Two Can Keep a Secret

by Karen M. McManus

  “So this is just…a thing with him? Sleeping with teenage girls and killing them when they get in his way?” Malcolm had said that in the Nilssons’ house, while I stood silently beside him. Frozen and useless, like I hadn’t spent nearly half my life preparing for the moment when I’d be lured into a killer’s basement.

  “Looks like it. Mind you, he hasn’t confessed to anything, and we don’t have hard evidence when it comes to Lacey. Not yet. We don’t know what the tipping point was with her. Profilers are analyzing Peter now, and they suspect that she likely wanted to take their affair public. That she threatened to tell his wife or something.”

  “His second wife, right?”

  “Yeah. She doesn’t live in Echo Ridge anymore, but she lost her husband and son in a car accident before she married Peter. I think that’s his particular brand of evil—acting like some kind of hero figure to vulnerable women while preying on young girls behind their backs.” Ryan’s face twists with disgust. “I don’t know how else to explain why he’d marry the mother of Lacey’s boyfriend. It’s like he wanted to stay involved with Lacey, or something.”

  I shudder, thinking back to Peter and Malcolm’s mom in their kitchen the first time I’d gone to Malcolm’s house. How charming he’d been, but also—now that I have the benefit of hindsight—how controlling. Not letting his wife talk and maneuvering her out of the room, but doing it all with a smile. He’d fooled me as much as anyone. “What a twisted creep. The only thing that would’ve been worse is if Melanie’s husband wasn’t around and he’d tried to hook up with her.”

  “Agreed,” Ryan says. “Although Melanie never would’ve gone for it. She’s tough. Alicia—not so much.”

  My heart aches for Malcolm, and what this is going to mean for his family. Declan is finally in the clear, at least, and maybe once people realize Lacey was under Peter’s influence, they won’t judge him and Daisy too harshly. On the other hand—his mom. I can’t even begin to imagine how she must feel, and how she’s going to pick up the pieces from being married to somebody like Peter.

  Ryan inches forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. “There’s something I wanted to check in with you about. When I spoke to Malcolm, he said you asked Peter if he’d done anything to Sarah, and that Peter whispered something he couldn’t hear. What did Peter say?”

  My fingers find the worn edge of my blanket and pluck its loose threads. “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear him either.”

  His face falls. “Ah, okay. He’s not answering any of our questions, including the ones about Sarah, but don’t worry. We’ll keep at it.”

  “What about Katrin?” I ask abruptly. “Why was she doing all that anonymous threat stuff? Was she trying to point people away from her dad or something?”

  “No. That’s another long story,” Ryan says. I lift my brows, and he adds, “Katrin wasn’t involved in the threats, at first. It was Vivian Cantrell who started them.”

  “Viv? Why? What does she have to do with Peter? Were they having an affair too?” I almost gag at the thought.

  Ryan huffs out a humorless laugh. “No. It was completely unrelated. She’s applying to journalism programs this fall, and I guess some high-profile alumni told her that her portfolio wasn’t strong enough to stand out. So she decided to manufacture a story she could report on.”

  I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly. I almost have my head wrapped around Mr. Nilsson’s warped psyche, but Viv’s calculated plotting shocks me. “You have got to be kidding. She did all that crap—freaked people out, brought up horrible memories, and totally traumatized Lacey’s parents—so she could write about it?”

  “Yep,” Ryan says grimly. “And that’s why you got dragged into it. Viv fixed the homecoming court election. She thought it’d be more newsworthy to have Sarah Corcoran’s niece involved.”

  “Newsworthy?” The word tastes bitter in my mouth. “Wow. She’s a special kind of horrible, isn’t she?”

  Ryan looks like he fully agrees, but all he says is, “We traced the pep rally stunt back to her, and were about to talk with her parents when Brooke disappeared. Then we couldn’t give the situation as much attention as we wanted, although we did let her know she was busted. She was terrified, and swore up and down that she’d stop immediately. So I was surprised as hell when Malcolm turned up with that video.”

