“Okay. And, um, you were saying . . . about Emma’s note . . .” Allie jiggled her knee impatiently.
“The note from Emma just said that Caroline needed to spend the night with us. That she was fine and would talk to us soon.”
“Okay,” Allie said, remembering that she still had the mail tucked under her elbow. She withdrew the small pile and placed it on the counter, spreading it out as she half answered her mother. A lump lodged in her chest. There was a letter from Emma. Or handwriting that looked exactly like her sister’s. No return address.
“Is everything all right?” her mother asked. Her question was hesitant, as if she really didn’t want to know if or why trouble existed between her two daughters. Allie understood. Her mother wasn’t a crusader, driven to battle by wrongdoing. Her mother would suffer in silence before bringing an ugly subject to light before God, country, or the population of Brunswick.
“Everything’s fine, Mom.” Allie squeezed her eyes shut and searched for a good excuse. “I have something of hers and need to return it. That’s all.” She’d find Emma on her own and deal with the situation before anything else happened. “Can I bring your car back in the morning?”
“Of course, dear,” her mother said. “We’ll be at the house.”
After her mother hung up, Allie flipped over the envelope and pulled at the adhesive flap. She pulled out three sheets of folded white paper.
As she scanned the first page, Allie choked. It was a printout from the state of Georgia, discussing the “Special Needs” adoption category. Special needs children were those who had been in the care of a public or private agency or individual other than the legal or biological parent for more than twenty-four consecutive months. Her sister’s handwriting was scrawled across the top: We need to talk about this.
The other two pages, a policy and a form from the Division of Family and Children Services, dropped out of her hand.
Allie walked the interior of the room in a daze. She kept moving, trying to stimulate some kind of epiphany. Why was her sister acting like this? How could she even suggest this? And where was she?
One fact was certain.
She didn’t know her sister at all.
Maybe she never had.
Swallowing her tears, Allie wiped at her face. She needed to go to the office and follow up on the supplies she’d found at the cabin. Allie needed to look back at old itemized billing statements and order forms—papers her father had filed a long time ago. Papers in file boxes that Nick might have taken out to the trash. Allie just hoped she wasn’t too late.
After leaving a message for Natalie that she would be stopping by the office, Allie keyed in the code at the back door of the building.
An hour later, after combing through boxes of dusty manila folders and outdated patient files, Allie stumbled on a rusted metal file box in the far corner of the storage room. She’d seen the box before, in her father’s office. Under Emma’s desk when she’d worked there.
On her hands and knees, Allie dragged the box from its resting place. Heaving it up to the counter, she ran a finger over the locking mechanism. When she pressed the silver button in the middle, the clasp sprung apart and the top opened with a creak. Inside, Allie found paper, all colors and textures, wrinkled, some water damaged on the edges.
She reached in one hand and grasped what she could. A tickle on the top of her ring finger made her jump. Allie pulled out her hand and flicked a spider away. There were likely more where he came from.
Allie fetched a plastic tub from under the sink. With both hands, she picked up the file box, turned it upside down, and shook hard. Dust, grit, and rust flew everywhere, making her sneeze and cough. A few more spiders skittered away. Coins rolled across the surface and bounced to the floor, along with paper clips, used staples, and dried-out rubber bands.
Most of the paper settled into a haphazard pile at least six or seven inches thick. Allie bent over and found the stray pieces, collecting a few with every step. A musty, mildewed smell wafted from the pile.
One by one, she checked each scrap, noting the dates and any markings. Most were order forms, some from as far back as fifteen or sixteen years ago. She recognized the company names and products. There were the usual items any vet office would keep in stock—doxycycline for bacterial infections, valium for sedation, Buprenex for pain. Amoxicillin—another antibiotic—was a frequent order, as was prednisone, an injectable steroid.
Allie placed that pile to the side. She picked up another few pages. Information for owners on rabies shots, a schedule for routine vaccines.
Her fingers trembled as she glanced at the next set of pages. On light blue paper, a horse’s head was drawn at the edge of the logo. Equine supplies.
