Such a Quiet Place by Megan Miranda

CHAPTER 23

EVERY TIME THAT BACK door creaked open in my memory, I shuddered.

It was someone else. Someone else in this house. Someone else who had access. Who found a way in.

There was no way I was heading into work anymore. I quickly called Anna at reception, so they wouldn’t be expecting me. “I’m so sorry, I’m not feeling well—” I began.

But she was already talking. “Oh my God, everyone’s been talking about… what happened…” I couldn’t tell whether it was a statement or a question.

“It’s horrible,” I said, because all I could do was stick to the truth. “Anna, is there a car in the lot? A white one?” That car had been in the lot twice, and I thought it might be a reporter, following Ruby’s case. They’d be coming back for sure now.

“No,” she said. I could hear her straining for a better look. “No, it’s just us. Is it the media? Should we lock the door?”

Last time we had to, before they walked right in—for a statement, for a photo. Ruby’s death would be splashed across the news, circulating through the community, if not further.

I peered out my front window, on the lookout for Agent Locke passing by again. “Yes,” I said. “Lock the door.”

I NEEDED TO KNOWwhat had really happened that night the Truetts were killed.

Ruby might’ve been desperate to prove her innocence, but now so was I. Those were my fingerprints on that mug. That was my image on the photo left in my house. There were too many pieces that could be twisted against me, should someone want to do it.

It was possible that whatever Margo had received could provide answers. All these secrets we kept from one another—Tate, and me, and others.

I watched as Javier returned home, and then as the state agent drove off in his dark car. He’d probably noticed my car still here, just one more piece that could be used to craft a story.

No one appeared to be home at Charlotte Brock’s house, or at Mac and Preston Seaver’s. All of the cars that were usually parked out front were gone. Maybe everyone had gone back to work, in a show of normalcy and routine, except for me.

I couldn’t tell if anyone was home at Margo and Paul Wellman’s house—there were no cars in the driveway—but I rang the bell, hoping I didn’t wake up a sleeping baby. No one answered. I had just started walking down the front steps when I heard laughter coming from the direction of the pool.

Crossing the street, I could see the bright yellow of Nicholas’s pool float standing out among the greens and browns of the trees.

There was no longer a sign posted at the pool gate, keeping us out. Apparently, the scene of Ruby’s death had been released back to regular use.

Margo was the only person inside, standing in a growing puddle of water on the pool deck and wrapping Nicholas in a towel. She was standing maybe six feet from where Ruby had been found.

“Margo?” I called.

She straightened slowly, pulling up the front scoop of her bathing suit. “Hey,” she said. But she didn’t come closer.

“I don’t have my key. Can you let me in?”

She looked from me to the baby, then placed him in his stroller. “Just a minute,” she said, taking her time buckling him in place, adjusting the shade, pouring Cheerios into the front snack tray. I had started to think she’d forgotten about me until she finally headed my way, though she kept peering back at Nicholas as she walked. She took a step backward at the click of the gate, already turning for the stroller, cinching the towel around her waist.

“I just went by your place,” I began, following her inside.

“Oh?” she said, busying herself with packing up the rest of their gear.

I scanned the pool deck, a chill running through me; I was aware of where I was standing. Where all of us last stood. “I didn’t know the pool was open again.”

She nodded quickly, her hair starting to come loose from the bun on top of her head. “We have to get out,” she said. “I have to keep him busy and stick to routine, and then he’ll take a good afternoon nap. But otherwise?” She shook her head.

“Margo, I’ve been getting letters, too,” I said, and Margo finally stopped moving.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said quietly, still looking down at her pool gear.

“I’m glad you did. I thought it was just me.” But she didn’t respond. “Margo.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Margo,” I repeated, stepping even closer.

“Is it horrible?” she asked, peering up at me, her blue eyes wide and glassy. “The picture? Is it something that could really hurt you?”

I nodded slowly. “It’s pretty bad.” I closed my eyes, saw the image again. “I hid something after the trial,” I said. I understood now—I had to give information to get it in return. And I had nothing left to lose. “It looks really bad.”