  “Why would Katrin get involved, though?”

  Ryan hesitates. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that. We’re in discussions with Katrin’s lawyer about what kind of role she’s going to play in the investigation. Her reasons are part of those discussions, and they’re confidential.”

  “Did she know what her father was doing?” I press. Ryan folds his arms across his chest without answering. “Blink once for yes.”

  He snorts, but more in a fond sort of way than in annoyance. I think. “New subject.”

  I twist the blanket between my hands. “So you had the whole thing figured out, and all this time I’ve just been getting in your way. Does that about sum it up?”

  “Not entirely. The repair receipt was genuinely useful, especially knowing how much Brooke wanted to find it. When we added it to the bracelet and her diary, we knew who we were dealing with.” He gives me a half smile. “Plus, you almost getting killed gave us probable cause to search Peter’s car, so…thanks for that.”

  “Any time.” My eyelids are getting heavy, and I have to blink fast to keep them from drooping. Ryan notices and gets to his feet.

  “I should go. Let you get some rest.”

  “Will you come by again?”

  He looks flattered at the hopeful tone in my voice. “Yeah, sure. If you want me to.”

  “I do.” I let my eyes close for a second, then force them open again as he stands. “Thanks again. For everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets awkwardly. For that moment he reminds me of the old Officer Rodriguez—the skittish, subpar cop, instead of the crack investigator he turned out to be. “Hey, so, this is maybe not the time or the place,” he adds, hesitantly, “but…if you’re feeling well enough, my sister’s having a fall open house in a couple of weeks. She does it every year. She wants to meet you and Ezra. If you’re up for it.”

  “She does?” I ask, surprised. I’d almost forgotten that Ryan has siblings.

  “Yeah, but no pressure or anything. Just think about it. You can let me know later if you’re interested.” He smiles warmly and lifts one hand in a wave. Then he turns, disappearing into the hallway.

  I sink back onto the thin pillow, my haze of tiredness suspended. I’ve almost gotten used to Ryan, but I’m not sure how to feel about even more strangers that I’m related to. Going from a family of three—four, with Nana—to this sudden influx of half siblings, their spouses, and their kids seems like a lot.

  I kind of like the idea of a sister, though. Maybe a half one wouldn’t be bad.

  There’s a rustling sound at the door, and the scent of jasmine. I half twist on the bed, and spy a cloud of dark curls framed in the doorway.

  “Ellery,” Sadie breathes, her blue eyes sparkling with tears. Before I can remember that I’m mad at her, I’m returning her hug with every ounce of strength I have left.

  MALCOLM

  SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26

  “This kid hates me,” Declan says.

  I don’t think he’s wrong. The six-month-old baby he’s holding is sitting stiff as a board on his knee, red-faced and screaming. Everybody at this party feels sorry for the kid, except Daisy. She’s beaming like she’s never seen anything so adorable.

  “I can practically see her ovaries exploding,” Mia murmurs beside me.

  “You’re holding him wrong,” Ezra says. He scoops the baby up in one deft motion, cradling him in the crook of his arm. “Just relax. They can tell when
you’re nervous.” The kid stops crying and gives Ezra a giant, toothless grin. Ezra tickles his stomach before holding him out toward Declan. “Try again.”

  “No thanks,” Declan mutters, getting to his feet. “I need a drink.”

  A pretty, dark-haired woman climbs the porch stairs, squeezing Ezra’s arm as she passes. “You’re so good with him!” She’s the baby’s mother, Ryan Rodriguez’s sister, and we’re all hanging out at her house two weeks after Peter Nilsson’s murder attempt like everything’s back to normal.

  I don’t know. Maybe it is, or maybe we’re finally figuring out that we haven’t been normal for years and it’s time to redefine the word.

  Declan heads for a cooler in the backyard, and Mia nudges my arm. “No time like the present,” she says.

  I glare at my brother’s back. “Why is it even my responsibility? He’s older. He should extend the olive branch first.”

