Page 49 of What You Never Knew

“What the hell were you two talking about?” Ezra asks as soon as I slide into the booth.

“Just passing the time while I waited for you.” He has a strange scowl on his face that confuses me. “Why, do you not like her or something?”

He gives a little shrug. “She likes spreading rumors. Told people we slept together years ago when we didn’t.”

“You didn’t sleep with her?” I ask, just to confirm.

He takes a sip of beer and then licks the foam away. “Never, but I did turn down her many offers and dodge her messy advances whenever I came in here for drinks. She likes to sample what she’s selling through her shifts.” I think of the strong scent of alcohol she emitted. “I just stopped coming here, and the rumor eventually died down. Water under the bridge now. I’m just not a fan, that’s all.”

“That makes sense,” I say, silently wondering what other bits of history I don’t know about Ezra. His explanation does give a reason for why she dislikes him and why she’d warn me against him. A woman scorned–type thing.

He reaches out and rubs my hand. “Anyway, how are you doing? Feeling any better after those birds?”

I shrug. “I’m okay. Like I said before, I think it was the handiwork of Leslie Swann. Her weird form of revenge after our heated exchange yesterday. And I can take her, so I’m not that worried.”

I was hoping to make Ezra laugh, but there’s only concern in his eyes. “The thing is, June,” he says, “I did a bit of asking around, and Leslie went to Boston around six PM yesterday for a Reiki conference. Won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”

The information sits like a hard lump in my gut. If she didn’t do it, then who did? Without her as my culprit, it could mean anyone, anywhere in this town is responsible. I look away from Ezra and glance around the room, suddenly feeling wary of the whole damn town.

“Don’t worry,” Ezra says, giving my hand a squeeze. “We’ll get those results back from animal control and get the police looking into it. We’ll figure out who did it. I promise.” I nod, appreciating Ezra’s attempt to comfort me but not able to shake the feeling of exposure that hangs over me.

“I was wondering,” Ezra says, letting my hand go. “My mother, yesterday, thought you were April, didn’t she?”

So much has happened since I went to see Willa yesterday that it takes me a few seconds to change gears and focus on what he’s asking. “Um, not at first,” I answer, thinking of when I arrived. “She knew it was me when I got there, but then when she went into the kitchen to make tea, she came out and I could tell she was different. That’s when she started talking to me like I was my mom.”

“Yeah, even after you left, she kept on about how April broke into the house, told me I should call the police.”

“Did she say anything else about me, or I guess I should say, my mother?”

He shakes his head and laughs, the uncomfortable kind. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do. Tell me.”

He rubs his face with both hands and groans. “It’s not very nice about your mother.”

“Tell me.”

“She called you, as in your mother, a slut.”

“And? Tell me exactly what she said.”

A pained expression crosses his face. “What’s the point? She wasn’t making any sense anyway.”

“Just please tell me,” I plead.

“Fine. Her exact words were, ‘That slut ruined everything. She may not have done it, but she’s the one with blood on her hands.’ Then she told me to call the police because she was going to tell them everything.” He takes a sip of his beer while surveying my reaction.

It takes a few seconds to digest what he’s said. I try to piece it together with everything else so that it makes some kind of picture. “What does she mean, blood on her hands? It makes it sound like murder.”

Ezra sits up straighter, defensiveness already in his eyes. “You mean, a murder committed by my father?”

“I’m not saying that, Ezra. I’m just wondering why your mother would use the words blood on her hands.”

“Your mother and my father had an affair. Your father found out and left without a trace. My father was somehow implicated in it all and he left too, probably to escape jail time. It seems pretty straightforward to me, June.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about my father’s boat being found with blood and your father’s fingerprints on the steering wheel? Or the watch found in the glove box of your father’s boat?”

I can tell my questions have caught him off guard. “Where did you hear about those things?” I inadvertently glance over at Martha, who’s still tending bar. He nods, and a bitter smile spreads across his face. “Wow, it didn’t take her long to divulge the one bit of gossip she has about your dad’s disappearance.”