Emmett Chapman is one of those “he was right there, dumbass,” guys.

The kind of guy you don’t notice until you’re too old and fucked up to appreciate him. Until you’re murdering people in your head (and maybe in real life, who knows?) and decide that, for his own safety and mental health, he should probably stay far, far away.

That was my rationale for not calling or texting him back after Savvy died.

It was also my rationale for not sleeping with him, back when I noticed that he might be interested. I mean, the rationale back then was technically that I was married and I’d only just stopped cheating on Matt with Kyle, but it feels similar. Using my high school best friend as an excuse to leave my husband, probably fucking Emmett all the way up in the process, is a bridge too far, even for me.

I drive downtown, park on the street, and stare at the front of the art store for several minutes. The words Creativity Is Good for the Soul! are written in big, cheerful bubble letters across the glass storefront, with little flowers and hearts painted around it.

That’s probably Emmett’s art. He was always doodling constantly growing up—in his notebooks during class, on the sidewalks with chalk, on his own skin when he was bored. He used to come hang out with me at the bar where Savvy worked and draw on napkins while I wrote.

He would draw something for each of us, sliding one napkin across the bar to Savvy, and another to me. Sometimes it would be a sketch of me hunched over my laptop, or a cheerful cartoon version of my face, or just whatever random thing was in his mind that day.

“You should really try to make it as an artist,” I’d told him one day, after he’d presented me with a napkin drawing of a dragon humping a car.

“Yeah, real high-quality stuff there,” he’d said with a snort.

“It is! Whatever happened to moving to New York and trying to work on graphic novels?”

“Well, it turns out you can fail at that from anywhere.” “Seems like it’d be more fun to fail at it in New York.”

He’d barked out a laugh and bumped his shoulder against mine. “We should have gone together, after college. Like we used to talk about.”

I’d looked away then, because I didn’t want to think about what my life would look like if I’d gone to New York with Emmett after college instead of marrying Matt. I’d returned my attention to the dragon.

I think I still have those napkins, stacked neatly in a box in the corner of Nathan’s apartment.

I stare at the storefront.

I don’t even know whether Emmett is working today. I’m going to have to actually get out of the car to check.

Any minute now.

It takes another few deep breaths, but I finally step out of the car and into the sticky air.

I immediately regret my decision.

I’d been so focused on the store that I’d failed to look over my shoulder, a few doors down.

A group of men stand beneath a green and white awning outside a restaurant, their laughter echoing down the street. One of the men is looking in my direction, the smile slowly fading from his face.

Keaton Harper. Savvy’s older brother.

He has a beard, and a belly, but I’d recognize that death glare anywhere. One of the men notices Keaton’s gaze and lets out a loud “oh shit” when he spots me.

I quickly turn away. Emmett is standing in the window of the store, and he lifts a hand in a tentative wave.

I’m tempted to bolt back into my car, but I’ve been spotted from all sides.

Emmett points to the door, which I realize now has a Closed sign on it. I nod and walk to it. Behind me, I hear angry murmurs.

Emmett smiles as he opens the door. I sometimes catch myself picturing the kid I knew growing up—skinny and awkward, with a frizzy helmet of blond hair.

But he hasn’t looked like that since we were teenagers. He’s tall and solid now. His blond hair is wavy instead of a frizzy mess, cut and styled in a way meant to convey ease but that probably took a little work. He has a dusting of beard growth on his jaw.

Like I said. He was right there, dumbass.

I step inside. The art store is decently sized, but so jam-packed with crap that it feels claustrophobic. Every inch of wall space is covered by a brightly colored poster or intricate, handmade wooden signs. I stare at the giant wall of wooden Welcome signs to my left and think that you could probably do some real damage by smashing one into a face.

I blink and return my attention to Emmett. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He looks intrigued, but not exactly happy to see me. No one can blame him.

He clears his throat, and a bigger smile suddenly breaks across his face. “Sorry. I knew you were in town, but I’m still sort of stunned to see you.”

“Sorry to just drop by like this.”

“I’m glad you did.” He smiles again, and I’m more relieved than I want to admit. I try very hard not to care that everyone in this town thinks I’m a murderous hag, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved to hear Emmett at least sound like he was a tiny bit on my side.

“You’re in town for a family thing?” he asks.

“Yeah, just popped in to ruin my grandma’s birthday party.”

He cocks his head in this way that makes my chest hurt a little. It’s his “Lucy is being ridiculous again but it amuses me” expression.

He gestures at the aisles of paint. “Uh … did you need some art supplies for the party?”

“No. I actually just came to see you.”

He looks startled, and also a bit delighted.

