by Shari Lapena
He stands against his car in the falling dusk in the parking lot of a Home Depot and speculates about what’s been going on over at Dan’s house. He hopes to find out.
He watches Lisa drive up in her little car and stop. She gets out and approaches him, looking worried. Unexpectedly, she throws herself against him for a hug. He remembers how she always hugs Catherine. She hugs everyone. She’s a woman who thrives on comfort—both giving and receiving.
She pulls away and says, “Sorry, I’m a mess.”
“That’s okay, I’m a mess too,” he says.
“Where’s Catherine? Why are we meeting here?” she asks.
“I wanted to talk, just you and me,” he says. Is he imagining it, or is her back going up? She’s closer to Catherine than she is to him.
“Why?”
He hastens to reassure her. “I’m just finding this hard. I thought you might be too. I thought we could give each other moral support.”
She leans against his car then, beside him. “I know Catherine is trying to protect Dan.” Her voice trembles. “But—I keep imagining what might have happened. . . .” She stops speaking and stares straight ahead of her across the parking lot, as if seeing the murders in her mind’s eye. Finally, she says, her voice bleak, “I know Catherine wants to protect him—but I’m not sure I can.”
“What do you mean?” Ted says, turning toward her. Does she know something? Something they don’t?
She swallows. “If he did it . . . could you live with him?”
Ted looks away. So there’s nothing definitive, nothing she can say to help him. He’s living with the same horror. He met with Lisa hoping she would tell him something to confirm Dan’s guilt, that he’d confessed to her or something. Then Ted could stop doubting. But she doesn’t know any more than he does. They’re both in the dark. They stand in silence for a while.
She speaks slowly. “I try to tell myself that he couldn’t have done it, not the Dan I know—but what if there’s a Dan I don’t know? They have a witness putting him in Brecken Hill that night. He lied to me about it. But I keep telling myself he didn’t do it, because part of me can’t believe it, and doesn’t want to believe it.”
Ted looks at her and feels a terrible need to unburden himself. He swallows and says, “I know what you mean.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think you do.”
“Listen,” Ted says, his voice low and strained. “I don’t know if Dan did it or not. But if he didn’t, then it was probably Catherine.”
She looks at him, obviously shocked. “Why would you think that?”
“She was there, Lisa.”
“After they were dead.”
“That’s what she says, but she came home that night and acted like everything was fine. She made up an entire conversation she had with her mother, who was already dead. And said nothing for two days. Who does that?”
“She thought she was protecting Dan.”
He nods. He hesitates, on the brink of betrayal. Should he confide in Lisa or not? He exhales. “That’s what we all thought. But the police came to my office—they found a pair of Sheila’s earrings in Catherine’s jewelry box when they searched our place. They say they’re one of the items that went missing from the house that night.”
“What? I haven’t heard anything about that.”
“Catherine says she borrowed them a couple of weeks before, but I don’t remember seeing them.”
“Maybe she did borrow them.”
“Maybe,” Ted says. “She swore to me she did.” After a pause, Ted says, “That detective seems convinced that Fred was going to change his will to give Audrey half, and that one of them knew.”
“That’s bullshit, isn’t it?”
Ted shrugs. “They don’t seem to think so, because Fred was dying, and they seem to believe he was putting his affairs in order.” She nods thoughtfully. He continues. “I know Sheila had something she wanted to tell Catherine that night. Maybe that was it.” He hesitates, but he can’t help himself, he needs to tell someone. “Catherine was upstairs alone with her mother that night, just before dinner. Maybe Sheila told her about the will then.” Lisa stares at him, her eyes big. After another silence, Ted asks, “Is Dan saying anything to you—about Catherine?”
“Just that she knew about the disposable suits in our garage, and that he never locks the door.” She averts her eyes. “He claims she’s trying to set him up, but I never believed it. . . .” She trails off.
“I don’t know what to believe,” Ted says.
“It could have been either one of them,” Lisa says slowly, obviously shaken. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. But don’t tell Dan about the earrings, okay?”
54
The next morning, Thursday, the detectives interview Jake Brenner again. He has taken the train up to Aylesford. He’s more wary this time.
“Jake,” Reyes says, “we’re going to give you the opportunity to come clean with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“We know you didn’t spend the night at Jenna’s place here in Aylesford on Easter Sunday. You’ve been lying to us.” Jake blinks rapidly. Reyes says, “You were caught on the security camera at the Aylesford train station. You took the eight forty back to New York.”
Jake’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of them. “Okay, yes, I went back to the city that night,” he admits at last.
“And you didn’t have a problem with lying for her?” Reyes asks. He watches the other man swallow.
“No.” He explains. “She came into the city the next day, Monday, and spent the night. Everything was good. On Tuesday morning, I left for work, and she called me to tell me her parents had been robbed and murdered and asked me to say I was with her all night on Easter Sunday. She said it would just be easier.” He adds, “I agreed because I didn’t think she had anything to do with it.”
