“I listened to every word you said, Malcolm. You told him you must have heard wrong.”
“Mom was there when we talked about it,” I say, hating the desperate edge that’s crept into my voice. “She’ll remember. She’ll know something is fishy.”
“Your mother will remember whatever I tell her. She’s a remarkably compliant woman. It’s her greatest asset.”
I want to kill him then, and I think he knows it. He takes a step back and lifts the gun so it’s pointed directly at my chest. I strain to keep my expression neutral as my brain cycles through every possible reason why it’s too late for Peter to get away with another murder. “Officer McNulty was there when Katrin said Brooke snuck out during a sleepover to meet up with somebody in this house. If she wasn’t coming to me, it had to be you.”
“If you’re not here, there’s no reason for anyone to think it wasn’t you,” Peter points out.
Shit. I wish Ellery would snap out of whatever trance she’s in. I could use another brain working right now. “People are going to question another murder. Another couple of murders. Especially if your stepson is involved. First your daughter’s best friend, and now me? This is going to come back on you, Peter, and it’ll be ten times worse when it does.”
“I agree,” Peter says. He looks completely relaxed, like we’re chatting about baseball scores or the latest Netflix series. Not that we’ve ever done either of these things. “Now is absolutely not the time for anything even remotely resembling a homicide. I have to insist you come along, though. Downstairs. You first, Ellery.”
Hope pulses through me, even though the coldness in Peter’s eyes tells me it shouldn’t. I contemplate lunging for him, but Ellery’s already moving toward the hallway and he has the gun trained on her back. I can’t see any choice except to follow, so I do.
“All the way to the basement,” Peter says.
He keeps his distance as we troop down two sets of stairs. The Nilssons’ basement is huge, and Peter tersely directs us through the laundry room and the finished space my mother uses to exercise. The past week flashes in front of my eyes as I walk, torturing me with everything we missed. There’s so much to regret that I scarcely notice where we’re headed until the biggest revelation of all hits me. When it does, I halt in my tracks.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, Malcolm,” Peter says. Beside me, Ellery pauses. I turn slowly, and she does too.
Cold sweat coats my face. “Declan’s class ring,” I say. “You had it. You dropped it near Brooke’s body in Huntsburg.”
“And?” Peter asks.
“Declan never got the ring back from Lacey. She still had it when she died. She hadn’t stopped wearing it. You took it from her. Because you—” I hesitate, waiting for some sort of signal that he’s affected by what I’m about to say. But there’s nothing on his face except polite attentiveness. “You killed Lacey, too.”
Ellery draws in a sharp, shocked breath, but Peter just shrugs. “Your brother is a useful fall guy, Malcolm. Always has been.”
“Did you…” Ellery’s eyes are locked on Peter’s face. She tugs at the silver pendant around her neck, so hard I think she might break it. “Did you do something to my aunt, too?”
Peter’s calm expression doesn’t change. He leans forward and whispers something in her ear, so faint I can’t catch it. When she lifts her head to look at him, her hair tumbles across her face, and all I can see is curls. Then Peter raises the gun again so it’s pointed directly at her heart.
“Is this a thing with you, Peter?” I’m so desperate to get his attention off Ellery that my voice bounces off the basement walls. “You hook up with girls your daughter’s age, and kill them when there’s a chance they might expose you? What did Lacey do, huh? Was she going to tell?” A sudden thought strikes me. “Was she pregnant?”
Peter snorts. “This isn’t a soap opera, Malcolm. It’s not your business what happened between Lacey and me. She overstepped. Let’s leave it at that.” The gun swings toward me. “Move a few steps backward, please. Both of you.”
I do it automatically, my thoughts tumbling and swirling so much that I barely notice we’re standing inside a room. It’s in the farthest corner of the Nilssons’ basement, piled high with sealed cardboard boxes.
“This is the only room in the house that locks from the outside,” Peter says, one hand gripping the edge of the door. “Convenient.” He slams the door shut before I can react, plunging the room into darkness.
