You Again

by Ashlee Mallory

  “It’s not like that. My mother isn’t the one behind all this stuff going on. She couldn’t be.”

  “And you’re saying this as an impartial observer?” Allie drawled. “Hardly, Sam. You’re too close, and you can’t see the obvious.”

  “No,” he said. “I know she couldn’t have done this.”

  “She had access to the school. She could have gotten downstairs to those boxes, set them on fire. She knew I would be downstairs looking through everything. Sam, she was at the meeting.”

  “Yes.” The light changed, and he let go of her to ease the car forward. “But as you’ll recall, she supported your decision. Practically the only one who did. If she was afraid of what might come up, she would have shot down your idea.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “At the point she spoke up, I’d been discussing memorials and benches and fountains. Not reviewing the archives for a video about his time at St. Andrew’s.”

  “Trust me, she still would have found a way to end the whole thing if she’d been the least bit concerned. You don’t know my mother.”

  Trust him? Not likely. “Did you tell her anything about the box that was delivered to me? About the letters?”

  He was quiet.

  Her anger simmered into fury. “I’ll take that as a yes. So, she knew I’d recently come into possession of those letters. And she needed to get rid of them to protect her secret.”

  “My mother is a lot of things, but she’s not a cold-blooded killer. She didn’t kill Mr. Williams. I know this. You have to trust me.”

  Silence reigned between them for two stop signals.

  She clenched her jaw. “Okay, let’s say I go along with you, hypothetically. Then what about your father? Could he have discovered the affair? Maybe he found out his wife was screwing around with his son’s soccer coach and—”

  “He’s dead now, Allie.”

  Her head was beginning to pound, and she really regretted not taking a couple of Tylenol before they left. She couldn’t think clearly. “We should just tell the police everything we know and let them sift through it. We’re both too close to everything about this to be impartial. If your parents are innocent, the police will figure that out with time—”

  “Time isn’t something my mother has in large supply. She’s sick.” He looked straight ahead through the windshield. She’d been so caught up in their conversation, she hadn’t realized they’d reached the school. They were parked next to her car.

  She suddenly remembered Tiffany asking about his mother’s health. And also how thin and pale the normally stately Mrs. Fratto had looked at the planning meeting. Her anger slowly deflated. Ah, crap.

  “What’s wrong with her?” she asked him, softer now.

  “Stage three breast cancer. She had a double mastectomy a few weeks ago, which was when she finally told me what was going on.” He took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m here. She’s gone through radiation, has a few more rounds of chemo left.” He turned to Allie, imploring her with his dark gaze. “If you tell the police my mother wrote the letters, she’ll be a suspect. When the details of the police investigation becomes public knowledge, she’ll also be exposed as an adulterer. Even if the police end up concluding that she and my father were innocent, the stress of interrogation and the public humiliation could, quite literally, kill her.”

  She noted the shadows again under his suddenly shiny eyes. She understood now the stress and pressure he’d been under. Her heart ached for him. “So…what are you asking me?”

  “I will find out who’s behind this murder. I promise. Because I have to. I’m not letting my mom—or dad—be accused of killing her lover. Or letting their memories be tainted by suspicion.”

  “Sam—”

  “I just need a little more time. Maybe if I talk to Tiffany again, she’ll tell me what we need. Give us some leads. A week, Allie. That’s all I’m asking for. If I can’t turn anything up in a week, we’ll both go to the police with everything we know.”

  She didn’t know what to think or even what she knew anymore. She didn’t know the Frattos. Didn’t know what Elizabeth Fratto was capable of. How important was her social status and the respect it gave her in the community? What would she have done to save herself from a fall? To save her name and her family from scandal?

  But this was Sam. And he was pleading with her.

  Who could she trust?

  Especially when the one person whose reputation and integrity she once would have bet anything on wasn’t who she thought? She’d been doing all of this to honor Mr. Williams and his memory. And for what?

  Damn, she needed that Tylenol.

  Finally, she nodded. It wasn’t like they actually knew who the killer was, or had hard evidence. Everything was just supposition. “Okay. You have a week. But if anything else happens, all bets are off.”

  …

  The thunder overhead filled Allie with dread as she tried to focus on her book, rereading the same passage a fourth time. After the game, the weather had deteriorated. It was now after dark, and it was pouring rain again. And it didn’t look as though it would improve any by tomorrow—which left her with the realization that tomorrow she would be hosting a barbecue with thirty people crammed into her tiny home. She briefly considering canceling, but knew her daughter would be brokenhearted. Allie had no other choice. She’d have to deal with the crush of people.

  She felt like she was in a holding pattern. Waiting for things to happen. The rain to stop. Meredith to approve her video. For Sam and her to find the killer.

  She gave a silent groan. Why was she doing all of this again?

  A knock on her door nearly sent the book flying out of her hands. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Normally, she’d go to the window and peer out. But with the rain, it was extra dark outside, and with the inside light on, she’d be exposed to…whoever was out there. She crept to the front door instead and stood on tiptoes to look through the peep hole.

