She took Purdue by the hand and led him away toward Laurel’s house. In the garden outside, there was a gazebo that Curtis had built by hand, fully enclosed to keep out the summer bugs, with a conical roof and a fairy weathervane on top. Lisa knew that Laurel kept toys and games there for when children came to visit. She took Purdue to the gazebo, and inside they found a one thousand–piece jigsaw puzzle, barely started, with the pieces spread across an oak table. The picture on the puzzle box showed a collage of cats. Something about the unfinished puzzle made Lisa sad, as if she knew no one was ever going to put the pieces together.
“Do you want to work on the puzzle while I talk to Laurel?” Lisa asked.
“Okay.”
“Start with the corners.”
“I know.”
“Don’t go anywhere. If you see anyone or if anyone turns off the road, you come running inside and find me. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Lisa turned away, but Purdue called after her. “Hey, Lisa?”
“Yes?”
“I still don’t like her.”
“Laurel? You should give her another chance. She wants to help.”
The boy shrugged. “If you say so.”
Lisa left Purdue with the puzzle and headed for Laurel’s door. The house wasn’t large, and it was painted bright yellow, like a beam of sunshine. Laurel always wanted her house to be a buffer against the gray northern days. Beyond the house, she saw farm equipment sitting unused, because the ground was too wet to let Curtis and his men in the fields. On the border of the farmland was a narrow strip of grass that Curtis used as a runway, and his restored Cessna Skylark sat at the end, as if hungry for the sky. Laurel herself never went up in the plane with her husband. She hated flying. But Lisa had flown with Curtis many times. For her, the thrill was worth the fear.
She noticed that Laurel’s red Ford Bronco wasn’t parked near the house, and she wondered if her friend was out. When she knocked on the door, Curtis was the one who answered. He looked surprised to see her.
“Oh. Lisa.”
“Hi, Curtis. Is Laurel home?”
“No. She had an appointment, but I expect her back soon. Do you want to wait?”
“Sure.”
Curtis waved her inside. They stood awkwardly together in the foyer, and then Curtis gave her a hug, which was even more awkward. He wasn’t an expressive man, but Lisa suspected that Laurel had told him what was going on. Curtis took off his Enestvedt Seed baseball cap and smoothed his sweaty, graying hair. He was older than Laurel, almost sixty, and he had the lean frame and slightly crooked physique of a man who’d done hard physical work every day of his life. He wore a pale-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans.
Lisa knew him to be knowledgeable about everything from mechanical engineering to the Chinese economy. He had a curious streak and read voraciously. Like most northern farmers, he also had a graveness of manner that strangers would consider aloof. He rarely smiled or laughed. He drank one beer every Sunday after church. Life was serious business, and Curtis was a serious man.
“You want to wait in Laurel’s office?” he asked.
“Okay.”
“Can I get you anything? Coffee, milk?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Well, you know the way.”
Curtis left her alone. Lisa didn’t feel offended by his abruptness, because that was who he was. She did know the way to Laurel’s office, because she’d been here many times. Sometimes by herself, sometimes with Noah. She followed a hallway painted in warm goldenrod and decorated with photographs of sunflowers to a brightly lit room at the corner of the house. Laurel kept a rolltop desk and a locked filing cabinet in one corner, but the rest of the office furniture was plush and comfortable. A worn leather sofa loaded with pillows. An overstuffed chair. An area rug with bell-shaped designs in red and blue. A Tiffany floor lamp. It was a place where Lisa had always felt comfortable.
She sat down on the sofa and let her body sink into the cushions. Piano music played softly from hidden speakers, something classical and relaxing. In front of her was a claw-foot antique coffee table that held a stuffed cat, a box of tissues in a floral holder, and a mason jar of potpourri that gave the room an aroma of patchouli. There was one other item on the table, too. It was her own novel. Thief River Falls. Her fourth thriller, her award winner, the book that would be a movie soon, the book that had changed her life.
She picked up the hardcover copy and opened it to the title page. It was inscribed to Laurel in Lisa’s own handwriting with a quote from Carl Sandburg about a wild girl holding on to her dreams. Lisa remembered writing that inscription and remembered the little nod of Laurel’s head as she read it. Then she opened the book to the prologue and read the first sentence, which she knew by heart, the first sentence she’d written and rewritten a hundred times:
Down, down, down comes the rain of black dirt, landing in showers on the boy’s small body and slowly burying him in the ground.
Lisa closed the book and put it back on the antique table without flipping through any of the other pages. The story was too much for her now. Everything was too much.
She heard a noise in the hallway and saw Laurel heading past the sunflower photos. Her friend never walked fast. Laurel stopped along the way to straighten one of the picture frames, and she took a step back to make sure it was level. Then she came into the office and closed the door behind her. She reached down and squeezed Lisa’s hand.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” she said.
“I haven’t been waiting long,” Lisa replied.
“Good.”
Laurel took a seat in the overstuffed chair. Her eyes noticed everything. Lisa could see her take note of the position of Thief River Falls on the table, as if she recognized that it had moved from where it was before. She also noted the empty cushion on the sofa next to Lisa, who was sitting in the middle. When Noah had come with her, he’d sat on the end. A year had passed, and Lisa still found herself leaving a space for him.
“Did you find out anything?” Lisa asked. “You said you were going to make some calls. I hope you were careful about who you talked to.”
“I did make some calls. That’s how I’ve spent most of my day.”
“And?”
As always, Laurel chose her words carefully. “I wish I had answers for you. I don’t.”
Lisa frowned. “So either no one knows what’s going on, or they won’t say a word. That’s the problem. I don’t know who to trust.”
“You can trust me,” Laurel replied.
That was true, but Lisa found it an odd thing for her friend to say.
“I told you to stay home,” Laurel added. “I said you should lay low while I looked into this.”
“I know, but I couldn’t sit there and do nothing. I had to get out and ask questions. I managed to kick a hornet’s nest while I was doing it.”
“What do you mean?”
Lisa explained. She needed to unburden herself about what was going on, so she related everything that had happened in the past few hours. She told Laurel about her visit to Mrs. Lancaster, about her conversation with Will Woolwich at the FBI, about the desperate escape from the ginger man in the state park, and finally about her confrontation with the police officers outside her shed. That story brought a look of horror to her friend’s face.