“The police searched the car. They questioned the previous owner. But I think Detective Basso had ruled out Scott’s involvement after hearing your side of the night’s events. You’d been shot earlier, before you went missing, and while Detective Basso originally thought Scott was the shooter, you told him it was—”
“Shot?” I shook my head in confusion. “What do you mean shot?” She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling. “With a gun.”
“What?” How had Vee left this out?
“At Delphic Amusement Park.” She shook her head. “I hate even thinking about it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I was out of town when I got the call. I didn’t make it back in time. I never saw you again, and I’ve regretted nothing in my life more. Before you disappeared, you told Detective Basso that a man named Rixon shot you in the fun house. You said Scott was there too, and Rixon also shot him. The police looked for Rixon, but it was like he vanished. Detective Basso was convinced Rixon wasn’t even the shooter’s real name.”
“Where was I shot?” I asked, my skin crawling with an unpleasant tingle. I hadn’t noticed a scar, or any indication of a wound.
“Your left shoulder.” It seemed to pain my mom just to say it. “The shot was in and out, hitting only muscle. We’re very, very lucky.”
I tugged my collar down over my shoulder. Sure enough, I could see scar tissue where the skin had healed.
“The police spent weeks looking for Rixon. They read your diary, but you’d ripped out several pages, and they didn’t find his name in the rest of it. They asked Vee, but she denied ever having heard his name. He wasn’t in the records at school. There was no record of him at the DMV—”
“I ripped out pages in my diary?” I cut in. It didn’t sound like me at all. Why would I do such a thing?
“Do you remember where you put the pages? Or what they said?” I shook my head absently. What had I gone to such great lengths to hide?
Mom made a deflated sound. “Rixon was a ghost, Nora. And wherever he went, he took all the answers with him.”
“I can’t accept that,” I said. “What about Scott? What did he say when Detective Basso questioned him?”
“Detective Basso put all his energy into hunting down Rixon. I don’t think he ever spoke to Scott.
The last time I talked to Lynn Parnell, Scott had moved on. I think he’s in New Hampshire now, selling pest control.”
“That’s it?” I said in disbelief. “Detective Basso never tried to track down Scott and hear his side?” My mind cranked at full speed. Something about Scott wasn’t sitting right. According to my mom’s account, I told the police he’d been shot by Rixon too. He was the only other witness that Rixon existed. How did that fit with the donated Volkswagen? It seemed to me that at least one crucial piece of information was missing.
“I’m sure he had a reason for not talking to Scott.”
“I’m sure he did too,” I said cynically. “Like maybe he’s incompetent?”
“If you’d give Detective Basso a chance, you’d see he’s actually very sharp. He’s very good at his job.”
I didn’t want to hear it.
“What now?” I said tersely.
“We do the only thing we can. Do our best to move on.”
For one moment, I pushed aside my doubts of Scott Parnell. There was still so much to deal with.
How many other hundreds of things was I in the dark on? Was this what I had in store? Days upon days of humiliation as I relearned my life? I could already envision what would be waiting for me inside the walls of school. Discreet looks of pity. The awkward averting of eyes. The shuffling of feet and drawn-out silences. The safe option of shying away from me altogether.
I felt indignation boil up inside me. I didn’t want to be a spectacle. I didn’t want to be the object of rabid speculation. What kinds of shameful theories involving my abduction had already spread?
What did people think about me now?
“If you see Scott, be sure to point him out so I can thank him for the car,” I said bitterly. “Right after I ask him why he gave it to me in the first place. Maybe you and Detective Basso are convinced he’s innocent, but too many things about his story aren’t adding up.”
“Nora—”
I thrust my hand out. “Can I have the key?”
After a moment’s pause, she unhooked a key from her own key chain and laid it in my palm. “Be careful.”
“Oh, not to worry. The only thing I’m in danger of is making a fool of myself. Know of any other people I might smack into today and not recognize? Fortunately, I remember the way to school. And would you look at that,” I said, tugging open the car door and dropping inside. “The Volkswagen is a five-speed. Good thing I learned how to drive five-speed pre-amnesia.”
“I know now isn’t the best time, but we’ve been invited to dinner tonight.” I met her eyes coldly. “Have we.”
“Hank would like to take us to Coopersmith’s. To celebrate your return.”
“How thoughtful of him,” I said, ramming the key into the ignition and revving the engine. By the noisy sputtering, I assumed the car hadn’t budged since the day I’d vanished.
“He’s trying,” she called above the whine of the engine. “He’s trying really hard to make this work.” I had a snide retort on the tip of my tongue, but decided to go for more impact. I’d worry about the repercussions later. “What about you? Are you trying to make it work? Because I’ll be up front. If he stays, I go. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out how to live my life again.”