Reyes pushes photos of the crime scene across the table in front of Jake’s face. He glances down, his face blanching. He suddenly looks like he might be sick.
“You don’t honestly think she could have done this,” Jake says.
Reyes doesn’t answer that. Instead he says, “Obstruction of justice is a serious charge.”
“I never thought—I mean, she was perfectly normal on Monday. It never occurred to me that she could have killed them. I mean, why would it? I knew they fought that night, but fuck—”
“What did they fight about?” Reyes asks.
He’s willing to tell them everything now. “The father was mean to everyone at dinner. Insulting everybody. The others all left really pissed off, even the cleaning lady. We were about to leave and then Jenna got into it with her dad.” He pauses, as if he doesn’t want to say what he has to say next. “Her father started complaining about how useless they all were and said that he’d decided to change his will and leave half of everything to his sister, and that he’d already made an appointment to do it. Jenna was furious. I wanted to go but Jenna wouldn’t leave. It was ugly.”
“Did it get physical?”
“No, but they were both shouting.” He adds, “She told me afterward that she’s the only one who ever stands up to their father. The others are too afraid of him.”
Well, well, well, Reyes thinks, when they’ve finished with Jake. Jenna Merton, at least, knew for certain that her father was going to change his will. And Jake wasn’t with her that night. Reyes taps his pencil on his blotter, deep in thought.
Each of those four kids stands to gain millions. All of them are roughly the same height, right-handed, and physically capable of committing the murders.
Perhaps, he thinks, the kids are in on it together, and this is all part of a grand plan. Perhaps they are playing him. He has no evidence of conspiracy, but any conspiring could easily have been done in person, without leaving any
trail. They are sowing enough confusion among them to create reasonable doubt—they’re all behaving as though they might have done it. Getting people to lie for them. The earrings in Catherine’s jewelry box. Dan being sighted in Brecken Hill. Jenna lying about what happened that night after the others left and saying Jake had been with her. Even Irena’s behavior with the knife. And Rose—maybe they’re all in this together somehow.
Is he being manipulated by all of them? He remembers how Irena said that they would never work together.
Is he not going to be able to solve this case? Reyes rubs his eyes tiredly. He refuses to acknowledge the possibility. The truth is there. He just has to find out exactly what happened.
And then he has to be able to prove it.
They have to talk to Jenna again.
* * *
• • •
jenna’s cell buzzes and she sees that it’s Jake calling. Maybe he could tell she wasn’t very happy about him asking her for money.
“Hey,” Jenna says. “What’s up?” she asks lightly.
“I’ve been in Aylesford, talking to the police,” Jake says, his voice tight.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“They know, Jenna,” Jake says.
“They know what?”
“They caught me on the security camera at the Aylesford train station going back to the city that night. I told them the truth—that I wasn’t with you. And I told them about the argument with your parents.”
She’s stunned. And furious. “What, exactly, did you tell them?” she asks, her voice cold.
“That your dad said he’d decided to change his will and give half to his sister.”
She doesn’t speak for a moment. Then she demands, “Why the fuck did you tell them that?”
“Just stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you,” Jake says, and disconnects the call.
55
That evening, Jenna visits her sister.
Catherine lets her in and they settle once again in the living room, curtains drawn. “You want anything?” Catherine asks. “Wine? Gin and tonic?”
“Sure,” Jenna says, sitting down in one of the armchairs. She sees Catherine’s already got a gin and tonic on the coffee table. “Wine, please.” Ted is hovering in the background the way he does, as if he’s not certain he’s welcome. But he obviously wants to be there—he wants to hear what she has to say.
Jenna has noticed a change in Ted. He’s lost some of his assurance. You’d expect him to be basking in the glow of all the money coming from Catherine’s inheritance, Jenna thinks. She studies him silently while Catherine is in the kitchen getting her drink. Ted doesn’t give a shit about Dan, or care about the family reputation the way Catherine does—why, then, is he looking so distressed? It strikes her, like a revelation; maybe he doesn’t believe Dan did it at all. Maybe he thinks Catherine did it.
“You okay, Ted?” she asks.
Ted says, clearly on edge, “They found some earrings of your mother’s here, in Catherine’s jewelry box. Catherine borrowed them, but the detectives don’t want to believe her.”
“What earrings?” Jenna asks.
Catherine comes back in from the kitchen and says, “The antique diamond studs, with the screw backing. You remember those? I borrowed them a while ago, and now they’re giving me a hard time about it.” She hands her a glass of red and then sits on the sofa, folding her legs underneath her. “So, what’s happening?” she asks.
Jenna gives her sister a long, contemplative look. Then she says, “The detectives want to interview me again tomorrow morning. I wanted to talk to you first.”
Catherine leans forward a little, reaching for her glass. “Why?”
Jenna hesitates for a moment, then says, “Jake changed his story and told them he wasn’t with me that night.”
Catherine goes still, her glass interrupted on its way to her lips, and says, “Was he or not?”
“No,” Jenna admits. “I asked him to lie for me.”