I’m at the door seconds later, first twisting the doorknob, then pounding so hard that my bruised ribs flare with sharp pain. “You can’t just leave us!” I yell against the thick wood. “People know Ellery is here. Her grandmother dropped her off!”
“I’m aware,” Peter says. There’s a sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, and I stop pounding so I can hear better. “Are you familiar with how a portable electric generator works, Malcolm?” I don’t answer, and he continues, “It should never be turned on inside a house on account of the carbon monoxide it emits. It kills quickly in a concentrated area like this. I’m not sure how this got switched on, but oh well. Maybe you and Ellery knocked against it accidentally while you were down here doing who knows what. We may never know.”
My heart plummets to my feet as I twist the knob again. “You locked us in here, Peter! They’ll know it was you!”
“I’ll be back in a little bit to open the door,” Peter says casually. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay long, though. Wouldn’t want to meet the same fate. Plus, I need to head to the grocery store. We ran out of popcorn.” A humming noise starts outside the door, and Peter raises his voice. “I’d say it was nice knowing you, Malcolm, but quite honestly you’ve been a nuisance from the start. All things considered, this has worked out fairly well. So long.”
His footsteps recede quickly as I stand at the door, my head reeling and my heart pounding. How did I let it get to this point? Declan wouldn’t have gone into the basement like a lemming. He would have tackled Peter in the bedroom, or—
Light blazes behind me. I turn to see Ellery standing by the far wall with her hand on a switch, blinking like she just woke up. She goes back to the center of the room and kneels down in front of a box, ripping a thick strand of tape from its top. She turns the box upside down and dumps its contents on the floor. “There has to be something in here I can use to pick the lock.”
“Right,” I say, relief flooding through me. I join her in tearing through the boxes. The first few are full of books, stuffed animals, and wrapping paper. “I’m sorry, Ellery,” I say as we tear open more boxes. “I’m sorry I invited you over here, and that I let this happen. I wasn’t quick enough.”
“Don’t talk,” she says shortly. “Save your breath.”
“Right.” My head is starting to pound and my stomach rolls, but I don’t know whether that’s stress or deadly gas. How long has Peter been gone? How much time do we have?
“Ah-ha!” Ellery says triumphantly, seizing a box of Christmas ornaments. “Hooks.” She yanks a couple free and heads for the door. “I just need to straighten it and…” She’s silent for a few seconds, then lets out a grunt of frustration. “These aren’t strong enough. They just bend up. We need something else. Do you see any paper clips?”
“Not yet.” I open more boxes and root through their contents, but my head is pounding in earnest now and I’m so dizzy that my vision is starting to fuzz around the edges. I struggle to stand up, and look around the room. There are no windows to break, nothing heavy enough to use as a battering ram against the door. I upend more boxes, scattering their contents across the floor. At least we can make a mess, I think hazily. If nothing else, people might question what the hell happened in here.
But my movements are sluggish, and slowing by the second. All I want to do is lie down and go to sleep.
I can’t b
elieve I’m thinking that already.
I can’t believe I finally learned what happened to Lacey and Brooke, too late to give any kind of closure to their parents.
I can’t believe I won’t get a chance to apologize to my brother.
My eyes are drooping, so heavy that I nearly miss it glinting on the floor. One small, solitary paper clip. I dive for it with a strangled cry of triumph, but it’s almost impossible to pick up. My hands feel rubbery and unwieldy, like I’m wearing giant Mickey Mouse gloves. When I finally get hold of it, I turn toward Ellery and the door.
She’s slumped in front of it, motionless.
“Ellery!” I grab her by the shoulders and pull her into a sitting position, cupping her cheeks in my hands until I see her release a breath. I shake her as hard as I dare, until her hair spills across her face. “Ellery, come on. Wake up. Please.” She doesn’t respond. I lay her carefully on the floor and turn my attention to the paper clip.
I can do this without her. I just need to unfold the clip and get to work. If only my hands hadn’t turned into inflatable gloves, it would be a lot easier.
