The walls were splashed with blood and the sofa cushions dark with it. Numbered Post-its were everywhere—taped to walls, laid on floors. Faint dust from what must have been fingerprint kits covered the flat surfaces of the table and window frames. “Holy shit,” Trip murmured. It was like the police had closed the door behind them the night of the murder and never come back. Which, I guess, is pretty much exactly what they’d done.
“Are you going in or what?” Tannis said impatiently. She was too far away to see inside, standing below the step with Sarah, who’d come back over to us.
I couldn’t believe the police had given the trailer back to Natalie like this, without any kind of warning. What if she’d walked in first? I swiveled my head, suddenly afraid that she was behind me, able to see this mess, but she stood by the edge of the road, looking out across toward the spot where I’d waited for Moose and Wynn way back when.
Trip turned to me. “Dude.”
“I can’t believe they didn’t tell her,” I said quietly.
“Tell her what?” Tannis all but yelled.
“Shhh!”
But Nat had heard. “Tell me what?” She started walking toward us.
“Nat . . . ,” Trip began, then faltered.
“Stop,” I said. I was so afraid she’d come closer. I was barely keeping my lunch down. She couldn’t see this. I felt a white-hot anger at the police. Bob and Lincoln. Idiots, Trip had called them. Understatement of the year. How could they? I struggled to keep my voice even. “You don’t want to go in, Nat,” I said. “It’s not . . .” I took a breath. “It’s still a crime scene,” I said. “Like that night.”
She blanched, took a step back like I’d hit her or like the truth had suddenly billowed out from the cracked-open door, pushing her away.
“Why don’t you just . . . I don’t know . . . take a walk or sit a little? And we’ll grab your stuff. . . .” I was trying to sound as confident and in-charge as Trip had when he’d taken the keys from her, but my voice was high and thin, the words bubbling up, on the edge of nonsensical. Natalie looked like she was on another planet. I don’t think a word I said after “that night” got through. I felt Tannis beside me, pushing past to look inside.
“Oh. God,” she whispered, placing a hand on the doorframe to steady herself.
“You okay?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Tannis?”
She threw up.
“Oh, Jesus,” Trip said.
The four of us stood there watching her retch over the side of the front step. Natalie looked like she might join in.
“Hey.” Trip put his hand gingerly on Tannis’s back. “Why don’t you go out there too? With Nat?”
“Uh-huh.” Tannis nodded, stumbling down toward Natalie, who stood, motionless, in the yard.
Sarah came forward. “Let me see.”
Trip opened the door and stepped inside, letting Sarah peer past him. She sucked in her breath as she got her first view of the room.
The walls looked like a much angrier version of the physics closet. Like Jackson Pollock on a rampage. Splatter painting, my mom used to call it. Except this wasn’t paint or ketchup or whatever Mr. Ruskovich had used at school. It was dark, much darker than I’d imagined and than they showed on TV. Brown. If you didn’t know better, you’d think someone had thrown a bucket of mud against the wall. Reddish mud, like I hear they have out West somewhere.
I followed Trip in, my knee joints feeling loose and saggy. I had to stop and lean against the wall by the door after checking to be sure it was clean.
I couldn’t stop looking at it.
The remains of that night.
Of Natalie’s dad.
Not really, of course, because his real remains were underground. But this was all that was left up here.
I was having a hard time reining in my thoughts, much less controlling my body.
“What’s wrong with the cops?” Sarah’s voice was low and furious. “How could they send her back here? Why didn’t they clean this up?”
“Exactly,” I said weakly.
“I don’t think the cops do that,” Trip said. “I saw it on TV. The family has to hire, like, a special cleaning service or something. But I can’t believe they didn’t tell her that. They’re obviously bigger morons than we gave them credit for. Let’s just grab the stuff and leave,” Trip said. “Before she decides to come in. I’ll find Nat’s room and get her trophies and ski stuff. I’ll know what’s important.”
“I’ll come with you and grab her clothes,” Sarah said.
“So I guess I’ll . . .” What? Vomit? Leave? I was pretty sure neither was the right answer but I couldn’t come up with much else.
“Why don’t you find the other stuff Nat asked for?” Trip suggested. “Her mom’s vase, the boxes in her dad’s room, the picture she wants. Just see if there’s anything else . . .” He surveyed the living room, finally realizing how Nat had lived. And that a drug den wasn’t the type of place where you generally found a lot of memorabilia. “I don’t know. Just look for, like, anything important.”
I scanned the living room quickly after they walked away, but it was pretty barren. Chairs, a few tables, a TV stand. I looked at the sofa and the blood-sprayed wall again, thinking about Galen Riddock. Trying to picture him there, pointing a gun. It was hard to imagine.
I wandered over to the window, paused to watch Nat and Tannis. They’d moved over to the shed by the woods. Natalie was fiddling with the lock, and Tannis was kind of leaning against the little building. On the road a car slid into view, and I felt an electric jolt, immediately recognizing it. It had been cruising slowly but sped up as it drew abreast of Trip’s car.
Moose.
What the f**k was he doing up here?
There was no one to see. No business to conduct.
He’d been here that night, had told me so himself. Holy crap. We’d gone to question Galen, but what about Moose?
I tried picturing him shooting Mr. Cleary—fidgety, scrawny Moose. I couldn’t do it. Plus, I knew the cops had already grilled him and let him go.
Down the hall Trip and Sarah were opening and closing drawers. I pulled myself away from the window, remembering that I was supposed to be doing . . . something.
I peeked into the dingy kitchen, then a small bathroom where Nat would have been going that night, just as she realized something was wrong. I saw Trip and Sarah working in Nat’s tidy little space. Then I found her dad’s room.