Boldenone Undecylenate. Equipoise, EQ, there were different names for it. Vets used it for weight gain in emaciated horses and to step up testosterone production in stallions. There had been a time when her father had done quite a bit of equine work, and she remembered accompanying him to farms as a girl, watching him give injections, listening to him calm the horses.
The demand for equine services had dropped off some when she came to work for her father as a vet tech in the summer between high school and her freshman year of college. She worked whenever she was home on break, honing her skills, going along on emergency calls.
She paged back—2009, 2008, 2007. She paused and jotted down the amounts in each order. Then 2006. She scanned the pages carefully for this year, then compared it to the prior year’s orders. At the bottom of each page, her sister’s signature was scrawled.
She’d done the ordering back then, signed for most of the packages, all of the office work Allie and her father couldn’t stand. Her mother had done the job forever, but allowed Emma to step in and earn spending money during the summers and then when Emma had quit college. Her mother enjoyed the break, Allie thought, and seemed happy to give the responsibility to someone else.
Emma, of course, would have died before taking a fecal sample, giving injections, or doing a urinalysis. So she stayed behind the counter, ordering and occasionally mixing up drug names like Acepromazine and doxycycline. If she’d make a small mistake, Emma would have tried to cover it up, but Allie was looking for significant changes and increases, especially in the months before her arrest.
Allie thumbed through the 2003, 2004, and 2005 files, taking the pages and organizing them in rows and columns. There was nothing out of the ordinary here. All of the numbers checked out. But after she added 2006, particularly the six months before her arrest, Allie rubbed her eyes to make certain she wasn’t seeing things.
She thought hard about any emergencies that would have demanded that much EQ. She rubbed her temples, straining to remember. It had been ten years ago, and nothing came to mind.
Allie pressed both hands on the counter. The orders had increased substantially. There was no mistaking it. And if Gaines had known—known for certain that the coach’s plan had gotten out of control, as a public figure and elected official with a reputation to maintain—it was possible the stress would push the sheriff over the edge.
Remembering the Post-it note she’d found in the cabin, Allie pulled out the crinkled piece of paper with the number written in black ink. Rubbing the edge between her fingers, she packed up the papers, slipped them in her bag, and replaced the metal box.
Locking up the building, pulse hammering in her veins, Allie drove to the closest gas station, bought a Coke, and asked the clerk as sweetly as she could if she could use the phone to call her sister.
Busy with inventory, the man shrugged and gestured for Allie to go ahead.
“Thank you so much,” she replied brightly, offering a too-wide smile. When the worker turned away, Allie sucked in a breath, picked up the receiver, and dialed, praying for a recorded message to click on.
After three agonizing rings, the voice that met her ear was the one she heard in her tormented dreams.
You’ve reached Sheriff Lee Gaines .
. .
FIFTY-THREE
ALLIE
November 2006
After Allie’s acceptance to medical school, she felt Emma pulling even further away. Their relationship had always been complicated, but now there was barely a thread of connection between them.
She missed their late-night talks, her sister droning on about modeling and fashion, New York and London runways, the men she was dating. She even missed Emma’s ridiculous hissy fits.
Allie had made a mess of so many things—her relationship with Ben, the letter to the editor; she’d infuriated the sheriff. At least blood was thicker than water. They would always be sisters and would always have each other. They were family. And Allie had to try to put things right before she left for med school.
It was early—barely seven o’clock—too early for her sister to be up, but she dialed Emma’s number anyway. When her sister answered sleepily, there was the muffled sound of sheets rustling and shifting against the mattress. Allie pictured Emma’s hair splayed out in a million different directions, dark chestnut brown against the white cotton pillowcase. She’d rub her eyes, the lids almost closed against the bright morning sun.
“Come on, Em. Caroline’s having a sleepover, I’m going to pick up some wine, and I’ll have pizza ready. I’ll do asiago and mushrooms, if you want.” Allie made a drumroll sound. “Plus, the news you’ve been waiting for. Our double feature will be . . . Pretty Woman and Steel Magnolias.” She crossed her fingers. Chick flicks and homemade pizza were Emma’s favorites.
