“I lost that, long ago,” Brooke said. “The belief in love. And good.”
“Can you forgive me?” Liam asked.
“Now!” Monteiro shouted from the open stage door. “Time’s up!”
* * *
“Then, let her talk, okay?” Monteiro was walking Brooke toward the rear of the stage, giving her quiet instructions along the way. They approached a wooden door, with a hand-lettered sign tacked to it that said: MAKEUP—CAST ONLY.
“It’ll take me two seconds,” Brooke said as they went inside. “If you think this’ll work.”
“It’ll work,” Monteiro said. “That’s why I asked you to bring it. Just in case.”
Brooke pulled her Ellie-wig and glasses from her evening bag. “Luckily I’ll never have to wear this thing again,” she said, shaking the wig out.
“I’ve parked her in the other dressing room,” Monteiro went on, as Brooke changed to Ellie. “She’s handcuffed, there’s a trooper—you remember Lisa Quinlivan—babysitting her. I told Lacey we’ve gotta clear the scene and wait for a cruiser. But I’m betting she’ll say something to you. She won’t be able to resist. Okay?” He reached for the doorknob of a weathered wooden door. “Okay? I can’t ask her questions, but you can.”
“She ask for a lawyer?” Gabe said.
“Not yet,” Monteiro told him. “And if she talks to Brooke—I mean, Ellie—how can I stop that?”
Gabe opened his mouth as if to protest. Then closed it.
“Ready?” Monteiro asked.
They went to the door of the adjacent dressing room and Monteiro opened it, a mirror image of where Brooke had just changed. Lacey, still in her black dress but now with her hands cuffed behind her, sat on a tufted stool in front of a lighted makeup mirror, a rectangle of light bulbs like a picture frame around her. She tried to stand as the three of them entered, but the serious-faced Lisa Quinlivan, now wearing a taupe dress, black pumps and a gold shield hanging like a necklace, put one hand on Lacey’s shoulder and pushed her back down. Brooke felt Monteiro behind her, blocking the open door.
“How’d you like the Pharminex story?” Lacey, with russet lipstick smeared and hair in chaotic disarray, was as congenial as if they were back in the newsroom. “Pretty fabulous, right? And perfect timing? Totally what we were going for. Have their world come crashing down. Humiliating them. Ruining them. But only I had the guts to make it happen.”
Brooke had to stay calm. Not push it. Use Ellie’s reporter skills to get Meg—Lacey—to talk. “You took my files.”
“Well, more precisely, our files.” Lacey tilted her head, correcting her. “We worked together. Supposedly. Except you were so concerned with the damned rules, all your ridiculous ethics, that the story was never going to see the light of day. You, so endlessly superior, and Warren, and all those lawyers, and—” She stopped. Pointed her chin at Gabe. “What’s Will Faraday doing here? Doesn’t he work for—”
“Good question, Lacey. I’ll tell you if you tell me something.” Brooke could feel Monteiro hovering. She only had a few more minutes. “How’d you know about Lydia Frost? And Kaitlyn Armistead?”
“From your notes. Right on your desk. That was no biggie. You had it all written down in your files, good little reporter that you are. But I could see that the story was doomed, so I decided to—”
“Decided to what?” Brooke stopped herself from pouncing, stayed chill. Spoke quietly. “What, exactly?”
“Oh, no. That I can’t divulge. Not with them here.” Lacey fluttered her eyelashes, one of which had come unglued. “But it sure made you wonder, right? And with the additional evidence of those pencils and prescription pad, and then Lydia’s insider position, you would have cleverly connected her and Kaitlyn, and wham, nailed that company for murder. If only you’d been smarter. And hurried the hell up.”
“You can’t just kill—”
“Really? Can’t I? Pharminex does, right? Every damn day they kill people. So hey, this is not my fault. It’s theirs. The way I see it? Kaitlyn and Lydia were simply two more Pharminex victims. And a means to an end.”
“I think we’re fine here.” Monteiro had eased in beside Brooke. “Say goodbye, Lacey. You’re done.”
“Brooke.” Lacey’s eyes seemed to fill with tears.
