give you a call, Harper.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said.
After a beat, he finally took a step down the porch. “Well,” he said, “I’ll let you get on your way.”
I remained on my porch as he walked down my front path, and I watched as he strode past the Truett house, heading for Charlotte Brock’s house next.
I needed to wait until he was gone before trying to catch Margo. It was too late to ask about those pictures before he rang her doorbell. And I’d just told him I needed to be at work.
I wondered how many of us here were checking in our garages, under our kitchen sinks, over the laundry room cabinets, to see whether we had antifreeze in our homes.
How many of us would look at the people we lived with and wonder.
I HAD JUST COMEback out with my purse, heading for my car, as Javier’s truck pulled up at the curb behind me. Tate stepped down from the passenger seat before he took off again. She hitched her bag onto her shoulder, keeping her eyes down.
“Hey,” I called.
Tate froze on their front path, gaze flicking my way. “Hey,” she said back.
“That guy from the state has been going around. He just tried your house.”
She nodded, continuing up the path.
“Everything okay?” I asked, gesturing at the spot where Javier’s truck had just been.
She eyed me suspiciously. “I had a doctor’s appointment,” she said, hand to her stomach again. “All good, except for the endless sugar craving. Javi’s getting donuts.”
I walked closer, halfway across her yard, and felt like I was encroaching on her life. “Tate,” I said, lowering my voice. “Have you been getting notes, too?”
She crossed her arms, gaze sharp, with none of the vulnerability I’d witnessed yesterday. “Haveyou?” she countered.
“Yes.” I peered over my shoulder again but couldn’t see Agent Locke anywhere. “It’s a homicide, Tate,” I said, his words echoing back, the fluttery panic in my stomach. “It’s official.”
She looked at her front porch, at the camera pointed in our direction. Her throat moved. “Do you want to come in?” she asked.
Inside, Tate and Javier’s house had started to transform. They’d repainted the walls a warm gray, added a low table to the open area of the kitchen. A pale green glider with matching ottoman was positioned in the corner of the living room, where there had oncebeen a bar cart. Everything seemed softer inside, as if they were rooting out any potential sharp edge.
We were standing in front of the kitchen window while Tate leaned gently against the counter, shifting from foot to foot. From here, I could see directly into my living room: the arm of the couch, a corner of the television screen.
I’d heard their fight, carrying from this very window, last week:
Maybe you should just calm the fuck down for once.
Maybe you should get the fuck out of here.
“I saw the comments on the message board this morning,” she said. “But I haven’t gotten any notes.”
And here, I’d thought she was preparing to make a confession about notes left for her or Javier. “Oh,” I said, disappointed. “I had thought maybe it was all of us.” I shook my head. “I thought it was Preston at first who was leaving them for me. I found a paper at his house that looked like the one left for me, but going by his post this morning, I think he or Mac must have received it.” Though Preston seemed to be the one who had found it, I wasn’t sure which of them it was meant for.
“God, it sounds like something Ruby would’ve done,” she said, pushing off the counter.
“Well, it’s obviously not Ruby anymore,” I said, staring out the window, straight through to my house. And yet the notes had accomplished what Ruby would’ve wanted—turning us against one another, suspicion mounting. Keeping us on edge. “Why us?” I asked. They were left for me and Margo and one of the Seavers, at least. “Why go after the group of us?”
“Well, what did it say?” she asked. Her head was tilted gently to the side, like she was genuinely curious. Curious to know whether I’d answer. Whether any of us trusted one another with our secrets here.
“I found the key,” I said, forcing the words out as Tate’s eyesgrew large. I put my hand up, palm out, a proclamation of innocence. “I didn’t find it back then, during the investigation. I found it this spring when I was digging in my garden. But it wasn’t just the Truett key.” I lowered my voice as if someone were listening, just below the window frame, hidden out of sight. “She had more keys than just that one. She had a lot, Tate. Keys to most of the houses on this street. She must’ve hidden them during the investigation.”
