Sheila remembered telling Eden the other night that no one else in the house even knew how to operate the washer or dryer.
In that same discussion, Eden had insisted she show her which food and drink items were consumed by her and her alone. Had the girl been making sure no one else in the family became ill—or perhaps died—from ingesting something she planned to taint with poison? Was that why no one else got sick today?
Eden could have snuck down to the kitchen at dawn and tampered with something that Sheila ate or drank. All sorts of packages, jars, and bottles were already open—and vulnerable.
Sheila sat up on the sofa. With the remote, she shut off the TV.
On her way to the kitchen, she stopped at the basement doorway and saw Steve coming up the stairs.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I forgot to empty the garbage,” he said. “I’m doing it right now.”
“Thanks, Stevie,” she said, patting his shoulder. “Is everyone else downstairs?”
“Just Dad and me. Hannah’s in her new room,” he added with a trace of bitterness. “Gabe went to bed. I think Eden’s in her lair.” Bending down, Steve reached inside the cabinet under the sink, where they kept the garbage and recycling.
Sheila watched Steve pull out the trash bag and the recycling bin. The empty Ocean Spray container was poking out of the top of the small recycling bin. Sheila numbly stared at it. Cranberry juice, coffee, cream, and toast. That was all she’d had this morning, a couple of hours before she’d started feeling ill.
“Hey, Mom?” Steve asked. He reached into the garbage, past some of the Chinese carryout containers. Then he pulled out the small bottle of Visine. “Weren’t you looking for this earlier? It’s still got some in it.”
He handed it to her. The bottle was sticky—and still a quarter-full.
“Honey?” she said, staring at the bottle. “You said something this morning about a Visine cocktail. What were you talking about?”
Steve grinned and nodded. “In Wedding Crashers, they put Visine in this guy’s drink and it gave him diarrhea. It was really funny.”
“I’ll bet,” Sheila murmured.
Steve went out the door and headed toward the side of the yard where they kept the garbage and recycling bins.
Sheila looked at the dirty vial of Visine and wondered just how many drops Eden had put in her cranberry juice this morning.
*
Sheila sat alone at the breakfast table. She had the small TV on for background noise. There had just been a commercial for the local eleven o’clock news, which was supposed to come on at any minute.
The house was quiet. Not everyone was asleep yet, but they were in their respective bedrooms—including Dylan. She’d told him he could return to their bed tonight. She’d be bunking in with Hannah, whose room was about as far as Sheila could get from the sound of their new neighbor’s barking dog. Dylan could put up with the canine crooning tonight.
The lights were on in the house across the way. So Ms. Congeniality must be home, which accounted for the blessed silence right now. Maybe Dylan would luck out and Trudy would remain silent tonight. That was fine. Her anger at him was starting to soften.
She would need him on her side when she talked to him tomorrow about his oldest daughter.
Sheila had gone online and googled “Visine Cocktail.” It turned out that the Wedding Crashers scenario was a myth. Slipping Visine into someone’s drink didn’t cause the drinker to have diarrhea. No, the results of this prank were far more serious. Consuming several drops was known to cause, among other things, an alteration in body temperature, respiratory problems, blurred vision, nausea and vomiting, radical changes in blood pressure, seizures, and even death for the drinker.
The little bitch had almost killed her today—twice.
Of course, Sheila couldn’t prove that Eden had slipped eye drops into her cranberry juice. And even if Sheila did prove it, Eden could always dismiss the whole thing—and so might Dylan—as a silly prank, like in Wedding Crashers. Eden could pretend she’d had no idea of the dire consequences. It was supposed to be a practical joke, nothing more. Right up there with planting a spider in her bed.
Now Sheila wondered if that spider was poisonous.
She thought about the brakes on her car, too.
How many times had she almost “accidentally” died since Eden’s birth mother had fallen to her death? How many times since Eden had moved in? There might even have been a few failed attempts and close calls she didn’t know about.