“You knew I was Brooke?” She glared at Lacey, then turned to Monteiro, accusing. “Did you tell her?” Then Liam. “Or you?”
“Please. Give me some credit.” Lacey fidgeted on the unsteady stool, trying to stand. Trooper Quinlivan stepped closer. Lacey twisted away.
“You think I showed up in Boston by chance?” she asked Brooke. “I tracked you from the moment you left Maryland. From your dinky little reporter jobs to here in Boston. I planned to just befriend you, so simple, poor abandoned ditzy me just waited in the hallway for you to come home. Pretending to talk to ‘Jimmy.’” She rolled her eyes. “You fell for the whole thing. But I’d already seen those job listings at the new station, and…” She shrugged prettily, full ingenue. “I managed to get hired. It’s perfectly perfect, isn’t it? We got to work together to get what we always wanted. And how much did you love it when I told you your own story that night in my apartment—but made it be about me? You didn’t even notice. Pitiful.”
“You killed my brother.” Brooke had to say it to her face. Make sure she understood how much Brooke knew. “You tried to kill me too.”
“Oh, please. Brooke. Gimme a break. Your brother let his mother destroy our lives—and even then, he said nothing, did nothing, simply went back to work for those people. For money. For power. He got exactly what he deserved. And as for you? Well, I wanted your dear parents to know what it was like to lose a child. Or two. They did it to me, right? So I did it to them. Fair’s fair.”
“Fair?” Brooke felt her eyes widen, wondering about fair.
“We got this, Brooke,” Montero whispered. “Good job.”
In two steps, Monteiro had crossed to the handcuffed Lacey, nodded at Quinlivan, and each took their suspect by one elbow and brought her to her feet. Lacey planted herself in place, chin in the air, and looked square at Brooke. Tears were now rolling down her cheeks.
“Brooke, Brooke, don’t forget! We’re still sisters. You and me. Now and forever, I’m a Vanderwald. Just like you. We’re family.”
Brooke felt Liam’s hand on her shoulder but she stepped away. Stepped into the pool of overhead light in front of Lacey Vanderwald. Stared her down.
“You’re not family, Lacey,” Brooke said. “Not for now. And not ever.”
EPILOGUE
An aerial loop of squawking seagulls seemed to be calling attention to them, Brooke thought, as she sat side by side with Liam on the bright green bench in the daffodil garden behind the curved glass and redbrick edifice of Boston’s federal courthouse. She felt Liam’s arm drape across her shoulders, saw the water in the vast harbor in front of them glassy and mesmerizing in the sparkling noontime sun.
Spring had finally arrived, and the April daffodils held their heads proudly, showing off for the lawyers and judges and reporters and victims who had come here today. Those who’d stood in line to get courtroom seats for the arraignment; to hear in person the breaking news they’d read this morning, bullet-pointed, in The Boston Globe online edition: U.S. Attorney announces whirlwind grand jury indictments of Pharminex. Feds charge crimes of off-label promotion and failure to disclose safety data. Government files multibillion-dollar civil lawsuit charging kickbacks to doctors and lying about the effects of Monifan.
Brooke had devoured the fast-breaking story, though now, as a Vanderwald herself, she could no longer report it. Detta Fiddler turned state’s evidence. Dr. Douglas Hawkins—who had agreed to trap Nora—was a key witness. Christine, Jenn and Gerri were subpoenaed. Wall Street was predicting Winton Vanderwald himself—with his wife’s life now hanging in the balance—would see his fortune and reputation vanish.
“They’ll wind up paying billons,” Brooke said. “Pharminex is doomed. And they deserve it
. I still think they should have been charged with murder, the murder of all the lives they ruined with the lies they told.”
“Honey, they—”
“I know, I know.” Brooke stood and turned to face him. Tilted her head side to side, as if parroting a line: “‘They helped a lot of people.’” She went back to her own voice. “Sure. But they also lied, and manipulated, and it was all for money. Now they’ll have to admit they knew they were misleading patients, and they knew their ‘miracle drug’ could harm women, and that they tried to cover it up. Can you believe Meg—Lacey—swiped my story? I worked so hard on that.”
“But you couldn’t have done it anyway, Brooke. Once it was known who you are. But it’s strange, isn’t it? In the end Lacey did at least one good thing. She made this all public.”
