“Actually, after this little chore here, I won’t need you at all,” she said.
She tossed aside the open umbrella. It fell to the ground slowly, the fabric catching on the air.
The flashlight blinded Brodie for a moment. Then he saw the gun in her hand.
“Christ, no,” he whispered. He let go of the shovel and backed into a wall of dirt. “Wait—”
She fired.
He let out a gasp as the first bullet ripped through his chest.
A second shot hit him in the forehead.
Brodie fell over dead in the fresh grave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Saturday—7:33 P.M.
Seattle
“They’ve got four bottles of red wine in here,” Eden said, standing in front of the open liquor cupboard in the kitchen. “Do you think they’ll notice if one is missing?”
“Yes,” Steve said, standing behind her.
She took one of the bottles and handed it to him. “C’mon, let’s put on our jackets, go out, and get drunk someplace—like down the hill from here, where all those boats are.”
“Now?” Steve asked, incredulous. “What are you, nuts? It’s raining out. And we just ordered pizza like twenty minutes ago. I thought we were going to watch Blade Runner 2049.”
They had decided to eat their pizza and watch the movie On Demand on the TV in the den. Steve sometimes preferred being in the den to the basement when no one else was home. It felt safer there. He was hoping the movie would take his mind off Ms. Warren’s murder and that text about Aunt Molly. Plus, he still didn’t know what to think about Eden. He was touched that she’d cried for Ms. Warren. But part of that was for herself, too, because everyone in English Lit class thought she was a tremendous jerk. On the other hand, he did feel sorry for her, and he was flattered that she’d said he was cool.
Still, he couldn’t be sure that her slimy boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend, or whatever he was—wouldn’t suddenly show up. Maybe Eden was trying to lure him down to Portage Bay so the guy could jump him and beat him up, or worse. It could be part of a kidnapping plot, for all he knew. Even if he trusted her completely, the notion of going out in the rain to get hammered with his half sister didn’t really appeal to Steve.
His parents had made it clear that if he wanted to drink, he could do it in the house with their booze while they were home. If that was some kind of ploy to take the fun out of drinking for him, Hannah, and Gabe, then the buzzkill had worked pretty well so far.
“I really have no desire to go out and get drunk, I’m sorry,” he told her.
“Remember when I said earlier that I thought you were cool?” Eden asked. “Well, I take it back.”
She grabbed the bottle out of his hand, then found the corkscrew in the drawer—pretty easily for someone who had just moved in five days ago, Steve thought. He wondered if she’d secretly made a study of where everything was in the house.
Eden opened the bottle almost like a pro. Then she poured herself a glass and chugged down a few swallows. “Don’t you just want to be bad sometimes?” she asked.
He backed away from her and sat down on the edge of the dinette booth. “Not really.”
“You should really learn to loosen up.”
“The other night, you came by my bedroom door, and you were, like, naked,” Steve said. “Was that you just being bad?”
Leaning against the kitchen counter, she took a sip from the glass and rolled her eyes. “I guess that was me being pretty stupid. I was trying to mess with you, intimidate you, whatever . . .” She looked down into the glass. “Almost the same stupid way I was trying to mess with Ms. Warren yesterday. That backfired, too.” She took another hit of wine. “Maybe that’s why I’d like to go someplace and get drunk right now, so I don’t have to think about any of it. And I want my brother to come with me.”
“My mom will be here pretty soon,” Steve said. “She’s going to freak out if she comes home to an empty house. I don’t want to do that to her. She’s going through a lot right now.”
Eden frowned. “You mean like having to put up with me?”
“Okay, sort of,” he admitted. “But there’s other stuff, too.” He was thinking about his Aunt Molly. After reading that old newspaper article and the comment from the person who’d sent it, Steve wasn’t sure he could ever look at his mom the same way again. She must have said or done something to cause her sister’s death. Why else wouldn’t she have ever told her children about their aunt and erased all evidence that she’d ever existed?
