Garret moved faster than her and slid a coaster beneath it.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Au contraire, I fancy myself a coaster-wielding magician. I prefer to slip it in there before you even know it’s happened,” he chuckled. “That sounded far more sexual than I intended.”
Crystal laughed and squeezed the cushion beneath her with both hands. “I feel like an adolescent girl with hurt feelings. And worse, that’s what he acted like. A teenage boy sulking in the car.”
Garret shifted to face her on the couch.
“Love does that, you know? Makes us crazy and stupid. But you’re doing the very best thing. You’re going off on a grand adventure without him. Leaving him pining for you this weekend, and by Monday he’ll be ramming his head against your door and begging your forgiveness.”
Crystal grinned.
“I hope not. I like his head. But I wish we’d had a better goodbye. You know? I feel conflicted now. I hate that. I wanted to go into the weekend clear. Instead, I’m all muddied in my head and…” she trailed off and placed a hand over her heart.
“Call him, then. It’s a simple answer, Crystal. But you won’t, right?” Garret challenged.
Crystal sighed and looked at her watch.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She kissed Garret on the cheek and stood.
“I have to go. The bus for the UP leaves in an hour and I have to check in.”
Garret stood and carried her glass to the sink.
“Call him, Crystal. And then have an amazing time. Don’t give him another thought until that bus crosses the Mackinac Bridge on Sunday.”
She smiled and nodded, backing through his door. They both knew it didn’t work like that. If only you could wipe someone from your mind for a weekend.
21
Now
“Did you find anything?” Bette demanded before Hart had made it across the threshold into the house.
Homer popped into the hallway, face anxious. Lilith followed, holding Oolong in her arms.
“Yes,” Hart admitted.
Bette froze, her breath catching.
“Not Crystal,” Hart quickly assured them. “But I have a few questions.”
Bette ground her teeth and walked into the kitchen, where Lilith had made spaghetti, baked cookies, and arranged fresh flowers in a clear vase on the dining room table. Lilith had always been good at that, making things seem okay, softening the sharp edges of tragedy.
None of them were hungry, but they were trying to do the responsible thing and eat.
“Can I get you something? Tea or—?” Homer asked. He reverted to host when in the home where he’d spent so much of his life.
Though Bette had lived in the house alone for over two years, when Homer returned, they unconsciously assumed their former roles as father and daughter. He’d never been much of a host, but he was better than Bette, who rarely remembered to offer guests a glass of water unless they were there for dinner.
“No. I’m fine. Thank you,” Hart said.
Lilith set Oolong on the floor and offered Hart her hand.
“Hi, I’m Lilith Hawkins.”
“Oh, sorry, yes,” Homer said, sounding embarrassed. “Lilith was my wife’s best friend. Lilith this is—”
“Officer Hart,” the policeman told her before Homer finished.
He shook her hand.
“We can sit in the living room,” Homer said, motioning toward the front room.
“Or you’re welcome to join us for dinner.” Lilith gestured at the table.
“No, thank you. I can’t stay for long.” The officer followed Homer into the living room and stood near the wall.
“What did you find?” Bette demanded, unable to sit.
She paced to the window, flicked open the curtains and watched a gray van drive by.
Homer sat but immediately started tapping his socked feet. Lilith sat opposite him on the couch and her eyes flicked to his bobbing toes.
“We found a pregnancy test,” Hart told them. “It was positive, and Wes admitted it belonged to Crystal. She told him she was pregnant two days before she disappeared.”
Bette gasped and yanked the curtain. The rod pulled from the holder and crashed to the floor, startling all four of them. She made no move to pick it up.
“She was pregnant?” Bette asked, unbelieving. “No, she would have told me. She tells me everything. She calls me if she stubs her toe.”
Homer said nothing, but he folded his hands in his lap and stared at the gold band on his left finger. He’d never remarried after their mother died. He’d never gone on a date, as far as Bette knew.
Lilith stood and walked to Bette, putting a hand on her low back.
“Wes is married, and Crystal is pregnant…” Bette shook her head.
“Just breathe,” Lilith murmured.
Hart knelt and grabbed the curtain, reaching up and replacing the bar in the holders, pushing the fabric to one side.
“What did he do to our Crystal? What did he do to my little girl?” Homer’s voice caught. He touched the gold band and stared at the floor.
Hart shook his head. “We don’t have evidence of foul play. If something happened to Crystal, I doubt it happened in Weston’s house. His story, his newest story, is that Crystal visited him on Wednesday. They were only in the house for a few minutes when she told him she was pregnant. He was shocked and didn’t say much, which seemed to upset her. She ran out the door and drove away. That was the last he spoke to her.”
“What bullshit,” Bette snarled. “And what was the story before? She stopped by to say hi and left. I knew he was fucking lying.”
Homer pulled off his ring, slid it on his pinkie and started rotating it around and around.
“Where did you find the pregnancy test?” Lilith asked.
“In the master bedroom on his dresser.”
“Did he try to deny it was Crystal’s?” Bette demanded.
Hart shook his head. “No. He told us right away it was Crystal’s. He said he reacted poorly when she showed him the test. Not angry, but not happy. Later, he said he realized it would complicate things, but he was happy.”
“Liar,” Bette muttered.
“You searched his trash cans?” Homer asked. “His cupboards? Any place he could have hidden evidence of a crime?”
“Yes, but the trash goes out on Mondays, which means he could have taken stuff out already.”
“God damn it!” Bette shrieked, pulling away from Lilith.
She stalked across the room, but there was nowhere to run.
“Was his house clean?” Homer asked. “Were any spaces unusually clean compared to the rest of the house?”
Again, Hart shook his head.
“We looked for that, but no. His place has an air of neglect. It’s not dirty, just not very lived in. Like I said, he divides his time between East Lansing and Traverse City. Most of his stuff is up north. This house has a lot of textbooks, papers, but otherwise…” Hart shrugged. “He had framed poems and art on the wall, a guitar in the living room. We found one photograph in the whole place. It was a series of photobooth images he and Crystal had taken at a tourist shop when they went to the Upper Peninsula.”
“Where he tried to kill her!” Bette shouted.
Her father winced.
“I sent an officer to Michigan Mayhem this afternoon to get the tour guide’s story,” Hart told Bette.
“Why doesn’t he wear a wedding ring?” Homer asked, pulling his ring off his pinkie and returning it to his ring finger.
“He said he lost it a year after he got married,” Hart offered.