“Yeah.” Brooke had to admit the irony. “And I—kind of—feel sorry for her. All she asked for, in her jail cell? All she wanted? Was that doll. The one we saw in her apartment. ‘Her baby,’ she called it. I can’t even … that’s just so heartbreaking. Lacey even admitted it—the loss of her ability to have children finally shattered everything inside her. And then she was so enraged at Trevor for siding with the company instead of grieving with her that she drugged him. Killed him.”
“And you too, don’t forget,” Liam said. “She tried to kill you too. Twice.”
“I know. Yeah. I do. She even admitted she’d done it to Trev before. Given him that stuff, hoped he’d be driving or something.”
Brooke stared at the daffodils, missing her brother. She’d never let go of it, the idea that she might have saved him that day on the Caduceus. But she hadn’t, no one could have, and it was over, and that was how life—and death—sometimes unfolded.
“But her scheme finally worked when he tried to raise the spinnaker. And at that moment, she had what she wanted.” Brooke sighed, plopped back down on the bench. “They’d just argue he was drunk, though, and I’d have to admit … maybe he was.”
“But even if they can’t prove she killed Trevor, she’ll be charged for Lydia and Kaitlyn,” Liam said. “She’ll plead guilty, I predict. Make a deal.”
“Can you believe Lacey wanted me to believe Pharminex was responsible? Make it look like they were retaliating? She even pretended she’d found Pharminex pencils and a prescription pad in Kaitlyn’s briefcase, when she herself swiped them from doctors’ offices.”
“Cops think she was going to kill you too, in that Braintree apartment. She knew you were Brooke. And she might have succeeded. Until she slipped, and made up that one last story about Will Faraday’s motives. Will, who never existed.”
“Talk about never existed. Lieutenant Monteiro knew you were Liam? He told me he checked you out. You, Gabe. He said you were a good guy.”
“True. But he never specifically said I was Gabriel Hoyt.”
Brooke sighed. “I guess not.”
“Plus, he was right. I am a good guy. And so are you,” he said. “Now I’ll proceed with our cases, and you’ll administer the Trevor Vanderwald scholarship fund. All that money they raised—you can use it to help Pharminex victims. That’s kind of justice, isn’t it?”
Brooke didn’t answer. What was justice? When people simply did the best they could do. And she’d tried.
“Walk with me.” She stood and took his hand, and they wound down the ivy-lined sidewalk and then along a rocky path to the harbor shore. A thick length of mold-slick rope looped between cast-iron stanchions, keeping children and adventuresome adults from getting too close to the water. A seagull landed, two posts away, then blinked at them and tilted its gray-white head.
“Go away, bird,” Liam told it. “Our Brooke is not fond of seagulls.”
“It’s okay.” Brooke tucked her arm though Liam’s. “He is where he’s supposed to be.”
“Like we are,” Liam said.
Brooke looked out over the vast harbor, the watery sunlight dappling its surface, but hiding depths and dangers in the fathoms beneath. “You said it yourself,” she remembered. “We all have our reasons for being who we are.”
“And?”
“And for now, I choose to be me.” She turned to him, searched his face. “And if you’ll be you? And there’ll be no more lies? Then we’ll see what happens.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Unending gratitude to:
Krisitin Sevick, my brilliant, hilarious, and gracious editor. This book was the result of a true brainstorming, and you have the majority of the brain.
The remarkable team at Forge Books: the oh-so-wise Fritz Foy, the incomparable Linda Quinton, the indefatigable team of Alexis Saarela and Libby Collins, and copy editor Karen Richardson all saved me from career-ending errors. And thank you, Jamie Stafford-Hill. I can’t stop applauding this astonishing cover! Patrick Canfield, Jacey Mitziga, and Linda Kaplan, you’re the best. Brian Heller, you’re my hero. And my dearest darling powerhouse Laura Pennock. Eileen Lawrence, Lucille Rettino, and Sarah Reidy—you are life-changing. What a terrifically wise and unfailingly supportive team. I am so thrilled to be a part of it.
Lisa Gallagher, my stellar and incredible agent. You changed my life and continue to do so every day. I am so honored to work with you.