  Mia adjusts her cat’s-eye sunglasses. “You thought he was guilty of murder.”

  “Yeah, well, Ellery suspected me at one point. I got over it.”

  “Ellery had known you for less than a month then. She wasn’t your brother.”

  “He didn’t even visit me in the hospital!”

  She enunciates every word carefully. “You. Thought. He. Was. Guilty. Of. Murder.”

  “I almost got murdered.”

  “You could do this all day, or you could be the bigger person.” Mia waits a beat, then punches me in the arm. “At least he showed up.”

  “All right, fine,” I grumble, and take off after Declan.

  I wasn’t sure he’d be here. We’ve only spoken a couple of times since I was released from the hospital, mostly to sort stuff out related to Mom. That’s a mess; all of Peter’s assets are frozen, so she’s got nothing to her name except a bank account that won’t cover more than a couple months’ worth of expenses. We’ll be moving to Solsbury soon, and while I can’t get out of the Nilssons’ house fast enough, I don’t know what happens after that. Mom hasn’t worked in over a year, and my dad’s harder to reach than ever.

  We got a semilucrative offer to tell our side of the story to a tabloid, but we’re not desperate enough to take it. Yet.

  Declan’s at the far corner of the yard, pulling a frosted brown bottle from a blue cooler. He twists the cap off and takes a long sip, then catches sight of me and lowers the bottle. I’m a few feet away when I notice how white his knuckles are. “What’s up, little brother?”

  “Can I have one?” I ask.

  He snorts. “You don’t drink.”

  “I might need to start.”

  Declan reopens the cooler and plunges his hand into its depths, extracting a bottle identical to the one he’s holding. He hands it to me, expressionless, and I manage to get the top off without wincing when the sharp edges cut into my palm. I take a tentative sip, waiting for bitterness to explode in my mouth, but it’s not half bad. Smooth and almost honey flavored. I’m nervous and thirsty, and a quarter of the bottle is gone before Declan grabs my arm.

  “Slow down.”

  I meet his eyes, and force out the words I’ve been practicing for two weeks. “I’m sorry.”

  Seconds pass that feel like minutes. I’m ready for just about any response; for him to yell at me, to walk away without saying anything, even to sock me in the jaw. The bruises from Kyle’s attack are almost gone, just in time for some new ones.

  But Declan doesn’t do any of those things. He sips his beer, then clinks his bottle against mine. “Me too,” he says.

  The bottle almost slips out of my hand. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “So you’re not…” I trail off. You’re not mad still seems impossible.

  Declan looks back at the porch we left, squinting in the bright sun. It’s one of those incredible late-October days we get sometimes in Vermont, upper seventies with an almost cloudless blue sky, the trees around us exploding with color. Daisy is holding the baby now, talking earnestly with Ryan’s sister. Mia and Ezra are sitting side by side on the wooden railing, legs dangling and their heads bent close together. The sliding door to the house opens and a girl steps outside, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders.

  I’ve been waiting for her to show up, but I guess I can wait to talk a little longer.

  “I’ve been a shit brother to you, Mal,” Declan says finally. “For years. I just— I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t give a crap about you when we were kids. Too caught up in my own stuff. And you weren’t…I don’t know. Enough like me for me to pay attention.” A muscle in his cheek jumps, his eyes still on the porch. “Then everything went to hell and I took off. I didn’t think about you then, either. Not for years. So I’m not sure why I expected you to be on my side when somebody found my class ring at a murder site.”

  My throat’s uncomfortably dry, but I don’t want any more beer. “I should’ve realized you didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  Declan shrugs. “Why? We barely know each other. And I’m the adult, or so they tell me. So that’s on me.” He opens the cooler again and pulls out a ginger ale, holding it out to me. I hesitate, and he takes the beer from my hand, setting it down on a nearby table. “Come on, Mal. That’s not you.”

  I take the ginger ale. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Mom.”