If only my brain wasn’t about to pound out of my head.
If only I didn’t have to stop to throw up.
If only I could see.
If only.
ELLERY
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11
I want to open my eyes, but the light is too bright and painful. It’s quiet except for a soft beeping sound, and the air smells faintly of bleach. I try to raise one hand to the agony that’s my head, but it won’t move properly. Something’s stuck in it, or to it.
“Can you hear me?” asks a low voice. A cool, dry hand presses against my cheek. “Ellery? Can you hear me?”
I try to say yes, but it comes out more like a groan. My throat hurts almost as much as my head.
“I’m sorry. Don’t talk.” The hand leaves my face and curls around mine. “Squeeze if you understand me.” I do, weakly, and something wet drips on my arm. “Thank God. You’ll be all right. They’ve used hyperbaric oxygen on you and— Well, I guess the details don’t matter right now, but things look good. You look good. Oh, my poor girl.”
My arm is getting wetter. I crack my eyes open a slit and see the faint outline of a room. Walls and a ceiling, blending into one another with clean white lines, lit by the pale-blue glow of fluorescent lighting. A gray head is bent in front of me, framed by shaking shoulders. “How?” I ask, but it doesn’t sound like a word. My throat is as dry and rough as sandpaper. I try to swallow, but it’s impossible without saliva. “How?” I rasp again. It’s still unintelligible, even to my own ears, but my grandmother seems to understand.
“Your brother saved you,” she says.
I feel like Sadie’s robot character in The Defender. That does not compute. How did Ezra wind up in the Nilssons’ basement? But before I can ask another question, everything fades again.
* * *
—
The next time I wake, pale sunlight is streaming into the room. I try to sit up, until a figure in scrubs covered with sailboats gently forces me back down. “Not yet,” a familiar voice says.
I blink until Melanie Kilduff’s face comes into focus. I want to talk to her, but my throat is on fire. “I’m thirsty,” I croak.
“I’ll bet,” she says sympathetically. “Just a few sips of water for now though, okay?” She raises my head and puts a plastic cup to my lips. I drink greedily until she pulls it away. “Let’s see how you do with that before you have any more.”
I’d protest, but my stomach is already rolling. At least it’s a little easier to talk now, though. “Malcolm?” I manage.
She places a comforting hand on my arm. “In a room down the hall. He’ll be all right. And your mother is on her way.”
“Sadie? But she’s not supposed to leave Hamilton House.”
“Oh, honey. Nobody cares about that right now.”
Everything about me feels as dry as dust, so it’s surprising when tears start rolling down my cheeks. Melanie perches on the side of my bed and snakes her arms around me, folding me into a hug. My fingers curl onto her scrubs and clutch tight, pulling her closer. “I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry about everything. Is Mr. Nilsson…” I trail off as my stomach lurches and I gag.
Melanie raises me into more of a sitting position. “Throw up if you need to,” she says soothingly. “Right here is fine.” But the moment passes, leaving me exhausted and coated in clammy sweat. I don’t say anything else for a long while, concentrating on getting my breathing under control.
When I finally do, I ask again. “Where is he?”
Melanie’s voice is pure ice. “Peter’s in jail, where he belongs.”
It’s such an enormous relief that I don’t even mind when I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness again.
* * *
—
By the time Ryan visits, I almost feel like myself again. I’ve been awake for more than thirty minutes, anyway, and I’ve managed to keep down an entire cupful of water.
“You just missed Ezra,” I tell him. “Nana made him leave. He’d been here for seven hours straight.”
Ryan lowers himself into the chair beside my bed. “I believe it,” he says. He’s not in uniform but wearing faded jeans and a flannel shirt instead. He gives me a nervous, lopsided smile that reminds me of Ezra’s and I wish, for one irrational second, that he’d hug me like Melanie did.
Your brother saved you, Nana had said.
She was right. I just didn’t realize which one.