Dana Isaacson, you are such a rock star. Your editing skill—and care and commitment and friendship and generosity—shines on every page.
The artistry and savvy of Madeira James, Mary-Liz Murray, Nina Zagorscak, Charlie Anctil, Mary Zanor, Jane Ubell-Meyer, Elisa Fershtadt, Andrea Peskind Katz, Judith D. Collins, Betsy Maxwell, and Club Red. You are all so fabulous.
Sue Grafton, always. Mary Higgins Clark, ditto. Mary Kubica, Lynne Constantine, Angie Kim, Samantha Bailey, Lisa Unger, Erin Mitchell, Barbara Peters, Joanne Sinchuk, Kym Havens, and Robin Agnew.
My incredible blog sisters at Jungle Red Writers: Julia Spencer-Fleming, Hallie Ephron, Roberta Isleib/Lucy Burdette, Jenn McKinlay, Deborah Crombie, and Rhys Bowen. And my Career Authors posse: Paula Munier, Dana Isaacson, Jessica Strawser, and Brian Andrews. Brian—I am so lucky you know all about sailing! Whew. Thank you.
My dear friends Mary Schwager, Laura DiSilverio, Elisabeth Elo, Shannon Kirk, Len Rosen, and Paula Munier. And my treasured sister Nancy Landman.
The pharmaceutical company insiders who revealed so much—as long as I promised never to say who they are.
Jonathan is my darling husband, of course. Thank you for all the carry-out dinners, your infinite patience, and your unending wisdom.
Do you see your name in this book? Some very generous souls allowed their names to be used in return for an auction donation to charity. To retain the magic, I will let you find yourselves.
Sharp-eyed readers will notice I have tweaked Massachusetts geography a bit. It’s only to protect the innocent. And I adore it when people read the acknowledements.
Keep in touch, okay?
www.hankphillippiryan.com
www.jungleredwriters.com
www.careerauthors.com
BOOKS BY HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN
Trust Me
The Murder List
The First to Lie
THE JANE RYLAND SERIES
The Other Woman
The Wrong Girl
Truth Be Told
What You See
Say No More
THE CHARLOTTE MCNALLY SERIES
Prime Time
Face Time
Air Time
Drive Time
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN has won five Agatha Awards, in addition to the Anthony, Macavity, Daphne du Maurier, and Mary Higgins Clark Awards for her bestselling mystery novels. As an on-air investigative reporter for Boston’s WHDH-TV, she’s won thirty-six Emmy Awards and many more journalism honors. A former president of Sisters in Crime and founder of Mystery Writers of America University, she lives in Boston.
Visit her online at hankphillippiryan.com, or sign up for email updates here.
Instagram: hankpryan
Twitter:
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facebook.com/HankPhillippiRyanAuthor
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1: Nora
Chapter 2: Ellie
Chapter 3: Nora
Chapter 4: Ellie
Chapter 5: Nora
Chapter 6: Ellie
Chapter 7: Nora
Chapter 8: Ellie
Chapter 9: Nora
Chapter 10: Ellie
Chapter 11: Nora
Chapter 12: Ellie
Chapter 13: Nora
Chapter 14: Brooke
Chapter 15: Lacey
Chapter 16: Brooke
Chapter 17: Ellie
Chapter 18: Nora
Chapter 19: Ellie
Chapter 20: Nora
Chapter 21: Lacey
Chapter 22: Brooke
Chapter 23: Ellie
Chapter 24: Ellie
Chapter 25: Ellie
Chapter 26: Lacey
Chapter 27: Ellie
Chapter 28: Ellie
Chapter 29: Ellie
Chapter 30: Ellie
Chapter 31: Lacey
Chapter 32: Ellie
Chapter 33: Ellie
Chapter 34: Ellie
Chapter 35: Ellie
Chapter 36: Ellie
Chapter 37: Ellie
Chapter 38: Ellie
Chapter 39: Ellie
Chapter 40: Brooke
Chapter 41: Lacey
Chapter 42: Brooke
Chapter 43: Lacey
Chapter 44: Ellie
Chapter 45: Ellie
The First to Lie Page 34