She stared at Nicholas again, then leaned closer, the words spilling out. “A few months ago, I needed a break, and I left the baby with Paul. He must’ve gone to run some errands. Two birds, very Paul.” She took a deep breath in. “I was sleeping when he came back, but I heard him. And I didn’t hear the baby.” She took a step closer to the stroller. “Nicholas was in the car, Harper. Paul forgot about him.” Her hand fluttered to her mouth, like she couldn’t believe it. “He was fine. He is fine. It was just a few minutes. We had a huge fight, and he thinks I don’t trust him with the baby anymore, and maybe that’s true—”

I could see her hands were trembling, and I grabbed one to still it. “It’s okay, Margo. You’re right, he’s fine. Nothing happened.”

“No, but someone must’ve…” She trailed off, eyes on the empty road behind me. “Someone must’ve seen him there. Someone took a picture, Harper. A picture of my baby in a car. You know how hot it’s been this year.” A noise escaped her throat. “Do you know what happens to people like that? They have charges brought against them, in the best case. In the worst?”

“Oh, God, Margo, I’m sorry.” Her recent behavior was understandable—a reaction to that fear. Always with the baby, never wanting him out of her sight. The fear, and stress, of knowing someone had witnessed it. That one of us had seen. “We would all vouch for you, you know. You’re a great mom. And you can’t tell from a photo whether it was a minute, or five, or ten. It wouldn’t prove anything.”

A visible shudder rolled through her. “You know what gets me the most?” she asked. “Whoever it was, they didn’t try to help. They didn’t knock on our door to tell us. They just took a picture, Harper. What kind of person does that?”

I felt a chill in the air, even in the heat. A cold sweat breaking out, because I wasn’t sure what kind of person would do that, either. “Maybe they would’ve come back,” I offered. “You said you noticed quickly.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know about anyone here anymore.”

She cleared her throat, took a quick step away from me. I followed her line of sight, out the pool gate. Chase Colby was walking down the sidewalk and changed direction to cross the street when he saw us.

“Don’t say anything,” she said, damp hand on my forearm. “Please.”

“I won’t,” I said, walking beside her as she pushed the stroller out the pool gate.

Chase stopped on the cement square beside us, where grass was starting to push through the gaps. His sunglasses were on, and I couldn’t read his expression. “I was just coming to check on you guys. Make sure everything went okay with the state police.”

I stared at him, no longer sure what side he was on. What side he was ever on. He knew what Mr. Monahan had seen that night. He knew Tate and Javier had seen Ruby, too.

“Everything’s fine, Chase. I’ve got to get Nicholas settled,” Margo said, weaving the stroller in the other direction.

I felt Chase’s gaze on me, even behind the glasses, like he was waiting on me to fill him in. “You shouldn’t be involved,” I said as soon as Margo was out of earshot. “You’re not supposed to be. This is all because of you, you know.” I waved my arm in front of me, trying to take in the entire neighborhood—the past and the present, all of it, because of his involvement. I had a place to focus my anger. My fear.

But his face barely changed, his voice steady and measured. “Oh, no, Harper, don’t you dare. I only went with the information you provided me.”

“You pushed us to it,” I said, remembering the message board post that I’d found in Ruby’s things.

“No one needed any pushing. You were all too willing.”

I stepped closer, lowered my voice. “I know what Mr. Monahan saw. What Tate and Javier saw. And you buried it.”

His face went slack. “Two people who think maybe they saw someone in the dark? Eyewitnesses don’t hold up the same as hard evidence, especially in the dead of night. We had the evidence. The rest was just noise. I’ve done nothing but give you all full transparency. Every one of you. If I made any mistake, it was that.”

“It wasn’t for you to decide.”

“You’re right,” he said, his words coming faster, with more bite. “It was their decision not to say something in the end. You want to blame someone? Look in the mirror, every one of you. I only tried to keep this place safe. I only tried to keep you all safe. You were my friends. My community. I knew you all. I knew you wouldn’t do it. Tell me, was I wrong?”

“You must’ve been wrong about someone, Chase.”

He breathed in sharply through his nose. “Okay, Harper, go ahead. Who do you think it would be if it wasn’t Ruby?” He raised his sunglasses like he expected me to understand. And I did, even as I was fighting it. The same truth that we all understood: If it wasn’t her, it must’ve been one of us. And none of us wanted to believe it.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Really, now?” He leaned closer, just slightly, so I had to tip my head up to look at him. “I know what Ruby said to Mac down by the lake.”

I flinched, and I could see in his face that he knew he’d made a mistake. Mac had told me that Ruby didn’t say much, that she was drunk and not making any sense. Mac had lied. “What?” I asked.

Chase waved a hand between us, took a step back.

“What did she say, Chase. You said transparency, so prove it.”

