Chapter 22

ROSE'S POINT OF VIEW

The shoe sat on Detective Ramirez's desk between us. A woman's size seven pump, once black, now gray-

green from three months underwater. The heel had broken off, but the designer's red sole remained visible. Louboutin. Unmistakably Camille's.

"Is this your sister's shoe, Ms. Lewis?" Detective Ramirez asked, his tired eyes watching my reaction carefully.

I reached for it with trembling fingers, a calculated tremord practiced that morning. "Yes," I whispered, breaking on cue. "She wore these the last time I saw her. A gift from our parents for her birthday." The lie slid out smoothly. In truth, I'd given Camille those shoes when she

landed her first job, playing the generous big sister while privately mocking her pathetic excitement over my hand-

me-downs.

"Does seeing this personal item bring up any new thoughts about your sister's state of mind before her disappearance?"

An Interesting question. Not "accident" or "drowning," but "disappearance." The detective's word choice revealed his lingering doubts.

"Your parents mentioned Camille kept journals," he continued. "Have you had a chance to read them?"

So Mom had spoken to the police about the journals. This was worse than I thought. voice

looking away as if overcome. "Too painful. Mom mentioned she found some, but she's been very private about

comfort in our shared grief," I said carefully. "We were friends before he and Camille

I called Martin Greene, the family's trusted fixer. "I need everything you can get on Detective Ramirez. And I need to know exactly what my mother told the police about Camille's journal Then I headed to my parents' house. Mom was at her

antidepressants.

hiding places. Nothing. The floorboard Mom had mentioned yielded nothing but an empty space. Mom's private sitting room, then. The small sunlit

"Looking for something?"

the doorway froze me in place.

months.

me, more sober and alert

voice. "I didn't expect you

a journal. September 14th, ten years ago: 'Rose told Jason I stuffed ny bra before the dance. Now he won't talk to

crush. I'd spent weeks helping her get his attention, only to whisper that carefully crafted

I said dismissively. "Camille

Stanford acceptance today. Rose says

me."

her from disappointment," I protested. "Stanford is highly

admissions office to 'confirm' they wanted her. They thought she was having a mental health crisis. When we decided she wasn't Time for the nuclear

I whispered, "I didn't want to tell you this, but..: Camille had problems none of us understood.

"What things?"

match symptoms I knew Mom feared. Her own

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