  Standing on her porch, his hair poking out from the wind and rain, a dark expression on his face, was Sam.

  She hadn’t seen him since this morning’s soccer game. They’d both pretended not to see each other, and she’d left early, pleading a headache—which hadn’t been much of a stretch. Fortunately, Claire had offered to give Molly a ride back. They had noticed her somber mood and had miraculously showed restraint and not pestered her with questions.

  But now Sam was at her door. Her heart betrayed her feelings as it pounded hard in her chest. She opened the door.

  He looked grim. And wet. “Can I come in?”

  She was still so hurt by his omission these past few days that she would have liked nothing more than the resolve to shut the door on his face. But who was she kidding? Seeing him there at her door felt…right. His presence was a comfort, even if she wanted to kick him. Or kiss him. She couldn’t figure which drive was stronger. So she opened the door for him.

  “I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be. I should have told you as soon as I realized my mother wrote the letters,” he said as he walked past her.

  She shut the door behind him. “Yes. You should have.”

  “But I was certain that if we talked to Tiffany we would get the answers we needed. And I saw no reason to dredge up my mother’s painful past unless I needed to. I’m sorry if that decision hurt you.”

  The hurt she’d felt eased. She was being ridiculous. It was his mother, for cripes sakes. Of course he’d try to protect her. And to be honest, Allie would have thought a whole lot less of him if he hadn’t.

  “It’s okay, Sam.” Right now, she only wanted peace between them. She missed him. “She’s your mother. I get it. But no more secrets, okay? If we’re going to move forward together on this thing, I need to know you’ll tell me everything, no matter how uncomfortable.”

  He nodded curtly. “I’ll try. You have to understand, though, trust doesn’t come easily for me. Not after all this crap.”

  She co
uld understand that, especially when his parents, the family unit he’d grown up thinking of as perfect, had turned out to be anything but. They’d been lying to everyone, including him. His ex-girlfriend didn’t sound any better. Materialistic and shallow, a woman who intentionally got pregnant and then took off on him and their son without a word, for years. She headed over to the couch and took her seat again as he followed. “How long have you known about your mother and Mr. Williams?”

  “I knew she had been unfaithful.” Without embellishment, he told her about the events that had taken place just before his graduation. A night that had shattered any illusions he’d harbored about his parents’ love for each other. “But I didn’t know who the man was, and I didn’t want to know. It wouldn’t have made any difference to me at that point. Maybe there were signs. I’ve been thinking back to those days, remembering the heavy, emotional toll Mr. Williams’s disappearance had on her. She barely got out of bed for a few days. But I was so angry with her and my father that I didn’t see the connection. I just wanted to get out of there.”

  Allie saw the pain and guilt cross his face, and before thinking about what she was doing, she put her hand on his arm. “You were just a kid, Sam. You couldn’t have been expected to look out for her when you had no idea what she was going through. You were dealing with your own loss.”

  He didn’t respond, but looked down at where her hand rested on his arm. She pulled back automatically, embarrassed. But he stopped her and grasped her hand in his. Warm. Large. Solid. His thumb rubbed softly across the top of it, and it felt…like heaven. She stifled her sigh and tried to focus on his face, his mouth, instead of dissolving in a puddle on the floor.

  Which was probably a mistake.

  “Allie. If you don’t stop staring at my mouth like that, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop.”

  Her eyes flew to his. They appeared darker, more hypnotic, like dark gray clouds on a stormy day. She inhaled and took a step forward, so close she had to lift her head to see him. This was going to be as close to an invitation as she was ever going to give.

  She was petrified.

  A slight smile crossed his bleak features, and, in slow motion, Sam brought his head down. Pressed his lips to hers, all the while keeping her hand in his.

  Oh, Lord. His mouth felt glorious, as did the thrumming pleasure that radiated low in her belly. Much, much lower. She opened her mouth instinctively to his warmth. And although this was a moment she’d imagined many times—and would like to be able to replay many times more—she was helpless to the fluttering of her eyelids as they closed. Leaving her to savor the whirling emotions building inside her.

  His hand pulled her firmly next to him, and his other hand came to rest against the small of her back. Her body pressing into him felt amazing. As did his scent, his taste, surrounding her.

  She wanted it to go on forever.

  His kisses intensified, became more demanding, when he pressed his mouth to her throat, driving her need for more contact to a new high.

  She wanted so much more. To hell with the consequences.

  He pulled her onto his lap, and she wrapped her legs wantonly around him, feeling his own desperate need pressed there at her core. His hands gripped her backside, securing her before he stood and carried her to the bedroom.

  Where he proceeded to be everything she could have ever dreamed of. And more.

  So much more. Because whatever schoolgirl crush she’d had before was nothing next to the undeniable and overpowering love she felt for him now. And always.

  …

  Allie’s ringing phone pulled Sam from his much needed sleep. Still naked and pressed up against him, she answered it, bringing up the sheets to hide her beautiful breasts.

  Criminal.

  She lurched upright. “Oh, no. Is she all right?”