He nodded once, as if conceding the point. “Apparently, she said, Harper, of all people, can you believe it?” And then he smiled. “What do you think she meant by that?”

I shook my head. She meant because I’d been seeing Mac. She had to. Or maybe because I’d taken the keys she’d hidden. Or because I’d yelled at her just then, at the party. She couldn’t mean what Chase was implying. But the others here could make it seem that way.

Mac had known and said nothing. But he’d told Chase. The boys’ club, making sure to keep one another safe.

“You’re all just protecting yourself,” I said, taking a step back. And Chase was no different. Trying to clear his name. So he could convince himself everything he’d done was worth it. I took another step back, and he stood there, watching.

“I told you from the start to be careful, Harper. I told you she was dangerous.”

And I remembered that we were in the one place with no cameras. That someone had poisoned her, standing feet away from where we stood. That someone had seen Margo’s baby in the car and left him there, too.

That we were all dangerous people here.

EVERYTHING WAS SPINNING OUTSIDEmy control again. I could feel it, circling around me. Circling toward me.

I needed to know who had been inside my house the night the Truetts died. And how they’d gotten in.

My patio gate might’ve been left open—we didn’t lock it often back then, believing in our perceived safety—but the back door to the house should’ve been locked. Especially since Ruby appeared to leave from the front.

I stepped down onto the patio. Ruby had always had a key, of course. But I was starting to wonder if she’d left a spare out here. She’d already hidden the large key ring out here. But I couldn’t imagine she’d bury a spare.

There were only so many places it could be. There were no potted plants or doormats to conceal a key. I ran my fingers along the top of the doorframe but came away with only dirt and grime, damp moss clinging to my fingers. I tried lifting the bricks at the edge of the patio to see if anything was wedged underneath, but they were adhered firmly to the base.

The only furniture out here was an Adirondack chair and matching wooden footstool, the perfect spot for reading. I ran my hands under the armrests, checking the spaces between the slats. I came away with nothing but the debris left behind from weather and time.

Last, I flipped the wooden stool over, and my stomach dropped. A silver piece of duct tape ran across the bottom slat, the corners of the tape grimy and pulled away from the wood from repeated use.

Peeling back the tape, I felt like I was following a ghost across time.

Flecks of paint dislodged as I pulled, and there, adhered to the sticky side of the silver tape, was a single spare key.

I shivered, imagining how secure I’d felt behind my locked doors and my latched windows. How utterly unsafe I had been all along. There had always been a way in.

Ruby knew better than to trust such a thing as a lock or a door. Had slept with a knife under her bed to be sure.

That horrific night last spring, someone else knew this key was here. Someone who’d been told they were always welcome here.

Someone who’d let themselves in the night the Truetts were killed. Someone who’d crept up the steps and used the shower to rid themselves of any evidence.

To wash away everything she had done.

I HAD TO TALK to Charlotte. But how did one say to your neighbor: Is your daughter leaving me threatening messages? Is your daughter a criminal? Do you know where she was on the night Brandon and Fiona Truett were killed?

I didn’t understand what had happened that night. Why anyone would want the Truetts dead.

Ruby must’ve suspected something—must’ve uncovered something as she’d watched us. Something that had ultimately gotten her killed. And now I was following in her footsteps.

I didn’t know whom to trust. Not Chase, who had lied, pushed the facts onto Ruby, kept the investigation focused there. Not the police, who were the subject of an internal investigation relating to Ruby. Not this state agent, whom I barely knew. Because, just as my brother had warned, you had to be sure. Before a system churned you up.

Even innocent, you wouldn’t emerge the same. He didn’t. The past always following him, refusing to let him go.

The system wasn’t infallible. It was made of people and the rules we had established with moves we deemed fair—or not.

Once it turned on you, it was hard to find your way out of it. It followed you, became part of you, just as you became a part of it.

I COULDN’T TELL IFCharlotte was home. I’d been waiting all afternoon for some sign of life from her house. I’d texted her, even, something innocuous—Can we chat?—but there had been no response.

While I waited, I kept going through Ruby’s journal pages, her notes of Whitney passing by the house each night. I was assuming it had been her. Then and now.

Someone who had been told that they could always come to Ruby should they need her.

Someone who knew where the cameras were and how to avoid them.

A girl who had been to my workplace in the spring for a college interview—that mug staring back at her from across the room: HELLO THERE! Something she’d used to taunt me with instead.

