One of those kids or someone who has access to their phone or e-mail accounts might have seen the arson as a perfect opportunity for covering a murder.”
He nodded. “I’ve thought of that, and I’ve been trying to get her to do it. She’s afraid if she does, she will get everyone else in trouble.”
“Oh, spare me!” I said. “Erika’s a self-centered drama queen, worried about nobody but herself. Anyway, you could go to the sheriff. Why don’t you send McManus a copy of her list?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Just type the stupid names!” I exploded. “Don’t act so helpless. Make a list of the people you’ve seen at the fires.”
“I’ve never gone.”
I stared at him. “What?” I couldn’t believe it. “Are you crazy? Why would you even try to help—?”
“She’s a friend.”
“Well, then, you’ve got lousy taste in friends.”
We stood a foot apart, staring at each other. Zack turned away first and sat on a bench facing the water, resting his forearms on his knees. I began to pace.
“Someone searched my room last night.”
He straightened up. “When?”
“While I was at the party. Searched my room and Uncle Will’s den.”
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“The searcher wasn’t very careful.”
“Was anything taken?”
“Erika’s cell phone.”
“You have her cell phone?” he asked, surprised.
“Not anymore.” I continued to pace from one side of the landing to the other.
“Where did you find it?”
“Aunt Iris found it, at the fire site, I guess. She buried it in the backyard with what she believes are Uncle Will’s ashes, which I got curious about and dug up. By the way, what is the name of Wisteria’s friendly neighborhood stalker?”
“Carl. Carl Wiedefeld. Why?”
“I didn’t see him while we were eating dinner. He may have left the restaurant.”
“Was anything else taken?” Zack caught my arm as I passed. “Anna, would you stand still?” He reached for my other hand and pulled me around the bench. “Please sit,” he said. “Is your aunt okay?”
“Meaning is she the same as before — a crazy-but-stillfunctioning kind of okay? As far as I can tell.”
“And you’re okay?”
I looked away. “Of course.”
“Was anything else taken?” He was talking in that gentle voice he used with Erika: I guess I was his friend too. It was a good thing I wasn’t skilled enough to cry and look beautiful; I might have been tempted to pull “an Erika.” But this was just a passing moment of weakness.
“A news article and a letter my uncle had planned to send to the state police.”
Zack was quiet for a moment. “Why the state police rather than the sheriff? What was it about?”
“The death of my mother.”
He frowned. “I thought that was a long time ago. Marcy said she died when you were a baby.”
“I was three.” The humid river air had made it impossible for sweat to evaporate, and an unexpected breeze gave my damp skin goose bumps. I rubbed my arms like a person with fever and chills. Zack laid his hand on my back for a moment, then shifted his position as if uncertain that I wanted to be touched.
“How did she die?” he asked quietly.
“In a robbery. The police believe she surprised the intruder. It was a blow to the head. I read it in the article that was taken from my room.”
“The sheriff said your uncle was struck on the head.”
Two people from the same family killed in the same way — I had avoided making that connection as long as possible, reluctant to connect the dots to Aunt Iris’s inclination to smash things when she was angry. Had Uncle Will questioned the theory about my mother’s death? Was his murder a successful effort to silence him? My imagination was running away with me!
“Anna, be careful,” Zack said.
“Careful of whom?” I asked. “Aunt Iris? Carl? How about Erika’s father?”
“Her father?”
“He wanted to marry my mother — Joanna — and he blames Uncle Will for coming between them. I look like her.
Aunt Iris keeps talking to me as if I’m her. Last night the way Mr. Gill looked at me creeped me out. He told me he’d like to see me wearing the colors Joanna wore. He wanted to buy me a scarf, the kind that she liked.”
Zack shook his head. “I don’t know what to think.”
“That makes two of us.” I glanced at my watch. “I should get back to work.”
He stood up with me. “I’ll walk you there.”
“Please don’t.”
He pressed his lips together.
“It’s just that I–I need a few minutes by myself.”
He studied my face, then nodded. I left him staring at the river.
I was grateful to Marcy for biting her tongue a second time that day. When I returned to the shop, she looked at me curiously but refrained from asking questions. Before leaving work on Friday, I looked up pharmacies in a county phone book. Mr. Gill owned four, which would make it harder to locate him away from home, but I had to talk to him again, and I didn’t want to do it around his wife or Erika. I had to find out who Mick was.
The closest pharmacy listed was on the corner of Scarborough and Crown, which was just one block over from High Street. I drove the short distance, parked behind the store, and went in to ask about Mr. Gill’s schedule.
Our pharmacy in Baltimore is in the back of a 24/7 grocery store with bright aisles, piped-in baby-boomer music, and great smells wafting in from its deli and bakery.
This place was silent. It smelled like Vicks VapoRub and plastic. The boxes of candy, wrapped in cellophane, looked as if they had been sitting next to the canes and commodes since my mother worked there.
“May I help you?”
The woman behind the prescription counter listened to my request and was copying down my name and cell phone number on a message pad when I saw a venetian blind flip in the office behind her. Reflections off the glass made it hard to see in, but a moment later the office door opened, and Mr. Gill emerged.
He smiled at me. “Anna. You’ve come.”
I tried not to squirm at the warmth in his voice. “Yes, I have a question.”
“It’s wonderful to see you.”
“Thanks. This won’t take long.”
“Should I lock up now, Mr. Gill?” the woman asked.
He nodded. “Thank you, Myrtle.”
“Oh. Oh, sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t realize it was closing time. I’ll come back when you’re open.”
Being alone with him in the store would be even creepier than chatting in the restaurant booth. He had probably enjoyed being alone here with my mother.
“No, no. I’m happy to answer your questions. Come into my office.”
I hesitated, then told myself to stop being paranoid. When I entered the small room, I chose the chair that was close to the office door rather than the one he gestured to.
“You’ve worn your hair up,” he said. “You look lovely.”
“Thanks. I would like to know—”
