“Or maybe she’s just smart,” Kara said.
Danica reached out and smacked Kara across the face, raging into a fit. I took this opportunity to slither through a gaping hole in the wall, and scoot quickly behind a stack of cardboard boxes. The strong stench of excrement hit my nose, forcing me to hold back from gagging. The cardboard prevented me from seeing much, but I couldn’t risk peering out over the top of the stack. I looked skyward, asking for strength, before gently lowering myself onto the filthy floor.
“I see you just a stupid bitch too.” Danica continued berating her half-sister.
I scanned the room for my next move. There was a beige couch, minus the cushions, opposite the mound of cardboard. If I could get there, I could surprise Danica from behind. I’d just have to wait until she got irate again. In my experience, when criminals were engaged in torturing or ranting at a victim, they missed things. Danica slapped her sister again and pushed her face close to Kara’s. While she was screaming, I quickly dug my phone out of my pocket and sent a text message to Charles: The Spot. Hostage situation.
I stayed behind the cardboard, listening and waiting for the right moment to take Danica by surprise. At that point, I had to assume she was a cold and calculating murderer, and her behavior seemed to be escalating. There wasn’t time to move to the couch—I would have to act quickly and be ready to shoot. Danica wouldn’t have any trouble taking out both me and Kara.
“Your mother was so jealous. A spinster single mother, living a lonely life…She resented my mother. Now there are three kids without a mother. Your mother couldn’t stand it, so she took my mother’s life. She knew no one would hear a thing. Brightmoor is a ghost town in these parts. We barely have any cops around here anymore.”
I eased around the side of the mound of cardboard, catching Kara’s eye and holding my index finger against my lips.
“Your mother was weak, but she wasn’t a bad person,” I said.
“What?”
Danica spun around, pointing her gun in my direction.
“Your mother was weak, but you’re more like her than you think.”
“What? How so?” I had Danica’s full attention now.
“She was just trying to get the best possible outcome for herself, and you’re trying to do the same thing. You’re hurt, so you are seeking revenge because you think that will make your life easier. Your mother abandoned you because she thought it would make her life easier. You’re both wrong. This—what you’re doing—is going to make your life worse, and you won’t ever be able to fix it. Your mother did the same thing. That’s why she was willing to meet with you. Abandoning you left a hole in her life that was unfixable. She thought the pain would go away, just like you think killing Kara—your sister—will make the pain go away. So, you see? You and Liza have a lot in common…Lack of insight, wouldn’t you say?”
Danica was angry, but stunned. She stood still, staring at me, while her shoulders began to rise and fall heavily. I saw Kara quietly wriggling out of the ropes. I moved closer to Danica, my gun trained on her forehead.
“You think you know it all, don’t you? You don’t know shit about me or my mother!”
“I know that your mother fought for you. She wanted custody, but she was too afraid of what her parents would say. They were bankrolling her life, but she would have taken you back. She never wanted to leave you, but your dad was so abusive she just couldn’t stay.”
A child, no matter how injured or spurned they feel, always wants to know the story behind why their parents abandoned them. I watched Danica’s eyes fill with hate before she turned and rushed back to Kara. Sprinting towards her, I caught her ponytail and stomped on her left calf before sticking my gun in the back of her skull.
“I don’t want to, but you know I know how to use this,” I said. “DPD will be here in a few minutes. You okay, kiddo?” I called to Kara.
I heard Kara’s violent crying, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off Danica. Sirens screamed in the distance.
Chapter Eighteen
Solving a case always gives your ego a boost. A sense of satisfaction and calm wells up in your soul, and you remember why you do what you do. But that day, I didn’t feel a sense of satisfaction; instead, I felt a lump in my throat. Was it possible that Danica Masters had murdered her mom? I remembered the things she had been telling Kara before I interrupted. She thought that Madelyn had killed her mother. The cops thought Danica had killed Liza, but in my mind, something was off.
“She’s been talking, but we don’t have anything on this kid,” Charles said. He’d stopped by my office to fill me in on what was happening with the case.
“I don’t think she did it. Not sure who did it or why, but the beef between her and Kara is some weird half-sibling competition, or retaliation against Madelyn.”
“Gotta agree with you: there’s no proof that Danica had anything to do with her mother’s death. In fact, she can’t talk about Liza Abernathy without tearing up. She’s convinced that Madelyn Price did it, but there’s no reason to believe she was involved either.”
“I hate that I took this case.”
“Why? You’ve worked it hard. You’ve done a great job, Syl.”
“But there’s a man who is waiting for me to tell him that I found his wife’s killer. He’s expecting me to bring this thing home, and I just can’t seem to break the case. I’ve failed.”
Charles sat down opposite me. There was nothing left to say. I had failed. It was time to tell Carson that his wife’s killer hadn’t been identified, and probably wouldn’t ever be found.
“What else has Danica said?”
