“Nobody remembers Aubrey. I suppose it’s not surprising. She wasn’t one to stand out.” June expelled a breath. “How about on your way home after the party? Did you see anything?”
“As in?” he asked cautiously.
“Anything at all.” June’s gaze never left his face. “Any little detail would be helpful.”
Anson pulled his brows together and shook his head.
“Did you see the accident site?”
Without warning, an image of a white car sitting alone by the side of the road flashed through his mind. Just as quickly, the vision disappeared.
Anson cleared his throat. “I don’t remember seeing an accident site.”
“So you didn’t see any rescue vehicles when you drove by?”
Cameron turned to Anson. “You left the party before me.”
“I did?” Anson shrugged. “I don’t recall.”
“That was the night you and Tiffany got into that big argument when you caught her kissing that guy from Boulder. You left right afterward,” Cameron reminded him.
That particular night suddenly came into sharp focus. After seeing Tiffany and the guy, all he’d wanted was to get out of there and make it home before his parents. The night had sucked enough without him ending up being grounded for going out when they’d told him to stay home.
Seeing all eyes were now on him, Anson joked, “How do you remember that, Cam? It was ten years ago.”
“How do you not?” Cameron shot back, confusion shimmering in his blue eyes. “You usually have a better memory than I do.”
“There were just so many parties that summer. They all blur together.” Anson turned to June. “You said she had a flat.” He rubbed his chin. “What did her car look like?”
“It was a white Buick sedan.”
* * *
Anson managed to maintain his composure during the rest of the event. When June had mentioned the white sedan, his heart rate had begun a full-out sprint.
He remembered the car sitting at the side of the road. If the rescue vehicles had arrived shortly after he’d driven past, then—
Then what? Anson thought. Then what?
Aubrey must have been there, waiting for help, injured or already dead, when he’d driven by. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall seeing a person near that car, either inside it or standing by it.
Then again, it had been foggy that night, and he’d been in a hurry to get home to avoid getting in trouble with his dad.
Anson’s entire body jittered at the thought that if he’d stopped to check on that car, he could have made a difference in what happened. He’d always considered himself to be someone others could count on, someone who did the right thing.
Maybe he wasn’t the kind of man he’d thought he was. Maybe he was just as phony as others he knew who professed to be humanitarians but really didn’t care about anything but themselves.
The thought that he wasn’t authentic deep down, that he was simply playing at being caring, tore at him. He had to find somewhere where he could be alone to think. The panicky feeling wasn’t new, nor was the racing stream of thoughts that only fueled his agitation.
The touch of a hand on his arm had him jumping.
He whirled. “Eve.”
Her smiled faded, and worry filled her blue eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“I need to get out of here.”
“I’m ready to go anytime.”