There’s a long silence. “What a bunch of liars we all are,” Catherine says finally, and takes a sip of her drink.
“I was home all night. I didn’t kill them,” Jenna insists. “I just don’t need the grief.”
“That makes two of us,” Catherine says.
“I’m taking an attorney with me.”
“And what will you tell them?” Catherine asks, looking into her glass.
“Nothing.”
Catherine nods. “Look,” she says carefully. “We all know Dan probably did it. But they don’t seem to have any hard evidence. Even the witness that puts Dan in Brecken Hill that night—so what? It’s not enough. It’s nothing. It’s not like he was seen at Mom and Dad’s. We should all just try to relax. We need to hold our nerve.”
Jenna looks up from her wineglass. “I had an argument with Dad that night, after the rest of you left. He said he was going to change his will, give Audrey half. He was fed up with all of us. Jake heard all that—and he told the detectives.”
“He was really going to do that? Are you sure?” Catherine asks.
“That’s what he said.” She looks hard at Catherine and asks, “Did you know?”
“What? No, of course not.” There’s a taut silence. “Jesus,” Catherine says, and finishes the rest of her drink in one go. Then she says, “That doesn’t look good for you, does it?”
* * *
• • •
later that night, after Jenna is gone, Catherine sits up in bed, pretending to read a novel, while Ted does the same beside her. It’s a good thing he can’t read her mind. Because as the page blurs in front of her, she’s seeing something else—her mother’s pale face, her eyes open and staring. She’s remembering kneeling down, bending closer, as if to kiss her cheek. But instead, she reaches for the diamond earring in her mother’s earlobe. Sheila is wearing the antique diamond studs that Catherine has long coveted. She must have them. Her mother had been wearing a different pair at Easter dinner. Catherine can say she borrowed these. No one will know.
* * *
• • •
dan and lisa sit on the sofa in the den, watching television. They have been awkward and tense with each other. That ease they’d always shared is long gone. Dan isn’t sure what Lisa thinks about the murders. Maybe she thinks he did it, he doesn’t know. But he’s pretty sure she doesn’t love him anymore.
Unable to concentrate on the show, he finds himself thinking about how it’s all gone to shit so fast. And none of it’s even his fault. It’s everybody else’s fault. His father’s, for selling the business and ruining his career. Rose Cutter’s, for pushing that investment on him and defrauding him. His sister Catherine’s, for suggesting Rose talk to him in the first place. He fidgets as his mind runs away with him, his leg jumping up and down on the couch. He can tell he’s annoying Lisa.
He gets up. “I’m going out for a drive.”
She looks up at him. “Why? Where are you going?” As if she’s suspicious of him.
He doesn’t like her tone, so he doesn’t answer. He leaves the den, half expecting her to get up and follow him to the door, ask him to stay home. But she doesn’t. She stays in the den, as if she no longer cares what he does. He grabs a denim jacket—not his usual windbreaker, the police have that—and leaves the house. He has to get out. He can’t sit still another minute with all this tension coursing through him. He needs to drive.
He climbs into Lisa’s car. It pisses him off that he hasn’t got his car back yet and no one can tell him when he will. Everything seems to be getting taken away from him. He turns off his cell phone and backs out of the driveway. He drives aimlessly at first, along familiar roads. Driving helps him think. It usually calms him. But lately it hasn’t, and it’s not working tonight either. His anger is festering, growing.
His mind settl
es on Rose, whom he blames for everything. She stole from him and now she’s getting an equal share of the family inheritance—money that was supposed to go to him and his siblings.
He knows where she lives. He’s looked it up. It was inevitable—he finds himself driving to her house. When he gets to her street of modest starter homes, he parks across from her house and stares. The lights are all out, except for one over the front door. There’s no car in the driveway.
He’s so angry at her. He clenches the steering wheel so hard that his hands begin to ache. But still he sits there, watching.
* * *
• • •
rose arrives home shortly after 11:00 p.m., having had dinner with friends. She hadn’t enjoyed it. She’d been quiet and distracted throughout, enough that her friends noticed. She denied that anything was wrong. They’ll find out soon enough. She hasn’t told anyone about the will, and it looks like the Mertons haven’t either. It hasn’t yet made the news. But it’s all going to come out any day now.
The street is dark as she pulls into her driveway. She’s glad she left the light on over the front door. As she parks her car and gets out, she notices the small car across the street. There’s a man inside, and she thinks he’s watching her. Instantly, her heart begins to race. She can’t tell who it is—it’s too dark. She doesn’t want to stop and get a good look. She has to get inside. She rushes up the steps to the door and fumbles with the key, listening for the sound of a car door opening behind her, footsteps on the pavement. Once inside, she locks the door and throws the deadbolt. Then she leans against the door in the dark, breathing fast.
She desperately wants to turn on all the lights, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want him to be able to see her inside the house. She sits in the kitchen in the pitch dark with her cell phone in her hand, poised to hit 911.
Finally, around one in the morning, she gets up the nerve to creep out to the living room and look outside from behind the curtain. The car is gone.