  He deduced that Allie was talking to Vi’s dad. From the sound of her questions, her daughter was suffering from a stomach bug.

  “We’ll just postpone the party. Tell her it will only be for another week. Does she want to talk to me? No. Let her sleep.” Their conversation continued another minute, and Sam stared at the beautiful woman in front of him.

  Allie’s blond hair was tousled as it fell across her pale, naked shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to push her back against the silky smooth sheets again, feel her respond to his touch, to utterly and completely become his once more. She raised her gaze to his, and he saw her eyes heavy with fatigue. He took certain satisfaction in knowing he’d played a major part in her current state of exhaustion. And his. But not exhausted enough, apparently, as he felt the familiar stirring.

  Why had he resisted her for so long? What an idiot.

  “I’ve got to make some calls,” she said, dropping her cell phone to the nightstand. “It looks like I’m going to have to cancel Vi’s party. She’s going to be so disappointed.”

  He leaned over and nuzzled her nipple. “Right now?”

  After a little more attention, she gasped. “Later. I’ll call everyone later.”

  Over an hour later, he had rinsed off in the shower and left her to enjoy a more leisurely one. With a mug of coffee in his hand, he sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled through his messages.

  There were two missed calls, and he listened to the first one, left less than an hour ago. Patty? His mother’s maid was speaking so quickly it took him a moment to realize what she was saying. A numb calm fell over him as he listened.

  According to Patty’s message, Detective Johnson was at the house now, speaking with his mother. Not many people knew about his mother’s connection to Mr. Williams. Señora Sanchez had stayed silent all these years. There was no reason for her to spill the beans now. Leaving only one other person besides them who knew.

  Allie.

  She had told him she thought going to the police was the right thing to do. And despite his plea for time, she’d kept to her plan. She must have called them sometime after they talked when he dropped her at her car last night.

  He was disgusted with himself. Once again duped.

  You’d have thought he’d learned his lesson with Josh’s mom. Even from his own parents. But he’d thought Allie was different. That they had a connection.

  That he could trust her.

  As he pulled on his clothes, the sound of the water in the bathroom turned off. He waited calmly on the bed. He couldn’t wait to hear her explanation.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Allie couldn’t stop the smile that crept across her mouth as she dried off. Even the unaccustomed aches in body parts she didn’t even know could ache couldn’t knock the grin from her face. If anything, they reminded her it had all really happened.

  She pulled her robe around her and left the bathroom a few minutes later. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed. She started toward him, but the look on his face stopped her cold. He was tossing his cell phone back and forth in his hands.

  “What’s wrong? Have you heard something?”

  “I got a call. Detective Johnson is at the house interrogating my mother. There was an anonymous tip that came in implicating her. He has her letters.”

  The accusation in his tone was clear. “Sam. I had nothing to do with that,” she said as resolutely as she could. “I told you I wouldn’t. I told you I’d give you a week.”

  He stood and turned around to look out the window, unable to meet her gaze. He rubbed his hand through the back of his hair and sighed. “I’ve got to get over there. I don’t want her to have to face this alone.”

  He kept his eyes averted, and she was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness.

  “Please believe me, Sam. It wasn’t me who called them.”

  She could see him swallow, and he nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Nor did he look at her.

  He still didn’t trust her.

  As he passed by, she placed her hand on his arm, and he paused.

  “Let me know if you need anything.”


  He nodded brusquely, and was gone.

  A large lump rose in her throat. Tears pricked her eyes, and she swiped them away. Their night had been so perfect. He had been so wonderful.

  To have the moment end like this…it wasn’t fair.

  She didn’t know whether to be angry with him for not believing her. For not believing in her. Or to be terribly hurt because he still didn’t trust her after all they’d just shared.

  Or maybe she should just take it as a sign that they wouldn’t work anyway…and get out while the getting was good.

  …

  Sam found it difficult to keep his anger in check as he stood waiting for Detective Johnson to get the hell out of his mother’s house. Not that the detective was treating his mother poorly. On the contrary, he was treating her with patience and quiet respect. But that didn’t mean the guy didn’t suspect his mother of more dastardly deeds. It was his job, and Sam knew it.

  He’d taken one glance at the letters on the coffee table and his mother’s nervous glance up at him and knew she’d already admitted to writing them. He nodded to her, as if to signal he already knew. She crooked a slight smile for him. And seemed almost relieved. Sam sat next to her on the couch and placed his hand on her arm as a gesture of solidarity.

  Where Detective Johnson had been soft-spoken and respectful towards his mother, Sam didn’t even try to hide his frustration.

  “When Ms. McBride turned over the box and these letters, were you aware your mother had written them?” the detective asked him.

  “Not with certainty, but I had my suspicions.”

  “Care to tell me why you didn’t share those suspicions?” he asked more sharply.

  “Like I said, I wasn’t sure. And even if it was true, I respect my mother’s privacy. Whether she had written the letters or not didn’t implicate her as a murderess. Or guilty of arson, or assault, or anything else you might suspect.”