Sheila wanted to see what the appliance repairman said about the washer. If it looked to him as if someone had tampered with it, then that would be enough for her to make a case to Dylan—and to the police. By tomorrow afternoon, she’d also have that guest book from Antonia’s memorial service. Maybe a few of Antonia’s friends could tell her more about Antonia’s daughter— and perhaps a few “close calls” Antonia had encountered before her fatal “accident.”
To go to Dylan with her suspicions at this point seemed futile. She would just come off as paranoid and maybe a little loopy from being so sick today. She’d wait until tomorrow, when she had more ammunition to back up what she felt in her gut.
For now, it looked like Eden was targeting her and her alone. Why, exactly, Sheila wasn’t sure yet. But she believed Dylan and the kids weren’t in any danger.
In the meantime, she was sleeping in Hannah’s room—with the door locked.
Though her mind was racing, she’d decided to attempt sleeping tonight without the help of Ambien or bourbon. She’d try meditating.
The local news came on the TV. The blonde, fifty-something anchor began talking: “In our top story, a group of hikers at Rattlesnake Mountain this morning discovered what they thought was a dead body off one of the trails.”
The picture switched to video of several squad cars and an ambulance in a recreation area by the pristine, picturesque lake at the base of Rattlesnake Mountain. The newscaster continued with a voiceover: “Thirty-three-year-old Arthur Merrens of Wallingford had been shot and left to die in the woods. Merrens was rushed to Swedish Hospital in Issaquah, where he’s in critical condition . . .”
Sheila wasn’t paying much attention. With a sigh, she reached over and switched off the TV. Then she went to get ready for bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Friday, September 28—11:51 A.M.
Sitting in the second-to-last row in his English Lit class, Steve watched Ms. Warren call on the new student.
He had a mild crush on Ms. Warren, who was about thirty-five and pretty with red hair and what appeared to be a great-looking body under those sweaters. Plus, she was nice. When she’d been late for class last week, Shane Camper had written on the blackboard: Ms. Warren—Cougar or MILF? But he’d erased it before she’d walked in. So Steve wasn’t totally alone in thinking she was kind of sexy.
Eden, the new student, seemed to be doing her damnedest to make a lousy first impression on Ms. Warren. Throughout the class, she’d been fidgety to the point of distracting just about everyone—including Ms. Warren. She kept squirming in her desk chair, rolling her heavily made-up eyes, and yawning loudly. At one point, she even leaned over to the next seat and asked Eve Caletti, “When do we break for lunch in this shit hole, anyway?” The entire class heard her, too.
If Eden was acting like this to attract attention, it was totally unnecessary, because everyone couldn’t help staring at her the minute she strolled into the classroom. She’d left the house this morning in a pair of jeans and a black cardigan over a sort of bruise-colored leotard top. Had his parents seen her without the sweater, they never would have let her leave the house, because the clingy top was practically transparent—especially around her breasts, which stretched the material to its fiber limit. Steve wasn’t sure when she’d ditched the sweater. But now practically everyone in the school could see what he’d seen after her lengthy bathroom session on Tuesday night.
“Eden, since this is your first day here, you
might not have read The Scarlet Letter, but if you’ve been listening to the discussion, I’m sure you’ve formed some sort of opinion of Hester Prynne. What do you think of her?”
Ms. Warren was obviously trying to put her on the spot and maybe get back at her a little for distracting the class.
“Actually, I read it last year,” Eden muttered, slouched in her chair.
“Would you please sit up, Eden—and speak up?”
Asking Eden to sit up was a definite mistake, because when she did, she stuck out her chest, and it was hard to avoid looking at anything else.
“I said I’ve read it already,” she announced. “And I thought it was crap.”
A girl in the front row gasped.