“Basically, she said that she and Liza had an argument over making their relationship public. Danica wanted to be her daughter all the time, not just when Liza slipped below Eight Mile Road. Well, according to Danica, she was planning on going public and she told Liza that. So, Liza stayed there arguing with her. Eventually, Liza followed her into an alley and the two almost came to blows, but before anything could happen, a black Monte Carlo pulled up. Someone got out, dressed in black, ski mask and all, and they shot Liza five times.”
A simple story…almost too simple—but one thing stood out: the black Monte Carlo. Why was that standing out?
“Black Monte Carlo…” I said.
“Yeah. She claims it was in vintage shape—a shiny, good-looking car.”
I only drive it on special occasions.
I could be wrong. I had to be wrong.
“Charles?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong? You look panicked.”
“I gotta go.”
“What do you mean? Where you going?”
I shoved the paperwork aside, jumped up, grabbed my keys, and ran to the car. If I hurried, I’d make it there before 5:00 p.m. I hit M-14, got stuck in gridlock traffic, and got off the highway at 4:45. I pulled into the parking lot at 4:57. Aileen Stark was walking out of the office, striding confidently in a pinstriped suit. I pulled into a parking stall, threw the car into park, and jumped out. Aileen continued to walk, as if she had not seen my car.
“Mrs. Stark!” I yelled at her back.
Aileen turned around, slipping her sunglasses low on her nose.
“Mrs. Wilcox. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Why is that?”
“You’re sharp.”
“Are you admitting—?”
“I am very happy that you caught Liza’s murderer. She’s young; I hope she gets a short sentence. She deserves a second chance.”
“How do you know about that?”
“You’d be surprised what I know.”
“She’s not guilty.”
“No? Then why did you have the police arrest her?” she asked sarcastically.
“You’re not going to let a fifteen-year-old girl take the fall for you, are you?”
“Mrs. Wilcox, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Not driving the Monte today? Nice Cutlass.”
Aileen smi
led and shook her head.
“Remember, I told you I only drive that car on special occasions.”
“Like when you go out to kill your daughter-in-law?”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.
“Carson loved her.”
“He’ll love again.”
“How could you be so cold?”
“Thanks for stopping by, Mrs. Wilcox but if you don’t mind, I have to-”
“You set her up.”
“Mrs. Wilcox-”
“You set up a young girl! Your daughter-in-law’s child. You were the one who was harassing Madelyn.”
“Why would I ever do that?”
“Because you didn’t want anyone to know that you murdered Liza, least of all, your son.”
Aileen Stark let out a loud, angry laugh before saying, “No one would tell a son that his mother murdered his wife. Think about how horrible that would be.”
“There might be one person who thinks it’s important for him to know, even if it is painful.”
“That same person has too much compassion to do that. Good day, Mrs. Wilcox.”
Aileen Stark, Liza Stark’s killer, climbed into her car and drove away.
***
I gave all the information I’d gathered to DPD, but I knew there wasn’t enough evidence to press charges. Aileen Stark was seventy-seven years old, and rich. The odds of her doing any time in jail were slim to none. The odds that the prosecutor would ever move forward were even less likely. Danica also escaped prosecution for Liza’s murder. Because there was no evidence tying her to the crime. She was sentenced to three months in a residential treatment center for what she did to Kara—the short stay a result of Kara and Madelyn advocating for her to receive a lighter sentence.
I put off the inevitable for a few weeks, but eventually, I had to return Carson’s phone calls and set up a meeting. It wasn’t satisfying to know who the killer was without being able to do anything about it, but I hadn’t taken the case with the idea that it would ever make it to trial. I’d taken it because I wanted to find out the truth for Carson.
“How are you going to tell him,” Martin asked.
“I’m not. He’s going to figure it out for himself.”
“How?”
“By connecting the dots.”
“But—”
“Martin, I’m not telling him that his mother killed his wife…He will figure it out. It will be one of those…” I felt emotion well up in my throat. Money was not enough: nothing was enough for a mother to cause her son such pain.
“I guess you’re right, but I would want to know the truth, even if it was terrible.”
Martin’s words struck me. Was knowing the truth always helpful? Was the truth better than hearing a comfortable lie? I didn’t have the answers to those questions.
“Carson Stark is a surgeon; he will figure it out.”
“Why do you think she did it?”
That was a great question. After running the situation through my head over and over again, I was still confused about it. Why would a mother do this to her son? The alternate answer was even worse.
“There’s a chance, a good chance that the bullets weren’t meant for Liza.”
“What? Why do you think that?”
“If Aileen Stark had wanted to kill Liza, she would have done it before she married Carson. But even more importantly, she wasn’t going to have Danica ruining their good name. If Danica made herself known, word would have gotten around. Aileen Stark cares about keeping up appearances and keeping as much money in the family as possible.”
“Danica could have demanded money to keep things quiet.”
“Exactly—and Aileen Stark wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“Sick.”
“I know. I don’t know how Carson is going to react, but I can’t stall any longer.
