Emily Bowman had been Kate Meadows’ neighbor.
She’d been Kate’s neighbor for years, in fact. She told a lot of people, that, in the days that followed. She told more, later, than before the kidnapping, before the murder (although, Emily supposed, it had never been a kidnapping in the first place, really, probably, although she was far sketchier on the details of the case than the many memories she managed to convincingly manufacture about her dear neighbor Kate Meadows), all about Kate. A lot of people became convinced they’d been best friends. In fact, Emily’s actual friends, her family, even casual acquaintances, none of them would’ve ever heard about Kate Meadows, from Emily, before.
Well, that hardly mattered, right?
Emily became very important indeed, in the wake of all that followed. Everyone wanted to talk to her, and she was very happy to talk to them. A lot of things changed about her. Her hair, for one. Her ability to spontaneously break into laughter. She suddenly spoke with the Maine accent, which for the previous…forever, she would never have been caught dead using. Too provincial, she’d previously asserted. Not that anyone called her out on it.
O, that Kate!
That, by the way, was a phrase frequently to be found uttered by Emily. Everyone who listened to her, if they’d consulted, would’ve discovered they’d heard her utter it.
It got to Emily actually beginning to believe her own well-intentioned lies. It got to be pretty expensive, hosting so many guests, though. That she didn’t mind admitting. That was another thing people might remember her mentioning.
Not that anyone paid too much attention. That was the only part that bothered her. Well, that and wondering if she might actually know anything useful about what’d happened. She didn’t, of course.
No comments:
Post a Comment