Ms. Warren glared at Eden. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“The only pleasure I got from reading it was congratulating myself every time I finished one more boring page. Hester was a wimp. And it was so, like, convoluted. Plus, Hawthorne didn’t know shit about women. And how many stupid coincidences could he have in there? The ‘A’ in the sky when there’s a meteor—sure, yeah, like that’s really realistic. What makes you stupid teachers think we’re going to enjoy books when you force us to read something that’s like a hundred and sixty years old? Maybe the book was a big hit back in eighteen-whatever, when people didn’t have anything else to do. They didn’t have radio, movies, TV, or the internet. Shit, they didn’t even have electricity, right? So it was like, The Scarlet Letter or parlor games. If you want us to really embrace reading books, why don’t you teachers put some good books, some semi-current best-sellers, on the reading list? Game of Thrones, and shit like that.”
A couple of the more ballsy guys in the class laughed and applauded. Others were stunned into silence.
Ms. Warren was still glaring at her. She looked like she was trying to keep composed, but Steve thought he saw her nostrils flare. “First of all, Eden, foul language will not be tolerated in this classroom,” she said evenly. “Secondly, I’d like to point out that if it weren’t for classics like The Scarlet Letter paving the way, we wouldn’t have the basic ingredients found in today’s bestselling books. Perhaps if you read Hawthorne’s novel a little more carefully—”
The bell rang, and everybody started to get out of their seats.
“Chapters twenty through twenty-four on Monday, people!” she announced over the din. “Eden, I’d like a word.”
“I’ll give you two: fuck you,” Eden replied, not quite under her breath.
Steve heard it, and he was pretty sure Ms. Warren did, too. Ms. Warren was also Eden’s homeroom advisor. So Eden was pretty dumb to tick her off.
Stepping out to the crowded hallway, Steve lingered near the door after Ms. Warren closed it. Through the glass, he could see her bawling out Eden for being such a smart-ass. Eden just stood there, defiantly pouting at her.
Steve was fascinated by his half sister, but he was leery of her, too. He hadn’t gotten another peep show since Tuesday night, though she was certainly making up for lost time with today’s transparent top. Steve’s dad had slept in Gabe’s room for a couple of nights. So maybe that was why she hadn’t walked around practically naked again. His dad had gotten a look at the mess Eden had left behind in the bathroom on Tuesday night, and he’d talked with her about it. So she wasn’t being such a pig in the bathroom anymore, either. She spent most of her time in Hannah’s old room with the door closed. Steve decided to give her some space and be friendly. He still wasn’t sure if he liked her or not.
As for her behavior in school today, Steve tried to cut her some slack. Maybe she was just putting on a sexy, smart, tough-girl act so no one would mess with her. Steve imagined it was like one of those prison movies, when the new guy picked a fight on his first day in the slammer so all the other inmates would respect him. After all, she was in a new school, and maybe the word was starting to get around about her background. Steve wasn’t sure how many people knew that she was his and Hannah’s half sister and that she was living with them now.
He decided to hang around and make sure she wasn’t in too much trouble. If she didn’t get sent to the principal’s office, he’d ask if she wanted to eat with him in the cafeteria. He didn’t want her to have to eat alone on her first day.
Through the window in the classroom door, he watched her nod at Ms. Warren. Then, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she turned and flounced toward the door. Steve approached her as she stepped out into the hallway. The crowd in the corridor was already thinning out. People were on their way to lunch. “What happened?” Steve asked.
She sighed. “I have to write a thousand-word report on the fucking Scarlet Letter,” she groused. “And the bitch wants it on Monday. Well, that’s not going to happen.”
“You can borrow my copy of the book if you want,” Steve offered. “It’s already highlighted, with notes in the margins. Anyway, listen, I usually eat in the cafeteria with this guy, Sean Thomas. He’s sort of new, too. He’s from Boston, and he’s a nice guy. You might like him. You want to eat lunch with us?”
Eden shook her head, “Not really.”
Steve stopped, a bit taken aback by her abruptness.
He watched her saunter down the hallway without him.
