Chapter 6: Jessica’s Half-Truth
I texted Jessica the diner’s name and one instruction: Come alone.
For several minutes, she didn’t answer. Then my phone lit with a single word: Okay.
The place sat beside the highway, all chrome trim and steamed-up windows. I chose a booth near the front, where the waitress could see us and the parking lot stayed in view. My duffel was still in the car. I hadn’t decided whether I was going back to the lake house that day, but I wanted Jessica to see I hadn’t vanished.
She came in ten minutes late, cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes found me, then flicked toward the empty seat across from mine as though Ryan might appear there instead.
“He’s not coming,” I said.
“I know.”
She slid into the booth and wrapped both hands around the paper menu without opening it. A waitress stopped by, and Jessica ordered coffee. I asked for water. Neither of us looked at the menu.
“You said you wanted to know what I knew,” Jessica said.
“I do.”
Her jaw shifted. “Ryan told me you’d approved it.”
“Approved what?”
“Showing people the house. He said you’d talked about renting it when you were gone. That you wanted someone checking on the place, and it was temporary.”
The waitress set down Jessica’s coffee. She thanked her too brightly, then watched the cream swirl into the dark surface.
“I never told him that,” I said.
“He said you did.”
“I texted you Tuesday that I’d be there Friday after two.”
“I remember.”
“You replied, ‘Got it.’”
Jessica stared into her cup. “I remember that, too.”
My hands tightened around the water glass. “And you still let him tell people I’d given permission?”
“I thought he’d already talked to you.”
“You could have asked me.”
“I could have.”
There it was: not an excuse, not quite an apology. I waited.
“He said he needed help getting the place ready for photos,” she continued. “Wade came over with him. They took pictures of the rooms and the dock. Ryan said it was just a few weekends. He said you knew.”
“Did Wade help with the keypad?”
Jessica’s eyes rose to mine. “Yes.”
“What did that mean?”
“They were getting it ready for whoever might rent. Ryan said there’d be a temporary code.”
“Did you watch them change it?”
“I was there for some of it. I don’t know whose hands were on the keypad when the code changed.”
That distinction sounded careful, and perhaps it was. I thought of the preserved access log: an administrator login, a new code accepted minutes later. Records that placed events on a clock but couldn’t put a person’s name beside them.
“Did you know the camera went offline?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly. She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Emily, I didn’t know about that. I didn’t know about the case.”
“I haven’t asked you about the case yet.”
Jessica recoiled as if I’d raised my voice. I hadn’t. The quiet between us was doing enough.
“I never saw anyone take anything from the cabinet,” she said. “I swear. I never saw anyone even go near it.”
“Ryan said he’d opened it for towels.”
“Then he told me he’d only gotten towels.”
“And you believed him?”
She rubbed one thumb over the cardboard sleeve on her cup. “I didn’t know what else to believe.”
“You could have believed what you saw.”
Her mouth tightened. “I saw you walk in and ask why my husband was using your house. I saw everyone staring. I saw Ryan tell you to leave, and I didn’t stop him.”
The admission struck harder than the ones before it. For a moment, the noise of the diner thinned around us: forks against plates, the hiss of the grill, a truck rumbling past outside.
“I was afraid if I argued with him there, he’d make it worse,” she said.
“He made it worse anyway.”
“I know.”
The waitress approached with a pot of coffee, saw our faces, and quietly moved on to the next table. Jessica watched her go.
“I’m not asking you to defend him,” I said. “I’m asking you to tell me what happened without sanding off the parts that make you look bad.”
Jessica’s eyes shone, but she didn’t cry. “I let Wade in. I knew they were taking pictures. I knew the pictures were for renters. Ryan said you’d agreed. I didn’t call you to check.”
The clean sequence left little room to hide in. Relief came first—thin but real, the easing of a question I’d carried since the house. Then anger followed it, broader and heavier. She had known enough to call me. She had known enough not to.
“Why did you believe him?” I asked.
“Because he said you’d talked about it.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Her gaze dropped. “Because I wanted it to be true.”
I looked at her.
“He said it would help cover the upkeep,” she added. “He said the house sat empty most of the time and nobody would be hurt. It sounded convenient. I didn’t make myself look too closely at what he was asking me to do.”
The words sat between us. She hadn’t said she knew the listing used my name. She hadn’t said she knew about a booking, or money, or what had happened to the case. I couldn’t fill in those blanks for her.
“Did Ryan show you the listing?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did you know he was telling strangers I was deployed?”
“No.”
“He told them the owner was away.”
“I didn’t know he was saying that.”
“Did you know he was using my name?”
Jessica shook her head. “No.”
I believed she might be telling the truth about those details. Belief wasn’t the same as trust, and neither one made her choices disappear.
“I should have told you,” she said.
“Yes.”
Her fingers curled around the cup. “I thought I was helping him with something you’d already agreed to. Then, when you showed up, I was embarrassed. And he was furious, and everyone was watching, and I—”
“You stayed quiet.”
“I stayed quiet.”
I took a breath. The air smelled of coffee and hot syrup, a smell that used to make me think of family breakfasts. Now it brought back Ryan sitting in my chair, holding court beneath my roof while my sister stood close enough to hear him tell me to leave.
“Can I show you something?” I asked.
Jessica nodded, wary.
I took out my phone. Frank had sent me the preserved camera still—the last image before the feed went dark. The pickup was backing toward the house, its shape grainy beneath the weak exterior light. Through the windshield, a figure sat behind the wheel, more shadow than face.
Jessica leaned toward the screen.
At first, she said nothing. Then her breath caught.
“What?” I asked.
She touched the edge of the phone, not quite touching the image. Her face had gone pale.
“Is that Wade?” I asked.
May you like
Jessica looked at me. Her eyes filled with something that wasn’t only fear; it was the shock of seeing a fact she’d hoped would stay hidden inside her own head.
“He wasn’t supposed to come back last night.”