  “I don’t either. That shit’s not great. We’ll figure it out, though. You guys can get a place near Daisy and me. Solsbury’s all right.” He grins and takes a sip of beer. “The regulars at Bukowski’s Tavern aren’t half bad when you get to know them.”

  The tightness in my chest loosens. “Good to know.”

  A wisp of a cloud passes over the sun, briefly shading Declan’s face. “You talk to Katrin?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. She ended up cooperating fully with the DA’s office, handing off one final piece of evidence: Brooke’s cell phone case. Katrin had found it the day Peter organized the search party, after she’d gone digging through his office looking for a phone charger. Apparently Peter destroyed Brooke’s phone but kept the case—as though it were some kind of sick trophy. Just like he had with Lacey’s ring.

  It wasn’t something you’d find in a store—Brooke had made it herself with a clear case, dried flowers, and nail polish. It was one of a kind, and when Katrin saw it tucked away like that, she knew her father was involved. Instead of turning him in, she’d re-created one of Viv’s anonymous threats to try to deflect attention.

  Katrin’s lawyer painted as sympathetic a picture of her as he could. He claimed Peter had methodically estranged Katrin from her mother for years so he could control and manipulate her, to the point where she was totally dependent on him and unable to distinguish right from wrong. A different type of victim from Lacey and Brooke—but still a victim.

  And maybe she was. Is. I don’t know, because I haven’t answered the one text she sent me since she was released into her aunt’s custody. Katrin isn’t allowed out of the country, and her mother’s not willing to move here.

  He’s all I have.

  I didn’t answer. Not only because it wasn’t true—she’d had me and my mom, at the very least, plus her aunt and even Theo and Viv—but because I can’t think about my stepsister without remembering the last time I saw Brooke in her driveway, glancing back at me over her shoulder before she went inside. Soon after, according to police, she slipped out again to meet up with Peter.

  I don’t think I can ever accept the fact that Katrin knew Peter was involved in her best friend’s disappearance, and stood by him anyway. Maybe one of these days, when everything is less raw, I can try to understand what it was like to grow up with that toxic sewer for a father. But two weeks after he tried to kill me isn’t that time.

  “Probably a good thing. That whole family’s rotten to the core,” Declan says, taking another long pull at his b
ottle. “Anyway, you and Mom should come over for dinner this week. Daisy and I bought a grill.”

  I start laughing. “Holy hell. You bought a grill. You’re holding babies. What’s next, suburban dad? You gonna start talking about your lawn?”

  Declan narrows his eyes, and for a second I think I’ve gone too far. Then he grins. “There are worse fates, little brother. Much worse fates.” He turns toward the porch again, shading his eyes against the sun. Ellery has her hands clasped stiffly in front of her as she talks to Ryan’s sister. “Why are you still over here yapping at me? Go get your girl.”

  “She’s not my—” I start, and Declan shoves me. Only a little too hard.

  “Don’t be such a wuss, Mal,” he instructs, pulling the ginger ale from my hand. But he smiles when he says it.

  So I leave him, crossing the yard toward the porch. Ellery spots me when I’m about halfway there and waves. She says something to her half sister, then bounds down the stairs with an energy that sets my nerves jumping. I’ve seen her only a couple of times since we left the hospital, always with some combination of Ezra, Mia, or her grandmother around. I even saw Sadie briefly before she went back to rehab. Ellery and I aren’t alone here either, but for a few seconds in the middle of the backyard, everybody else fades away and it feels like it.

  “Hey,” she says, stopping within a foot of me. “I was hoping you’d be here.” Her eyes flick over my shoulder to Declan. “How’d that go?”

  “Better than expected. How are things with your new half siblings?”

  “Same,” she says. “Better than expected. They’re nice. I’m not as comfortable with the other two as I am with Ryan, though. Ezra’s fitting in more easily than I am. As usual.” She brushes a stray curl off her temple. “How are you feeling?”

  “Other than the headaches? Not too bad. No permanent effects. That’s what the doctors say, anyway.”