***
Carson was waiting at the door with a tall glass of Stolis and orange juice. He offered me a drink, which I declined, before placing my briefcase on the table and pulling out a stack of reports detailing what I’d learned.
“You know who did it?”
“Please sit down.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Just…Mr. Stark, just please have a seat. I will read the summary.”
There was no softening the blow of the information. Instead of drawing out the details, I raced through the short paragraphs. Carson doubled over and began to cry when I told him about Danica, his eyes searing with the pain of betrayal. I gave him time to cry for a few minutes before I continued. As I started to explain the details surrounding Danica, Carson interrupted.
“Where is Danica now?”
“She’s in a treatment center for a few months.”
“I want to meet her.”
“Okay…I think she’d like that. I can give you her information.”
“When did she find Liza?”
“About a year before Liza was murdered. Danica wanted to be a part of her life; she wanted to meet you and the kids, her uncle, aunt, cousins, and grandparents. Liza was afraid you wouldn’t accept her, so she kept Danica in the shadows longer than she would have liked. Danica was threatening to show up and expose the secret, which scared Liza. On the day Liza died, she went to meet with Danica. They spent hours arguing in an abandoned building. Eventually, Danica left in anger. Liza didn’t want to leave Brightmoor until they had settled things. She looked for Danica and eventually found her by a party store. Danica headed into the alley; Liza followed. Then a car appeared—a black, 1982 Monte Carlo.”
Carson looked at me with a blank stare that gave way to eyes full of terror.
“The bullets were meant for Danica, but Liza jumped in front of her. She sacrificed her life for her firstborn.”
It was so hard to look Carson in the eye, but I couldn’t bring myself to look away. There was nothing else to say or do. Compassionate eye contact was the one thing I could give him.
Having reached an understanding, we sat in comfortable silence…It was the type of quiet you find yourself in when a truth is too true, too bitter. After about ten minutes, I set a sealed envelope of Carson’s copy of the paperwork on the table, closed my briefcase, and turned to leave.
“Sylvia,” Carson said, catching my shoulder. I turned around and faced him. He’d never used my first name before. “Your payment.”
“Carson—” This was the first time I’d slipped up and called him by his first name, thereby dropping the protective, professional barrier.
“No. Fair is fair. You’ve more than done your job. I have answers and that was all I wanted.” Carson grabbed a checkbook from the table and wrote a check for much more than he owned.
“Carson, this is too much.”
“No, no—it’s not enough. You don’t know what you’ve done for me.”
“I don’t—”
“You proved that my wife was a good person; that she loved me, and that she died because she loved her daughter, not because she was seeing someone else. Thank you, Sylvia. Thank you.”
He pressed the folded check into my palm. Not knowing what to do with all the emotions, I simply nodded, turned, and swiftly headed for the door. Carson called my name before I could step out.
“I want to meet Danica. Can you arrange that?”
I hesitated, not because I wasn’t willing to help bring the two of them together, but because I was in awe. He’d just received devastating news, but he still had the heart to worry about a child he’d never met: a true man of substance.
“Of course. I’ll set something up.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Just remember, you’re a PI, not a social worker,” Charles said.
It had been four months since the close of Liza’s case. Charles and I were sitting at Mickelson’s, enjoying iced tea and fish and chips.
“I know. I just want to spark the healing process.”
“That’s very noble. I guess that’s why you’re a PI…You’ve got time
to play the social worker if you want. How many cases you working right now?”
“Currently, I’m taking a bit of a break.”
“That’s not like you. Case took a lot out of you, huh?”
“Yeah, it was rough. Never expected it to turn out the way it did. Made me think about Martin and the—”
“Stop. You don’t need to feel sorry about that. You did the right thing. It’s better that he doesn’t know all the details. Derek committed suicide. That’s all he needs to know.”
“Well, whether it’s better or not, I’m not in a hurry to change things.”
“How about a vacation? You could book a flight to anywhere. A few weeks on a white sandy beach…Could be exactly what the doctor ordered.”
It did sound like a good choice.
“Maybe after I straighten things out here. It would be nice to take some time and get away for a while.”
“So, what’s the plan for this afternoon?”
“I’m meeting Danica at her aunt’s house. From there, we’re going to Carson’s. He’s asked me to stay for the first part of the meeting, but if things go well, I’ll take off and the four of them will be left to bond.”
“You’ll ride off into the sunset…”
“That’s right.”
“Syl?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re an angel.”
***
Alyssa’s Masters’ home was buzzing with activity when I arrived. There were a few children riding bikes out front. I pulled up as a pre-teen flew out of the house, letting the screen door smack against the door frame. Danica was out front, cross-legged, sitting on the concrete, engrossed in her cellphone. She was wearing skinny jeans, a black t-shirt with “Yes” on the front, and a gray windbreaker. She looked up when I honked the horn and gave a slight wave before slipping the phone into her pocket and heading my way.
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