*
Sean Thomas and Steve had a table by the window in the cafeteria. They picked at their gristly Salisbury steak and tater tots. Sean was skinny with green eyes and light brown skin. He was kind of a wise guy. Every time he said something funny in his Boston accent, he said it out of one side of his mouth. Steve was his only friend right now, and vice versa. They hadn’t started hanging out together after school or anything, but since the beginning of the year, they’d had lunch together in the cafeteria practically every day.
Steve had told him about Eden being his half sister.
“Does she dress like that at home, too?” Sean asked. “You must be walking around with a boner all the time.”
They weren’t too far into lunch when Sean nodded toward the window. “Hey, isn’t that her?”
Steve looked outside and saw Eden by the bike racks. She had her sweater on again, but it was open in front. She sat on a bench, eating and talking with this guy who looked just like her boyfriend, the one who was supposed to be in Portland. Steve was almost positive it was the same blond guy in the picture his mom had taken. The guy even wore the same camo jacket as the punk in the photo.
Steve watched the guy feed Eden a French fry. He could tell—even at this distance—that they were eating McDonald’s. The guy offered her a bite of his cheeseburger, and she greedily took several bites. Steve could tell from the color of the wrapper that it was a cheeseburger, all right, and Ms. Vegan was gobbling it up and laughing.
Then the two of them stood up and walked away. The guy left the McDonald’s bag on the bench. They were six feet from a trash can, and the lazy jerk left his garbage on the bench. Steve hadn’t even met the guy, and already he didn’t like him. He also didn’t like the fact that Eden was lying to everyone about the jerky boyfriend being in Portland. And why the hell did she make up that crap about being vegan? Was it just to make things more difficult for his mom?
Steve watched them get into a car together and drive away.
He wondered if he should tell his parents about any of this. He didn’t want to be a snitch, but he hated seeing her make chumps out of all of them.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sean asked. “Who was that burnout with your sister?”
Steve shrugged. “Beats me,” he lied. He wished he knew Sean a bit better so he could confide in him. But he hadn’t even told him about seeing Eden naked the other night.
“Why do these tater tots suck so much today?” Steve asked to change the subject. “Usually, they’re okay, but these are like raw on the inside.”
He’d taken a few unenthusiastic bites of the tough steak when his phone vibrated. Steve pulled it out of the side pocket of his cargo pants. It was a text. He didn’t recognize the sender, but he clic
ked on the message. He wasn’t sure if the text was really meant for him or not, because it didn’t make any sense:
ASK YOUR MOM ABOUT YOUR AUNT MOLLY
“What’s going on?” he heard Sean ask. “Who texted?”
Looking up from the phone, Steve quickly switched it off. “Um, nobody, some spam thing.”
He didn’t want to say anything, not until he found out what the text was about—and maybe not even then. Steve couldn’t wrap his head around it. This week, he’d just found out about this sister he never knew existed. He’d also learned that his dad had cheated on his mom. And now, some stranger was telling him that he had an aunt out there somewhere.
As far as he knew, he had no aunts or uncles. So who was this Aunt Molly?
Despite what the text said, the last thing in the world Steve wanted to do was ask his mom about her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Friday—2:57 P.M.
It wasn’t there.
With two bags of groceries weighing her down, Sheila stopped at the front door. The FedEx package from March-Middleton Funeral Services still hadn’t been delivered. She wondered if perhaps Eden’s creepy boyfriend had found the package and made off with it yesterday when he’d come by to sabotage her washing machine.
She still didn’t know whether or not the machine had been tampered with because the repairman had never showed up. Sheila had waited during his “arrival time window” of eight-thirty until eleven-thirty. At noon, she’d called the appliance repair place and was told that, yes, there had been a delay, and now he wouldn’t be by until Monday. Sheila had figured telling them it was a matter of life and death wouldn’t do any good, though it wouldn’t have been far from the truth. She’d gritted her teeth and thanked the person on the other end of the phone when they’d told her to have a nice weekend.
The Betrayed Wife Page 20
