Stride and Maggie looked at each other. Maggie recited from memory. "Black jeans, white turtleneck."
The speaker was silent. Then, a few seconds later: "You said a white turtleneck?"
Stride spoke up. "That's what we said."
Another pause, longer this time. "Okay, guys. We may have something."
The triangular piece of fabric was small and jagged, about six inches in length, with frayed edges. Despite the dirt caked over it, the fragment was obviously white. Along one side, where the cloth had torn from the rest of the garment, was a reddish-brown stain soaked into the fibers.
14
Emily believed she was going insane. Not since she had attacked Rachel on that one terrible night had she felt so out of control. She was drifting at sea, alone, without hope of rescue.
She paced frantically back and forth, wearing a path in the carpet. She grasped her forehead in her hand, fingers outstretched, squeezing it like a vise. Her dirty hair spilled over her face. Her eyes were wide, her breath loud. She was hyperventilating. The pain in her head throbbed, like a tumor growing inside her.
"I'd like to show you this bracelet," the detective had said. She took one look and screamed.
Emily never really believed the day would come. She knew what the other mother, Barbara McGrath, had told her during the broadcast. How she was afraid of that one day when the police would be at her door, somber expressions on their faces. But Emily didn't believe it. She believed Rachel was alive. One day, the phone would ring, and the familiar, mocking laughter would be on the other end.
She believed it right up until the second she saw the bracelet. Now she knew. Rachel was dead. Someone had killed her.
It was as if the police had pulled the ground from under Emily's feet. Hours later, she was still consumed by despair.
The quiet sounds of the porch thundered in her head. The furnace hummed, pumping warm air into the room. The wooden branches of the spirea plants outside made squeaking noises as they rubbed against the windows. The timbers in the house creaked, shifting under the weight of an unseen ghost.
And the worst sound of all, tap tap tap, was Graeme working on his laptop a few feet away, oblivious to her agony.
Tap, tap, tap.
She had never believed the two of them could sink so far. What was worse, she knew she had brought it all on herself.
"I'm pregnant," Emily said.
She tensed, waiting for his response. She was seated on the sofa in her tiny living room, her hands folded awkwardly in her lap. Graeme was in the upholstered chair opposite her. He held a drink in his hand. It was his second since dinner, and she had already plied him with champagne to go along with the prime rib she had roasted in the oven.
Now, with both of them relaxed, she had blurted it out.
"You said you were taking precautions," Graeme said.
Emily winced. This wasn't what she wanted to hear. Not love, not excitement. Just vague recriminations.
"I'm on the pill," Emily told him. "But nothing's fool-proof. It was an accident. It was God's will."
"I'm not sure we're ready," he said.
"I'm not sure anyone's ever ready," Emily replied.
"I mean, I'm not sure we should keep it."
Emily felt tears welling inside her. Her breath was heavy. She spoke in a quavering voice. "I won't kill my baby."
Graeme said nothing.
"I won't do it, Graeme," Emily repeated. "How can you ask me to? This is your baby, too."
Emily got off the sofa. She went around the coffee table and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers.
"Don't you want to give our baby a home together?" she asked him.
He seemed stricken for a few interminable seconds, his eyes focused over her shoulder. Then he nodded, just the barest movement of his head.
Emily felt a huge grin of relief and joy spread across her face. She threw her arms around Graeme's neck and hugged him tightly. She kissed him all over his face. "Let's get married now," she said. "Right away. This weekend."
Graeme smiled. "All right. We'll drive up the coast this weekend and find some little small-town church. We can bring Rachel, too."
A cloud passed briefly across her mind. She had almost forgotten her daughter in the excitement of the moment. Then it, too, passed. She felt strong and confident. This would be the right thing. For her. For Graeme. Even for Rachel. It might finally make them a family again. A family that would never have to worry about money.
"Yes, let's do it," Emily told him.
Emily leaned back and began unbuttoning her blouse, watching his eyes follow the movement of her fingers. As the flaps of fabric fell away, his hands reached inside, squeezing her breasts.
Graeme's pager beeped, a high-pitched whine filling the room. Both of them jumped. Emily fell back on her butt, her breasts spilling out of her shirt. Graeme reared out of the chair and grabbed for the pager. He plucked it off his belt and stared at it.
"I have to go."
Emily straightened herself, smoothing her hair and quickly attending to her open blouse. She shrugged and smiled at him. "That's all right."
She walked him to the door and stayed there, with the night air blowing in, while he backed his car out of the driveway. She watched the car until she couldn't see it anymore, and still she stayed there, enjoying the breeze on her face.
Emily closed the front door quietly. She headed for the kitchen, humming to herself.
"You looked pretty funny with your tits hanging out," she heard someone say.
Rachel was sitting on the top step of the short stairway to the second floor. Her long bare legs dangled over the stairs. She wore short shorts and a black halter top that fit snugly around her full breasts. Her black hair was wet, as if she'd just come out of the shower. Her skin glowed.
"You were spying on us?"
Rachel shrugged. "Graeme saw me. I didn't want to interrupt your big moment."
Emily didn't want to get sucked into Rachel's games tonight. She headed for the kitchen without another glance at her daughter.
Rachel called after her. "Up to your old tricks, huh?"
Emily stopped. "What does that mean?"
Rachel screwed up her face and mocked her mother's voice. "'I'm on the pill, darling. It was an accident. It was God's will.'"
"So?" Emily retorted.
"So what do you call these?" Rachel said. She held up a tiny pocket-purse, then flipped it open to reveal an unopened wheel of small green pills. "They look like birth control pills to me. What happened, Mother? Did you fall a little behind?"
Emily's hands flew to her mouth. Her face went white. Then she steeled herself, her mind working furiously. "You don't understand."
Rachel jabbed a finger at her mother. "Don't I? You're the manipulative bitch I always thought you were. Just like Daddy said you were."
Emily said nothing. Rachel was right-she had deceived Graeme. But it was for a greater good, for both of them. To finally have a little security. To not have to work. She wasn't trying to trap him, only to make him realize he loved her.
"I suppose I should thank you," Rachel said. "Didn't you pull the same trick on Daddy? Isn't that why I'm here? You knew you could never keep him on your own."
Emily bit her lip. She wanted to scream a denial. But the long pause was enough to convince Rachel of the truth.
"You're becoming predictable," Rachel said.
"Are you going to tell Graeme?" Emily asked. She knew the answer. Rachel wouldn't miss an opportunity to drive a knife into her mother's heart. All the carefully laid plans would unravel.
But Rachel surprised her.
"Why would I do that?" Rachel said. "It's the first time I ever thought we had something in common."
The girl turned and disappeared into her room.
Emily wished they would have let her keep the bracelet. She had only been able to catch a quick glimpse of it in the plastic bag, enough to see the inscription from Tommy. Then the detective had whisked it out of sight. Evidence, he said.