But the timing of the notes—I couldn’t figure out what had set them off. The first one—YOU MADE A MISTAKE—had arrived the evening when we’d been at the clubhouse meeting, all of us signing up for the neighborhood watch. The second—WE KNOW—had arrived the night I’d been on watch myself, boldly placed inside my house.

As the day was drifting to evening with no response, I grabbed that photo and stalked two doors down to Charlotte’s house.

The Brocks’ security camera was pointed at the walkway over the sidewalk. I strode up that way so they would see me coming. I rang the bell and saw a flicker of movement behind the window. Someone looking out. But no one came to the door.

I pounded on the door with the side of my fist until it abruptly flew open, Molly’s long hair swaying into view. “What?” she said, somehow managing to walk the line between whispering and yelling. The same expression she’d given me last week when I’d come looking for her mother before the clubhouse meeting. Full of suspicion and fear.

“Where’s your mom?” I asked. The house behind her was still, the lights dimmed. Like she had been pretending not to be home.

“Not here,” she said, face stoic, starting to close the door once more.

“Wait,” I said, placing my foot in the gap between us, propping the door open. Because I thought I finally understood what had kicked off the arrival of those messages.

It was me.

Me, standing in this doorway, telling Molly that Ruby had not been proven guilty.

And Molly insisting that she was.

I saw her expression again—the distrust and uncertainty. Not of Ruby, so close to her house. But of me knowing something. Of me marching up her porch that day, looking to talk to Charlotte. Me implying that Ruby might’ve been innocent.

And Ruby couldn’t be innocent. If she was, it meant that someone else was guilty.

HELLO THERE! the last message had declared. From someone who had been inside my office. Preston, I’d thought at first. As a member of campus security, he’d have access to the buildings and to my office.

When I marched over here, I was thinking of Whitney. Whitney, who had applied for admission and would’ve had the opportunity to see into my office. Who might’ve noticed that mug with the bold text.

But Whitney had been interviewed by someone down the hall. It was Charlotte and Molly who’d sat with me, waiting.

“I’m actually here to talk to you, Molly.” I took the photo from my back pocket, held it out to her, watched her eyes widen, her throat move. “I’m happy to have this conversation right here, if you’d like.” I stepped back to the edge of the porch, where I knew the camera feed would pick up our conversation.

Molly let the door swing open, stepping back into her house.

Their house appeared perfect inside, like always. The counters cleaned, dishes put away. But I was starting to see the cracks in the facade. The things that had gotten away from them. The door of the cabinet under the sink, off its top hinge. The family photos that hung from the walls, that hadn’t been changed—Bob standing beside Charlotte, the girls barely up to their shoulders. As if they still existed like this. As if Charlotte never wanted to acknowledge the truth.

I slapped the photo down on the island between us. “Hello there,” I said. “Want to tell me why you keep leaving this for me?”

Molly swallowed, hand to the base of her neck. “Looks to me like you’re doing something illegal,” she said, but her voice was soft, and she looked behind her, like she was afraid. I could tell I’d surprised her, caught her off guard. That she had never expected someone here to be so direct.

“Oh, but I’m not,” I said. “And Margo… What are you doing, Molly? Why are you threatening us? What do you think they’ll say when they find out it’s you?”

“You all act like such good people,” she said, crossing her arms. “But I see you all. I see what you do.”

“This is blackmail,” I said, even though she didn’t say what she wanted in return.

“It’s just what I see,” she said with a shrug. She gave me a sly grin. “Did you know Mr. Wellman once left their baby in the car?”

The room hollowed out; a pit formed at the base of my stomach. “Yes, Molly. I did. And I know you did nothing to help.”

She frowned. “He’s not a good parent. He got distracted by a phone call when he pulled into the driveway, left that kid in the car when he went inside. But Mrs. Wellman, she had a fit. An absolute fit.” She shook her head. “It’s not safe to do things like that.”

Like Tate said, such a small thing could ruin your life.

But Molly wasn’t some innocent bystander. “And you just left him there. You didn’t think to knock on the door? To tell them?”

She blinked rapidly, as if it hadn’t occurred to her. “He was fine,” she said. “I would have. Obviously.”

But I could tell I had rattled her. “I think you don’t understand the things you see,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes. “I understood just fine. I see more than all of you. I mean, Preston lives next door, and he flirts with my sister, who is eighteen. And no one says anything. You know he brought her home once? Last year?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t know that.” But I had learned to stay quiet, that the best defense was a strong offense, and that’s exactly what Molly was doing. She was revealing it all—what everyone fought to keep hidden—to justify her actions.