“Thank you,” I say. “Nana told me you came looking for us at the Nilssons’. But nobody told me why.” I search his open, friendly face, wondering how I ever could have imagined that it harbored dark secrets. My Spidey sense is officially crap, which I’m sure Malcolm will tell me as soon as I’m allowed to see him.
“I don’t want to tire you out,” Ryan starts tentatively, but I cut him off.
“No, please. You won’t, I promise. I need to know what happened.”
“Well.” He hunches his shoulders and leans forward. “I can’t get into everything, but I’ll tell you as much as I can. It’s hard to know where to start, but it was probably with the bracelet Daisy gave me. She says she told you about that.”
“The bracelet? Really?” I sit up so fast that I wince from the headache that suddenly hits me, and Ryan shoots me a worried look. I settle back into the pillows with pretend nonchalance. “I mean, okay. Sure. How so?”
He regards me in silence for a few seconds, and I press my lips together so I won’t accidentally vomit. “I didn’t think much of it at the time,” he finally says. “I followed up with the jeweler and she had no paper trail. She’d sold a bunch of bracelets around the same time and kept lousy records. Dead end, I thought. But I asked her to contact me if any similar sales took place, and last month, she did. A guy bought the exact same bracelet and paid cash. When I asked her to describe him, he fit Peter to a T. Not that I realized it at the time. I didn’t start connecting dots until you guys brought me that repair receipt. That made me question the whole Nilsson family. Then I asked Brooke’s parents if I could look through her jewelry box.”
I have to make myself remember how to breathe. “And?”
“She had a bracelet exactly like Lacey’s. Her mother didn’t know when she’d gotten it, or from whom. But we had our own theories. Obviously.”
“Right, right,” I say sagely. Like that had ever occurred to me, even once.
“At the same time, we were scouring Brooke’s house for clues. Her phone had gone missing when she did, but we were able to seize her computer. There was a diary on it, buried among a bunch of school files and password protected. It took us a while to get it open, but once we did we had most of the story. Brooke’s side, anyway. She was cagey about names and details, but we knew she’
d had an affair with someone older, that she’d been with him the night something terrible happened, and that she wanted to make things right. We had the car repair receipt, so we were starting to piece things together. But it was all still circumstantial. Then the Huntsburg police found Declan’s ring at the crime scene.”
Ryan grimaces, burrowing his neck into his shoulders. “I screwed up there, when I questioned Declan. I was trying to rule him out while confirming that the ring was his, because at that point I was pretty sure he was getting framed. But…I don’t know. Declan and I have never had a great dynamic. I pushed too hard, and raised doubts in Malcolm’s head that didn’t need to be there. If I could take anything back, it would be that.”
The machine next to me beeps quietly. “Okay,” I say. “But…how did you show up in the nick of time? Why did you show up?”
“Your text,” Ryan says. I stare blankly at him, and his brows rise. “You didn’t know? You managed to get one letter off before Peter took your phone. All it said was ‘P.’ I texted back a few times, but you didn’t answer. I got worried with everything going on, so I checked in with your grandmother. When she said you were hanging out with Malcolm at the Nilssons’ house, I freaked. I’d done my best to get Mrs. Nilsson to leave the house with Malcolm while we were investigating, but she wouldn’t leave. And then you show up there? I know how you are—always asking questions people don’t want to answer. I headed over, thinking I’d make up some excuse to bring you back to Nora’s. And I found…” He trails off, swallowing visibly. “I found you.”
“Where was Peter?”
Ryan’s expression darkens. “Heading out of the house just as I was heading in. I guess he’d gone back to the basement to drag you guys into the hallway so we wouldn’t know you’d ever been locked in. He didn’t say a word when he saw me, just got into his car and took off. Which was enough to make me start tearing through the house. Thank God I heard the hum of the generator when I got into the kitchen, because you were nearly out of time.” His mouth sets in a grim line. “Peter almost made it to Canada before someone caught up with him. I can’t talk about what we found in his car, but it was enough to tie him to Brooke’s murder.”
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