“I’m sorry that I never returned your calls or anything back then. I was just…”

“Traumatized?” he guesses. I bark out a laugh. “Yes.” “It’s all right. I—”

A bang on the window makes me jump. I turn to see Keaton with both hands on the glass, face twisted with anger.

“Emmett, what the fuck?” He hits both hands against the glass again. He’s right beneath a cluster of little painted hearts on the window, like they’re growing out of his head, which should be funny, but I can’t find the humor in any of this right now.

“I’m sorry. I should have just called.” I take a step toward the door, toward Keaton, and wonder whether anyone will help if he jumps me. Emmett might call the cops, at least.

I’m sure the cops would take their sweet time showing up. And they wouldn’t be on my side when they got here.

“No.” Emmett reaches for me, like he’s going to stop me, but his fingers only lightly touch my arm. “It’s okay. You can stay.”

Keaton stomps away, and I let out a slow breath. “I think it’s best if I bolt before he comes back.”

“Yeah, okay.” Emmett looks disappointed, but he walks to the window and peers out. “He’s going into the restaurant with his buddies.”

I pull open the door and take a step out. Emmett follows me, quickly glancing down the street to where Keaton had been. Still clear.

“Nina’s been meaning to call you and invite you over for dinner,” he says. “Why don’t we do that soon? I’d love to catch up.”

I turn, confused. “Are you and Nina…”

“Oh! Yes.” He smiles. “We’re dating. For a few months now.” Of course they are.

I force a pleasant expression. “Sure. Dinner would be great.”

If he notices that I’m disappointed, he doesn’t let on. “It was great to see you, Lucy.”

I turn away before I embarrass myself further. “You too, Emmett.”

Listen for the Lie Podcast with Ben Owens

EPISODE 4—“THE AMNESIA DEFENSE”

Lucy went to stay with her parents after she left—or was kicked out of—the home she shared with Matt. Joanna walks me through those couple of days after the murder, because I’m still unclear about why everyone became convinced Lucy was the one who killed her friend.

Ben: So it was Matt throwing Lucy out that made people think that Lucy was the one who murdered Savannah?

Joanna: That started it, yeah. But it was the stuff with her parents that really sealed the deal for most people.

Ben: What stuff?

Joanna: I don’t want to say too much, because I love Kathleen and Don. They’re good people. But, listen. Kathleen was telling the entire town that Lucy would never hurt anyone right after it happened, and then a couple days later she completely changed her tune.

Ben: How so?

Joanna: She started getting weird and cagey. Completely stopped defending Lucy. Apparently she said some very weird stuff to Savannah’s family. And Don refused to talk to anyone. Still won’t.

Ben: He won’t talk about Lucy at all?

Joanna: Nope.

I heard this from several people, so I started to ask around about the Chases.

William: Yeah, we got a Starbucks a few years ago, which is fine, I guess. But only go there for coffee. Don’t buy any of those stale muffins or breads or whatever they sell. Go over to Daisy Street Bakery for any of that.

That’s William, one of the bartenders at the bar Norma recommended to me. It’s a quiet night, and William, who has lived in Plumpton for every one of his fifty-three years, is happy to talk to me. He’s a tall, broad man, with a gray beard that extends several inches past his chin. He would be intimidating if not for the friendly smile.

He tells me all about Lucy’s family. Her grandmother, Beverly Moore, was born and raised in Plumpton. She had three children—Keith, Kathleen, and Karen. Keith and Karen both live in Houston now, but Kathleen returned to Plumpton after finishing college. She brought her fiancé, Don Chase, with her. They got married, had Lucy, and opened a bakery together—Daisy Street Bakery, which numerous locals have mentioned to me.

William: You talk to them yet? Kathleen and Don?

Ben: Not yet, no.

William: You should. Don don’t talk to no one about Lucy, but Kathleen will talk to you for sure. She’d be happy to.

Ben: You think so?

William: Oh yeah. Kathleen’s real chatty. She ain’t got nothin’ to hide.

Ben: What about Don?

William: What about him?

Ben: Does he have something to hide?

William: Welllll … listen, this is just town gossip, but you’re trying to get to the bottom of this, and I respect that.

A lot of folks think that Don knew more than he let on. He was shifty back then, let me tell you what. And I don’t blame him one bit. If it had been my daughter, I would have protected her no matter what.

Ben: You think Lucy remembered something and told him?

William: I don’t believe the amnesia defense for a minute, first of all. But, yeah. She told her daddy, and he did what he had to do. That’s what I think. That’s what a lot of folks think. And, well, there was the thing about Kathleen and Savvy’s mom, Ivy.

Ben: What thing?

William: I probably shouldn’t say anything, but someone’s got to tell you. Apparently, Kathleen basically told Ivy that she knew Lucy was the one who killed Savvy.