He realized Eden was staring at him. She had her head tilted to one side. “You really care about them, don’t you?”
“You mean my parents?” Steve shrugged. “Sure. Didn’t you care about your mom?”
Eden took another swig of wine. “I wasn’t as lucky as you’ve been. I wasn’t part of a real family growing up. I was caught between two bitches who were both shitty at being mothers.”
“You had two moms?” Steve asked. “But that’s a real family, too. You mean, like lesbians? That’s cool . . .”
“No,” Eden frowned. “Antonia was my birth mother, but I was raised by her onetime best friend, Cassandra. By the time I was like ten, they could barely stand each other. Cassandra never let me forget that Antonia almost had me aborted.”
“Wow,” Steve murmured.
“Yeah, but Cassandra talked her out of it, paid all the hospital bills, and then took me off her hands. At the same time, Antonia was constantly reminding me that she was my real mother. Honestly, Antonia was like the worst mother ever, but Cassandra was no prize, either. I don’t think she ever really liked me much. I think she just liked the idea of being a mother to Dylan’s daughter . . .”
“She knew my dad? What, did she have an affair with him, too?”
“No, but when her best friend screwed him and gave birth to his daughter, that practically made Cassandra’s head explode.” Eden slugged back some more wine, draining the glass. She quickly refilled it. “She was so in love with your dad. And you want to hear the funny part? She met him only a few times. He hardly knew her. The first time they met, it was at some department store—and it was like love at first sight for Cassandra, even though they talked for only five minutes.
“It was through Antonia that they met again. Cassandra figured that fate had brought them together once more, or some sort of bullshit like that. But Dylan had barely remembered her. And by then, Antonia was already hooking up with him. I’m pretty sure he still doesn’t remember her. In fact, I’m certain of it. Anyway, raising his daughter was Cassandra’s consolation prize. Maybe if she’d slept with him, she would have gotten him out of her system. Instead, Cassandra became obsessed with him and his whole family.”
“What do you mean?” Steve asked anxiously. “Obsessed—like how?”
“Nothing, forget it.” Eden took another swallow of wine. Steve could tell she was pretty sloshed. “I’ve said too much,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re not supposed to know any of this. It’s my fault, everything that’s happened. And thanks to me, they consider you a liability. I’m sorry. You’re a nice guy. You deserve a break.”
“Liability?” he repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean? Who’s they?”
Eden started crying. “Why didn’t you want to run away and get drunk with me?”
Steve didn’t understand what she was trying to tell him. He figured she wasn’t making any sense because she was drunk from the two glasses of wine she’d practically chugged down.
Still, he was suddenly afraid again.
He heard a car coming up the driveway. It was probably his mom or the pizza guy. Or it could be someone else entirely.
Steve stood up, but then he couldn’t move for a moment.
He was too scared of what he might see when he looked out the front window.
*
At the front door, Sheila gave Steve a fierce hug. She was so relieved to see he was all right. She didn’t want to let him go. “
Are you okay?” she asked, just to be sure.
Steve broke away first. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.
But he wasn’t quite making eye contact with her. And that was one of his little quirks when something was wrong. Sheila couldn’t figure out if he felt guilty about something or if he was upset with her. She reached up and smoothed the new growth of short brown hair back from his forehead. “I was so sorry to hear about Ms. Warren.”
Looking down at the floor, he nodded. “Yeah, it’s really weird.”
Sheila glanced back at the driveway and her car. She’d left the boxes of Antonia’s photographs on the passenger seat. She’d retrieve them later. She closed the door and took off her coat. “How’s Eden taking it? Where is she, by the way?”
“She feels pretty lousy about it,” Steve answered, hanging on the newel post. He faced the stairs. “She just went up to her room. The pizza should be here soon.”
Sheila hung up her coat. “Have you heard from Dad? Is he still at the police station?”
“I guess so. We haven’t heard from him since he left.”
She gently patted his back and headed into the kitchen. In the sink, she noticed a glass that hadn’t been rinsed out and the remnants of red wine around the drain. She smelled the glass. “Steve?” she called.
