“But it’s our house,” I say, my eyes darting to Roman. “I don’t want you to think you owe us anything. You’ve already done plenty.”
“Word of advice,” Roman says, his voice low. “Mom’s going to get her way. She never passes up the opportunity to spoil someone.”
“I really do insist,” she says, handing her card to Fred. “Go on outside. On the way home, we’ll talk about what else the place needs.”
I’m not used to such graciousness. The entire time we’d been shopping, I’d mentally calculated how much everything would cost, what the monthly installments might be and the potential down payment. I’m used to working for what I want. Sometimes, even with work, I end up disappointed. But, as Roman says, Josephine delights in indulging those she loves. I’m now one of those people.
As I walk to the car, I spot Bridgette outside. She’s leaning against the brick wall of the building, smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, Bridgette,” I say, marching toward her. I’m too close for her to walk away or duck back inside. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“My break is almost over,” she says, eyes flitting for an escape route.
“You seemed chummy with my mother-in-law,” I say. “I wonder how she’d feel about that dig you made last night?”
“Look, lady. I don’t know you—”
“You don’t have to know me. What you said was rude. Making a joke about a girl drowning?”
She titters, taking another drag of the cigarette. “We don’t need to get into this.”
“Why? Because you know who I am?” Who I am. What do I mean by that? A Douglas? In a few short days, it’s like the privilege has gone to my head. I take a deep breath and redirect. “I thought Celia was your friend.”
“She was my friend.” Bridgette tosses the cigarette on the ground, stomping it with her foot. “And Cooper killed her.”
The scent of smoke rising from the ground turns my stomach. I step back, processing the magnitude of what Bridgette just said. Coop? Killed her? Then the anger returns. “What did you say?”
Bridgette smiles, having reclaimed control of the conversation. “You know that’s what everyone in Whisper thinks, right? People don’t say it anymore, out of respect for Mrs. Douglas, but we all know Celia’s death wasn’t an accident.”
I’m confused. Of course Celia’s death was an accident. That’s all Coop ever said. How could anyone think he’s capable of hurting—let alone killing—someone?
“Celia drowned,” I say, my words sounding more like a question or guess than a statement.
“Yeah, the water in her lungs killed her. That doesn’t explain why her skull was cracked. I’m guessing Cooper didn’t tell you that part of the story.” Bridgette looks over my shoulder. I turn to see Josephine and Roman exiting the store.
“Coop would never hurt anyone,” I hiss, low enough so they can’t hear.
“If you say so,” Bridgette says, slinking around the side of the building. “Welcome to Whisper.”
For a few moments, I stand there. I can barely think. I’m trying to process what Bridgette said and what it means, then I hear Roman calling my name from the parking lot.
“Are you coming?” he hollers.
“I’m going to run by the Gazette,” I say, standing still. I don’t want them to see the rosy flush in my cheeks. “I need to visit Coop.”
“We can give you a ride,” Josephine says, opening the passenger side door.
“No thanks,” I say. “I’ll walk.”
Nine
Madison
The distance between the warehouse and the Gazette is longer than I expected, but I need these moments alone. I need to process what Bridgette, with her wicked smile and chipped fingernail polish, said. Coop killed Celia. Could people actually think that?
In the two years we’ve been together, he talked about Celia periodically. There’s been times I’ve wanted to dig deeper, ask more questions about her death, but I think to do so would be cruel. It’d be like demanding someone relive the worst day of their life over and over again, and for what cause? To ease my own insecurity? After all, Coop has graciously overlooked my own shortcomings.
I playback everything I know about the tragedy. Coop never mentioned foul play, let alone that people suspected him. And why would they—how could they—think Coop was to blame? He’s the most mannerly and respectful man I’ve ever met.
As I get closer to Market Avenue, I see groups of people enjoying the Saturday sunshine. They’re sitting on park benches and strolling along the sidewalks. On the surface, this place is beautiful, welcoming and warm. I can’t help wondering if this is all some kind of façade. A shield this town wears to hide its nastier underbelly.
By the time I reach the Gazette, Whisper Falls feels like a ghost town again. Most businesses on this side of the street are closed for the weekend. Coop’s the only one pulling extra hours, which is why the front door is locked.
I bang against the glass, simultaneously reaching for my phone to call Coop. I’ve almost finished tapping his name when the front door opens. Coop stands there, looking a bit startled.
“Madison?” His worried look drops slightly, and he smiles. He must be wondering why I’m here.
“Can we talk?” My voice is low and unenthusiastic. I step inside the building to find Coop isn’t alone. There’s another man here. He’s shorter with thinning hair and pockmarked cheeks. He removes one hand from his pocket and initiates a handshake.
“Jim Nelson,” he says, his firm grasp displaying the confidence his outward appearance lacks. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I’m Madison,” I say, looking to Coop for an explanation. His name sparks recognition. Jimmy, one of his old high school friends. Coop has mentioned him before.
“This is my fiancée,” Coop says. He places a hand on my hip.
“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Jim says. “Cooper and I go way back.”
“Jimmy is the Whisper Falls Police Chief now,” Coop says.
The last thing I wanted was to be introduced to yet another family acquaintance. A friend, actually. Not after what Bridgette just told me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No,” Jim says, clapping his hand on Coop’s shoulder. “I’m not here on business. Just noticed the car parked across the street and thought I’d check in on my old friend.”
“You’ll have to come by the house for dinner soon,” Coop says. “Madison’s spent the day furniture shopping.”
“I’d like that,” Jim says, nodding to me. “You should check out Turner’s. They’ve got some great stuff down there.”
I nod. It’s been difficult trying to contain my upset at this impromptu introduction, and I’d rather Jim leave so I can talk to Coop.
“You still have my number?” Jim asks as he walks out. They stand on the front step, laughing and high fiving. Beneath their suits and titles, they seem little more than young boys reliving their youth. Coop is smiling when he walks back inside, shutting the door and locking it.