The Bones She Buried

Twenty-Six

Josie drove past Noah’s house after leaving the station. His lights were off, there was no sign of his car and no response when she pulled over to text him. Heading home, she slowed down as she passed the liquor store, every cell in her body longing to stop and buy a bottle of Wild Turkey to drown out all her insecurity over what was happening between Noah and her. She felt the hot burn of alcohol searing her throat just thinking about it, but she had promised herself she wouldn’t do that anymore. It would be so easy, a voice in her head told her. Just a few hours of numbness.

“No,” she muttered out loud, pressing her foot heavily onto the gas pedal and white-knuckling it all the way home.

Once there, she was suddenly relieved that she hadn’t given in as she recognized the cars of both her mother, Shannon Payne, and her friend, Misty Derossi, in her driveway. As she paused just inside her front door, the sounds of female voices and laughter floated toward her from the kitchen. She took a few steps forward and looked in to find not just Shannon and Misty, but also her grandmother, Lisette Matson, at the table. Spread out before them was a vast array of cosmetics—mostly nail polishes and various manicure tools.

“Jo! Jo!” The sound of two-year-old Harris Quinn’s voice startled her. Looking down, she saw him race across the kitchen toward her. Opening her arms, she caught him expertly and scooped him up.

“Hi honey,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. All the dark, cloying feelings that had assaulted her in the car were swept away when Harris’s little arms tightened around her neck.

He loosened one of his arms and pointed toward the table. “Girls night!”

Then it came back to her.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” said Shannon, reading the shock on her face.

“No, I didn’t—”

“She forgot,” Lisette announced. “It’s okay, Josie. We debated on whether or not to cancel because of everything going on with Noah, but then we thought it might do you some good.”

Misty waved a hand, a nervous smile on her lips. “It was my turn this month, so I chose spa night.”

“Next month we’re doing book club night,” Shannon put in.

They’d been meeting on every second Tuesday of the month for a while now—this strange but wonderful Frankenstein of a family that had formed itself around Josie—and took turns choosing a theme for their gathering. They’d extended an invitation to Gretchen, but she’d declined, so it was the four of them. Lisette had wanted a game night, Josie had chosen a movie night, Shannon always did book club and Misty always did something that involved self-care. Josie couldn’t remember whose idea it had been, but she enjoyed it more than she could ever dare to admit.

Josie had been raised by a woman who had kidnapped her as an infant and didn’t meet her biological mother, Shannon, until she was thirty years old, so they were still getting to know one another. Misty had been dating Josie’s late husband Ray after Ray and Josie had separated and had given birth to his son, Harris, shortly after his death. Lisette had been the one and only constant in Josie’s life and remained so, even though they now knew that they were not related by blood.

“This is good,” Josie said, shifting Harris on her hip and walking to the table. “Shall we order food?”

Two hours later, their nails were painted, their bellies full and their cheeks hurt from laughing. Harris slept peacefully in the Pack ’n Play in Josie’s living room.

“Do you need to get back to Noah?” Lisette asked.

“He doesn’t seem to want me around right now,” Josie muttered.

“Nonsense,” Lisette scoffed. “He needs you. He just lost his mother. Who else does he have?”

No one, Josie thought. “I went to his house before I came home, but he wasn’t there,” she said.

“Well, where else would he be?” Shannon asked.

The lights were on at Colette’s house, and there was Noah’s car in the driveway. The door was unlocked so Josie pushed it open and called out his name. She found him eventually in his mother’s sewing room where he had pushed her sewing table to the side of the room and spread several photo albums and documents on the floor. Beside him sat three portable plastic file boxes. He didn’t look up when she came in, but he said, “I’m trying to find a connection between Mom and the Pratt brothers. I’m telling you, Josie, it’s not here.”

Josie sat down cross-legged in front of him. “I know,” she said. “We’re not finding it either.”

He shuffled some photos around on the floor. “What if this is all a mistake? What if she found that stuff somewhere when she was having one of her… less lucid moments, and she didn’t know what to do with it?”

“So she hid it? Noah, if she had picked it up somewhere during one of her episodes, at some point she would have been lucid again and realized she had no idea what it was. If that happened to me, I’d probably just throw it away, or I’d go on social media and share it and ask the owner to claim it.”

He pushed a hand through his thick locks. “I guess you’re right. What if—what if someone gave it to her, and told her it was really important, and so she hid it?”

“Who?” Josie asked. “Mettner has interviewed everyone she knew, and Gretchen did background checks on them as well. No connection to the Pratts.”

“There has to be something,” Noah said. “None of this is making sense.”

“You’re right,” Josie said, looking down at some of the photos. In one, Colette stood at the doors of the Episcopal church in a poofy wedding dress, the groom on her arm the spitting image of Noah. “Is this your dad?”

“Yeah,” Noah said. He took the photo from her and set it aside, shuffling through more until Josie spotted one of Colette as a young girl in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform. Josie estimated her to be about eleven or twelve years old, fresh-faced with shiny dark hair that caught the sunlight. There were a few other photos of her and other children in Catholic school uniforms.

“Was the Episcopal church your dad’s church?” Josie asked. “Is that why your mom switched?”

For the first time, Noah met her eyes. “What? No. My dad was an atheist. He put up with my mom’s faith. He only got married in the church because she insisted on it.”

Circles of red rose up on his cheeks. She had more questions, but he was talking to her again and she didn’t want to ruin that, so she changed the subject. “What else did you find? In the other file bins?”

Noah tapped on the lid of one of them. “Nothing, really. Old bills. The title to the house. Warranties for household appliances, cards from her co-workers from when she retired. Marriage certificate, divorce decree. Some old planners. When her mind started to go, she went out and bought one. She said it helped her stay on top of things. There’s one from this year and last year.”

“Can I see them?”

“Sure, I guess.” He pushed one of the file bins toward her and she opened it, digging out the two small weekly planners. She paged through them but didn’t find any unusual entries. Nothing that stood out to her, just church, her children’s visits and a few doctor’s appointments.

Her cell phone sounded. She pulled it from her pocket. “It’s Mettner,” she told him. “I’ve got to take this.” Pressing the answer icon, she said, “Quinn.”

“Boss,” Mettner said, sounding slightly out of breath. “Beth Pratt’s house is on fire.”