in two. “Is that what you’re thinking, that Lexie was behind the camera?”
“I don’t know, but the movies follow the same script, so we can assume that the last Anna Kilpatrick movie zooms in on her face.”
Lydia chose her words carefully. “You really think if this Lexie person is behind the camera zooming in on a murder, she’s going to confess that she’s an accomplice and hand over the recording?”
“I feel like if I see her, look her in the eye, I’ll know whether or not she was involved.”
“Because you’re such a fucking great judge of character?”
Claire shrugged off the observation. “The masked man is out there somewhere. He’s probably looking for his next victim. If Lexie Fuller knows who he is, maybe she can help stop him.”
Lydia said, “Let me get this straight: You get Lexie Fuller to give you a copy of a movie that you think shows Anna Kilpatrick being murdered. Let’s set aside the fact that Lexie’s incriminating herself. Who would you give the movie to? Mayhew? Nolan?”
“I could put it on YouTube if someone would show me how.”
“They’d take it down in two seconds, and the FBI would arrest you for disseminating obscene material, and Nolan would testify against you at the trial.” Lydia thought of something far more horrible. “You think the masked man’s just going to let all that slide?”
Claire kept staring out at the road. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. She had that same look of focused intensity on her face that Lydia had seen back at the coffee house.
Claire asked, “What if, twenty-four years ago, two women had information about what happened to Julia—who took her, exactly what was done to her—and they kept their mouths shut because they were too afraid to get involved?”
Lydia tried to give an honest answer. “I hope I would understand that they had to think about their own safety.”
“Because you’re so understanding?” Claire shook her head, likely because she had known Lydia all of her life and she knew better. “Look at what not knowing did to Dad. Do you want Bob Kilpatrick’s suicide on your conscience? Do you want to carry around Eleanor Kilpatrick’s misery on your shoulders?” Her tone had become strident. “I have nothing to lose, Liddie. Literally— nothing. I don’t have children. I don’t really have any friends. My cat is dead. I own a house I don’t want to go back to. There’s a trust to take care of Grandma Ginny. Mom will survive because she always survives. Paul was my husband. I can’t just walk away from this. I have to know. There isn’t anything left in my life except finding out the truth.”
“Don’t be so damn dramatic, Claire. You still have me.”
The words hung between them like weighted balloons. Did Lydia really mean them? Was she here for Claire, or was this ludicrous road trip really about proving that Lydia had been right about Paul all along?
If that was the case, then her point had been made long ago.
Lydia closed her eyes for a second. She tried to get her thoughts in order. “We’ll go by the house.”
“Now who’s being dramatic?” Claire sounded as irritated as Lydia felt. “I don’t want you to do this. You’re not invited.”
“Tough.” She checked the mirrors before pulling back onto the road. “We’re not going in.”
Claire didn’t put her seatbelt back on. The warning started to chime.
“Are you going to jump out of a moving car?”
“Maybe.” Claire pointed up ahead. “That must be it.”
The Fuller house was thirty yards past a shiny silver fire hydrant. Lydia tapped the brake. She coasted the car past the white clapboard house. The roof was new, but the grass in the yard was winter brown. Weeds shot up through cracks in the driveway. There were weathered sheets of plywood nailed across all the doors and windows. Even the mailbox had been removed. A lone four-by-four post stuck up like a broken tooth at the mouth of the driveway.
Of all the things Lydia expected to find, this was not it.
Claire sounded just as puzzled. “It’s abandoned.”
“For a long while, it looks like.” The plyboards had started to peel apart. The paint was chipping from the vertical wood siding. The gutters were full.
Claire said, “Turn back around.”
The road was sparsely traveled. They hadn’t seen another car since Lydia had pulled over ten minutes ago. She executed a three-point turn and drove back toward the house.
Claire said, “Pull into the driveway.”
“It’s private property. We don’t want