“She went to some party at the college, and I guess he broke it up, found her there. Brought her back home.”

“That sounds like the responsible thing to do,” I said.

“Does it?” she asked, making a face. “Rumor at school is that there’s a guy in security who will come to the party to break it up. But sometimes he doesn’t. He just acts like he will.”

I SEE YOU.

That note I’d found in the Seavers’ upstairs office had definitely been left for Preston. Me, Margo… and Preston. That was the common thread. We had each testified in Ruby’s trial.

The threat was implied: Say it was Ruby. Stick to your statements. It had to be Ruby.

There was so much here that we wanted to keep secret, and she was reminding us of the one fact we’d always been sure of: Any one of us could turn into a suspect. If it wasn’t Ruby, it might’ve been one of us.

“None of you are paying attention,” Molly continued. “Watch him. Ruby was.”

“Ruby was watching him?”

“She knew. She asked me about it once—I had her for class, you know. She asked me, and she asked Whitney, if there was anything we wanted to tell her. Promised us that she was someone we could tell, and she’d make sure no one found out it had come from us.” She rolled her eyes. “But knowing Ruby, I’m sure she just wanted to screw him over.”

Preston knew she’d been watching him, and he didn’t trust her. Maybe he thought I knew as well. Maybe Ruby had told Mac about it when he went to visit her. And he’d come to me after, to see what I knew.

Maybe I was being paranoid. Seeing danger everywhere, in everyone. Doubting every motivation, every interaction. As if the foundation of this entire neighborhood had been built on half-truths and white lies.

“You took his picture?” I asked.

“He shouldn’t be talking to my sister. Should he even be allowed to live here?” She put her hands on her hips, channeling power. “You think people will be mad at me when they find out?”

“Yes,” I said. Because it wasn’t just Preston. “I think people are going to be very angry.”

Molly handed the photo back to me like a reminder: It was time to go, and I needed to remember who had the power here. But I wasn’t done.

“Ruby told you both she was someone you could always turn to,” I said. “I remember that.”

“Yeah, well, good thing I never did.”

“She left a spare key out back,” I continued, “told you where you could find it.”

Molly swallowed, saying nothing.

“I know Whitney was out that night,” I said. And Molly must’ve known, too. Charlotte knew. They all knew. Casting suspicion outward to protect someone else.

There was a duffel bag packed up to get her daughters out of here after Ruby’s return. To keep them away. Just like they’d been sent to their father’s after the Truetts’ deaths. Not just because of the dangers Charlotte feared for her daughters. Because of what she feared they might have done.

Molly lifted one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. “She goes out, meets friends from the other side of the lake. So what?” But her eyes cast to the side.

“Molly… what did you do?”

“Me? Nothing.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, don’t act like Ruby was so innocent. Don’t you dare. She was an ex-con.” I heard an echo of her mother then. “She had you all fooled. But you know what she’s been doing? Messing with you all.”

No,I thought, she’s been watching you. Trying to work out what happened. Coming to terms with the truth. And now she was dead.

“Ruby lies about everything,” Molly continued. “My mom told us that. And she’s still doing it. You know she’s got a car, right?”

“What?” A chill ran through the room, and Molly smiled. Like she knew she finally had me. I had forgotten what seventeen was like. So close to adulthood, you could taste it—the freedom of it, the power.

“She’s got a white car, parked off the road, down by the pit. Whitney saw it there. Ruby could come and go whenever she wanted, but I heard she took your car anyway. She was messing with you,” Molly said. “Because she could.”

I closed my eyes, shook my head. Of course it had been Ruby. Of course. “I didn’t say she was a good person,” I said. “But that doesn’t make her a killer.”

Her face turned hard. “My mom said they’re going to retry the case. It has to be Ruby.” Her voice cracked midsentence.

I felt for her then. Even after everything. The things you would do to protect your sibling. The ways you weren’t sure whether you were helping or hurting, but you tried anyway because doing nothing seemed worse.

The little lies we told our parents—No, he wasn’t out—that became like second nature. The way I’d lie awake at night, listening for the sound of him returning home.

A fear that fueled the bigger lies, deep at the heart of a family.

I left her there, in her empty house, all alone. Knowing, one day, she’d have to come face-to-face with who she was—and what she had done.