My stomach lurches. A wave of empathy crashes over me. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“Thank you,” he says. “I’ve always felt guilty about it. Telling her to move here.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “It was a random robbery.”
He seems to hesitate, weighing something internally, before giving in. “Well, that’s what the police think. A robbery gone wrong.”
“But you don’t believe it?” I say, leaning forward.
He turns to look at me directly. “No. I don’t. And I know it might seem like I’m too close, too emotional. But it doesn’t add up. I’ve always wanted to ask you, Yumi.” He twists in his seat to look at Yumi. “Did you see anything that night? The night Autumn was killed last August?”
“Me? No. Nothing.” The words come out fast.
“Were you on the porch that night?” he presses.
“Maybe? But I didn’t see anything.”
“Huh. What about what Bonnie said? I know for a fact that Autumn wasn’t seeing anyone. She would have told me. Are you sure you saw someone go to the basement entrance? Do you have any idea who? Or when?”
“Whoa, easy there.” Yumi laughs nervously. “It was a long time ago, almost a year. I did see someone go to the basement entrance once or twice that summer but that doesn’t mean they were there to see your friend, right? I wish I could be of more help.”
“I know in my gut it wasn’t a random robbery. But the police just make me feel like I’m crazy.”
His words strike me hard and immediate. Every hair on my body stands on end. “I know exactly what you’re talking about,” I say.
“You do?” He seems surprised, his eyes widening.
“Maybe not exactly. But they don’t believe me either. No one does.”
“I believe you, Caren,” Yumi says defensively, hurt flashing across her face.
“Besides Yumi,” I concede, offering her an apologetic smile.
“Believe you about what?” Finn asks, curiosity and something else—hope?—in his voice.
“About the other night when I blacked out.” My heart pounds against my ribs as I say it. “Everyone thinks I drank too much. The police think I took an Ambien and that the drug, mixed with alcohol, knocked me out. But I didn’t. I don’t know what happened.” My voice breaks on the last word. “When I woke up, I couldn’t remember anything. You’re the one who found me. What do you remember about that morning?”
He glances out the screened window for a moment, his gaze distant before turning back to me. “You were kind of out of it. Disoriented. At first, I thought maybe you had been drinking, but then that didn’t seem quite right. And you slipped and fell in the puddle, like your gait was unsteady.”
“You saw me slip?” Hope surges through me—a witness, someone who saw something real.
“Yeah, I saw you coming out of the house, down the steps, and then veer off the path onto the grass. Then you slipped and fell.”
“I don’t remember coming out of the house at all. I was in the Allards’ rental house?” For the first time since Sunday, I feel a glimmer of hope that I might figure out what happened to me. It strikes me that Finn might understand what it’s like to know something is wrong and have everyone dismiss you.I blink back fresh tears, but these aren’t from frustration—they’re from relief.
“Have you been back since?” he asks me. “It might jog your memory.”
I sit up so quickly that the blood rushes from my head, leaving me momentarily dizzy. “You’re right,” I say, my heart still racing. “I mean, I stopped by the other day, briefly. But at the time I didn’t remember having been inside, so I didn’t go in. I should go back there and look around. I just don’t want to go alone. And I don’t think Miguel would approve at all.”
Finn glances at his watch, the metal catching the sunlight. “I have a little time before I need to be at work,” he says. “If you want me to walk with you, we can swing by the house together.”
Relief floods through me so powerfully that my knees feel weak. “Thank you,” I say.
“No big deal,” he says. But it is a big deal to me—it feels like someone finally throwing me a life preserver when everyone else has been telling me I’m not even drowning.
Finn rises too. “Thanks for the tea and cake,” he says to Yumi, but his eyes flick back to me, an unspoken understanding passing between us. Then his expression shifts, becomes more intent. “Just one more thing. It’s a long shot. A really long shot.” He takes a deep breath, turns to Yumi. “Is there any chance that you remember any of the dates that you saw this guy cut through the hedge and go to the house? Even the month would help.”
Yumi hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with her wedding ring. “I do remember one time, actually,” she says slowly. “Not the exact date, but I remember it was the Saturday of the July Fourth weekend.” She narrows her eyes, as if replaying the scene inher mind. “I was out here, trying to catch a tiny glimpse of the fireworks from the country club.”