With his hands in his pockets, he wandered into the kitchen. “What?”
An eyebrow raised, she showed him the glass. “Did one of you decide to have a glass of wine before dinner?”
He shrugged. “You’ve always said it was okay to help ourselves.”
“Yes, as long as one of us—your father or I—is home. You know the rule. Is that why you haven’t been able to look me in the eye since I came through the door?”
He checked the floor again. “No.”
Sheila let out an exasperated sigh. “What am I thinking? It wasn’t you. It was her, wasn’t it? She’s the one who was helping herself to the red wine. Probably one of the thirty-dollar bottles, too.” She marched over to the liquor cabinet and saw the corked, half-empty bottle of cabernet in front. She picked it up and noticed a fresh red ring on the shelf. She wiped it and the bottom of the bottle with a paper towel, then set the bottle back in the cupboard.
She turned to Steve again and put a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry to go accusing you,” she whispered. “I should have known. And you—you didn’t say a word. So listen, you can pat yourself on the back for not ratting on her. It’s okay.”
But he didn’t say anything, and he still wouldn’t look at her.
“Steve, what is it? What’s wrong?”
He finally looked up. “Mom, did you have a . . .” He stopped himself.
“What?” she asked. “Did I have what?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, pulling away from her. “It’s just been a really weird day, that’s all.”
Sheila wondered if he’d somehow figured out that she’d lied to everyone about where she’d been today. Or maybe he was just really troubled about what had happened to his teacher. News like that would upset any kid, and Steve was pretty sensitive.
He started to wander toward the front hall.
“Honey, if you’re going upstairs,” Sheila said, “could you ask Eden to come down here? I need to talk to her.”
He turned to gaze at her. A look of dread passed over his face.
“Don’t worry. She’s not in trouble—at least, not for drinking.”
He sighed and then headed toward the front hall again. “Eden!” he yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Eden, can you come down here? My mom wants to talk to you!”
Sheila went to the cupboard where she’d hidden the bottle of Jim Beam with the ground glass in it. She figured if Eden wanted to drink, she’d have a tough time turning down a couple of shots of bourbon—unless, of course, she’d tampered with that particular bottle.
“This ends here,” Sheila said under her breath. She set the bottle of Jim Beam on the kitchen table and then pulled two fancy, old-fashioned glasses from the cupboard. Sheila was determined to confront Eden tonight about the attempts the girl had made on her life, and about what had really happened to the two “mothers” before her.
Sheila heard the footsteps plodding down the stairs, then whispers.
“I didn’t say anything!” Steve muttered. “She found your glass in the sink.”
A moment later, Eden stepped into the kitchen. She was barefoot. Sheila still wasn’t used to how pretty she looked without the Goth makeup. Eden leaned against the counter. “So are you going to jump all over my ass because I had a couple of glasses of wine?” she asked.
“No,” Sheila smiled and shook her head. “Just next time you feel like drinking any alcohol, we have a rule in this house that your father or I need to be home when you indulge. That way, if you get sick, or anything happens, someone’s here to help. Is that understood?”
Eden gave a snarky little salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Sheila sat down in the dinette booth and then motioned to the spot across from her. “If you want to get a good quick buzz, you’re better off with bourbon,” she said. She opened the tainted bottle of Jim Beam. “Now, maybe you’ve already figured this out, but sometimes, late at night when I can’t sleep, I take a shot or two to help me relax. C’mon, sit.”
With a trace of apprehension, Eden slid into the booth and sat across from her.
Steve came through the kitchen doorway. He leaned back against the counter, folded his arms, and watched them.
Sheila poured about two shots’ worth into each glass. “I was going to help myself to some of this last night, but I took an Ambien instead. Anyway, there’s enough left in this bottle to help take the edge off for both of us.”
“Mom,” Steve said. “Why are you acting so weird?”
