Page 73 of Buried in the Woods Below

“We’ve got blueberry pancakes today,” says Eric. “Emma’s favorite.” He drops a couple of pancakes onto the dishes sitting next to the griddle. “All right, girls, time for a taste test. Did Dad crush it, or did he crush it?”

Emma nods and carves off a piece of pancake bigger than her mouth. She throws her dad a thumbs-up. I notice his mouth curve upward, like he’s been breathlessly waiting for the verdict. I pour myself a cup of coffee, take a swig to stop the throbbing, and do a half-assed version of my stretching routine.

The perfume of warm blueberries and maple syrup sends my stomach gurgling.

“Mmm. I love blueberry pancakes,” I say as I tidy up the chaos Eric has left in his wake. “Penelope, what’s your favorite?”

“Apple-cinnamon.”

Of course, the queen must have unusual pancakes. “Apple-cinnamon? I’ve never had apple-cinnamon.”

“You’ve never had apple-cinnamon,” says Eric with an exaggerated voice. First Juicy Lucys and now this? “Well, we’ll have to cook those tomorrow.” He throws some more pancakes onto the girls’ plates, and they walk them over to the kitchen table. I pour them orange juice, just like Laelynn used to do.

“That’s not enough juice,” says Penelope to me as she pours syrup on her pancakes. “Mom pours it to the top line.” The warmth was nice while it lasted.

“Pen, be nice,” says Eric, filling my plate and his own with pancakes.

I thank him and wave it off as we join the girls at the kitchen table, not wanting to start another fight. Eric undoes his apron and tosses it on a stool. For a moment, the four of us look like one big happy family. As I douse my pancakes with syrup, I look at him. “Hey, about last night.”

Now it’s his turn to wave me off. “Don’t give it a second thought. I’ve already forgotten about it, and you should too.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His eyes dart to the girls.

“What are you guys talking about?” asks Penelope, smelling blood in the water. She runs her pointer finger along the beauty mark on her left cheek, reminding me of Laelynn. Emma munches her pancake and observes as if she’s storing the memory for later.

“Nothing, honey,” says Eric, chomping on a piece of bacon. Somehow, his meal is almost halfway gone. He clears his throat and turns to me. “Have you heard from Laelynn, by any chance?”

“No, why?”

His forehead creases. “She didn’t call you or anything while I was out?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” He takes a bite of his pancake and chews, his eyes searching the lake. “It’s strange. I haven’t heard from her since she left, which isn’t that odd because she’s out in the middle of nowhere. But usually she’ll call me from the launch site to let me know she made it safely.”

A prickle runs up my spine. A sixth sense tells me something’s wrong. Where is Laelynn? Why hasn’t she called the girls? What mother vanishes like this? Especially after our discussion of the girls and the grapes last night. “Huh. No, I haven’t heard from her. I’ve been having some trouble with some of my texts, though, so it could just be the spotty cell service.”

He swallows a piece of pancake but seems to swallow more than just food. “By the way, you were right last night. I’m going to call the police. Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t stopped by yet. Normally, when Laelynn cracks the whip, people move.” Something outside catches his gaze. He drops his fork and pauses. “Speak…of…the…devil.”

I turn my head and spot two police boats roaring through the rain around the point and turning hard left toward the Parkers’ house. The peace of our idyllic breakfast cracks. This isn’t a courtesy call to placate a worried housewife. Lights flash and boats knife through the water like the house is on fire.

The cops pull up to the dock. A short, round man with tan skin, black hair, and a pyramid mustache emerges from the boat in a striped dress shirt and navy-blue slacks. Two tall, meaty-looking officers in uniform trail behind him. They march up the lawn toward the back patio, black umbrellas over them like shields, grim expressions tattooed on their faces. My stomach wobbles. Why are they here? Why now? I search the lake for Olivia, thinking it would be good to have her by my side, but she’s gone.

Eric’s cell phone rings. He and I glance at each other. Laelynn. He rises from his chair and answers. “Hello,” he says, pacing. “Oh, hi, Carol. What’s that? Yeah, I can hear you now.” His face drains of color. “Oh my God. How? That’s awful.”

I run over to him to see if I can hear anything.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, thanks for calling. Okay, have a safe trip home. Yes. I will. Be safe.”

This isn’t about Heathcliff. This isn’t about threatening notes.

He hangs up the phone. His eyes shift to the girls, too focused on their pancakes to notice. He whispers, “Vivek and Freida Adwani were murdered last night. Killed with an axe.”

I freeze. My mouth open. Vivek and his wife were murdered? My mind captured by the image of Freida and Vivek, bloodied and butchered in their bed. Eyes dead. Like Heathcliff’s eyes.

How could this be? Eric and I saw them last night. I raise my hand to my mouth. Our eyes meet, and I realize we’re both thinking the same thing: My mom visited Vivek and Freida last night.