Page 119 of The Lies I Told
“It was a big school.”
“And his family is from California?”
“Yes. He and his brother, Jeff, grew up in Sacramento. Then after college David moved to New York, the world’s financial capital.”
“Why did he leave New York for Richmond?”
“Why not?”
Marisa grinned. “Sorry to be so nosy. I’m just trying to catch up. How old is he?”
“Two years older than me. He said he spent most of his college years in the library and was able to graduate a year early, at the top of his class, even after doing a year of mission work.”
“Nice.”
Marisa’s interest was a welcome relief. I’d worried that she’d have no interest in my marriage, but to my delight, this was a bonding moment. David, Marisa, and I were going to be a happy family.
49
MARISA
Sunday, March 20, 2022
6:00 p.m.
My early dinner with Brit had accomplished less than I’d hoped. All I’d really learned was that David had a brother named Jeff. Jeff. The name that again reached out from the Black Hole. I could hear Richards now: “Millions of Jeffs in the world.”
David would have been twenty-one when he could’ve crossed paths with Clare or me in November 2008. Clare’s photo suggested she’d seen him in town six weeks before she’d died. She wouldn’t have snapped such a close-up image of a random stranger.
David might have been from California, but he’d gone to college less than an hour’s drive from Richmond, and this alleged time in town had been over the fall and winter breaks. It was all doable. I had no idea who he’d stayed with, but the answer was there.
I dialed my phone. Jo-Jo picked up on the third ring. “M. What’s up?”
“I’m standing across from David’s house.”
“David. As in Brit’s David?”
“Yes. Do me a favor and call me in fifteen minutes.”
“Why?”
“Just in case.”
“Case of what? Should I call Jack and have him come over there?”
“No, no. It’s fine. Just call me in fifteen.”
“Not a second longer.”
“Thanks.” I looked down at the image Clare had taken of David. Richards had as much as told me, without saying it, he needed a DNA sample from David, and to have it tested before he could move forward. If it was a match to Clare’s baby, then Richards had reason to talk to David. Too many ifs ...
I crossed the street to David’s townhome. As I climbed the steps, I ran my hand up the painted wooden railing. My fingertips brushed a section where the paint had chipped and someone had painted over it. I paused and looked at the railing. Carefully, I ran my hand back and forth over uneven wood, again trying to conjure any memory. Had I been here before?
I closed my eyes, coaxing any image or momentary flash from the shadows. But nothing presented itself to me. No memory whispered a lost truth.
Irritated by the nothingness, I climbed the remaining stairs to the front door. I rang the bell, adjusted my stance as I willed my shoulders to relax.
When the door opened to David, panic surged. It ran bone deep and went far beyond collecting a discarded cup or strand of hair. Suddenly, I was spooked and couldn’t give a logical reason why.