She ignored him and raised her glass. “Listen, Eden, I’m so sorry we got off to such a rocky start. Let’s put all these misunderstandings and all this nonsense behind us. I’d like to drink to a whole new beginning.”
The girl eyed the glass suspiciously. She didn’t pick it up.
“What’s wrong?” Sheila asked innocently.
“Steve’s right,” she murmured. “This is kind of weird.”
Sheila kept her poker face. Of course, Eden wasn’t going to drink it. She recognized the bottle she’d tainted with ground glass and God only knew what else.
“Why won’t you drink with me?” Sheila pressed. She put her glass down on the table. “I’d like us to be friends. You don’t want to drink to a fresh start?”
Eden squirmed and let out a little laugh. “I’m, like, not even legal.”
“When I wasn’t home, you went through half a bottle of wine,” Sheila pointed out. “And now you won’t even have a little drink with me. I made a toast, Eden.”
With a sigh, Eden picked up her glass. “Fine,” she muttered. “Here’s to fresh starts and adult supervision.”
Sheila raised her glass and clicked it against Eden’s. She waited and watched as Eden brought the glass to her lips.
She realized the girl really was about to drink it. All at once, Sheila lunged forward and swatted the glass out of Eden’s hand. The bourbon spilled down the front of the girl’s sweater. With a loud crash, the glass shattered on the kitchen floor.
“God, Mom!” Steve cried, recoiling. “What the hell?”
With a hand over her mouth, Eden looked horrified— and hurt. She obviously had no idea why her stepmother had suddenly knocked the glass away.
“I’m sorry!” Sheila whispered. She reached over to pry Eden’s hand from her mouth. Sheila was worried she might have cut the girl’s lip.
Eden shrank back and slapped her hand away. Her lip wasn’t bleeding. But she was crying. “Get away from me, you crazy . . .” She banged into the table as she stood up.
Sheila noticed she was barefoot. “Honey, be careful of the glass!”
Tears in her eyes, Eden stared at her in astonishment. Then she looked down at the stain on her pullove
r. She shook her head and ran out of the kitchen.
Wincing, Sheila listened to the rumble of her footsteps as she ran up the stairs.
“God, Mom, what was that all about?” Steve whispered.
“An experiment gone wrong,” she muttered.
Sheila couldn’t explain to him what she was trying to do. With a wad of paper towels to protect her from the shards of glass, she started to clean up the mess on the floor.
Steve grabbed some paper towels, too. He crouched down and started wiping up the bourbon. “Shit!” he grumbled. He dropped the wet paper towel and stared at his bleeding finger.
“Let me see,” Sheila said, concerned. She reached out to him.
He jerked away. “It’s okay. I can take care of it.” With his wounded finger raised, he ducked into the bathroom.
“Let me know if you need the tweezers or a magnifying glass!” Sheila called, feeling useless.
He didn’t answer.
He probably thought she was crazy, what with the way she’d acted toward Eden. But he’d been acting strange toward her even before that. Something was wrong. Tending to finger cuts was basic mom stuff, and he wouldn’t even let her see it.
Dejected, Sheila finished wiping up the mess on the kitchen floor. She poured the bourbon down the drain and tossed away the bottle. Then, bending over the garbage, she shook the ground glass out of the sink strainer. Finally, she fetched the Dustbuster out of the broom closet to make sure she’d gotten all the bits of glass off the floor. While the mini vacuum roared, she kept glancing up to see if Steve was out of the bathroom yet.
At least she’d proven something with that stupid little experiment. It was obvious Eden had no idea the bourbon was tainted. Sheila was almost positive she’d been about to drink it. And after she’d gotten the glass smacked out of her hand, the girl’s hurt and confused reaction had seemed genuine.
If Eden wasn’t responsible for the ground glass in the bourbon, could she be innocent of all the other acts of sabotage—all those near-fatal misses? Maybe it had been her boyfriend breaking into the house and setting up those booby traps without Eden knowing about it. Or was somebody else behind it all?
The Betrayed Wife Page 33