“Um.” Emma sounded suspicious. “I love Julia Roberts and all, but is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
Allie snorted, then made her voice sound incredulous. “What? There’s no deep, dark message.” She paused. “I can’t ask my sister over for drinks and a movie or two? When’s the last time we’ve done anything together? And I don’t mean sitting in the stands for a high school football game either.”
Emma didn’t answer, so Allie broke the silence. She swallowed and lowered her voice. “Listen, I’m leaving for school. And I may do it earlier than when I’d planned. You know, get out of town, make a fresh start—seeing that I’m so popular. I’m thinking the end of December. Maybe January.”
Her sister didn’t answer. She was listening, though.
“I haven’t told Mom and Dad or Caroline. I have to work out the details first. And I want to spend some time with you before things get crazy. And—”
“Um, okay, okay, enough with the hard sell,” her sister said with a yawn. “And what?”
“Well, if you must know, I’m a little worried about you.” Allie jumped up to pace the room. “You’ve been—I don’t know—in your own little shell.”
“I’m fine,” Emma said, sounding amused. “Worrywart.”
“Good,” Allie said, smiling into the phone. It seemed so long since they had teased each other. This was a good idea. They would have a great time. “So you’ll be over at, say, seven?”
Emma began to laugh, then hiccup. “Okay, you’re persistent. Do I have any choice?” She hiccupped again.
“Nope.”
“Sevenish,” Emma said, her voice trailing off. Another hiccup.
Allie hung up the phone, pulled on yoga pants, a soft T-shirt, and her old gray peacoat. After making a shopping list and catching up on the morning news, she shoved both feet in boots, snatched her hat, and called for Caroline.
“Ready, sweetie?” she called out.
Caroline stuck her head out the door of her bedroom. “Can I bring my doll?” Her brown eyes were wide and unblinking.
“One doll,” Allie warned, trying to hide a smile. If she didn’t limit the toy stash, there’d be twenty-two Barbie dolls in the cart and no room for groceries.
Ten minutes later, they wheeled a cart along the store aisles. “Aunt Emma’s coming over to our house?” Caroline asked, stroking her doll’s hair.
“She is. We’re having a big-girls’ night.” Allie reached down and smoothed her daughter’s hair. “And you’re going to Grandma Lily’s to sleep over.”
“So we’re having girls’ night too.” Caroline grinned and skipped along next to the cart.
“Right.” Allie leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. The squeak of nearby buggy wheels made both Allie and Caroline look up.
“Hey, y’all,” Morgan squealed over the top of her cart, waving hello. For the first time since the editorial hit the paper, her friend seemed genuinely happy to see her. Morgan air-kissed Allie’s cheeks and bent down to hug Caroline. “Who’s having a girls’ night?”
“Mommy and Aunt Emma. And Grandma Lily and me,” Caroline said. She tucked herself close to her mother, clinging to her hand.
Morgan cocked her hip and looked thoughtfully at the contents of her own buggy. She looked up at Allie. “Wish I could come.” She smiled. “Daddy’s come across some tickets to the Falcons game, so we’ll be back in Atlanta this weekend.”
“Next time,” Allie promised, easing her cart to the side to let other shoppers pass.
Morgan’s eyes lit up. “Oh, well, you have got to try this.” She swiveled on her heels and eyed the shelves behind her. With one hand on her waist, she ran a finger along the wine labels in front of her.
“No, no, no, no.”
She plucked a bottle off the shelf, then another. “Yes.” Morgan handed them both to Allie.
“The labels are so pretty I can’t resist them.” Morgan winked at Caroline, then turned to grab a third bottle. “Here’s another one you need to get.”
“Wait,” Allie protested, trying to push the bottle away. “We’ll never drink all of this.”
Morgan was determined. She placed the bottles in Allie’s cart and fluttered her fingers. “Then you’ll have extra, now won’t you? One has to be prepared!” She glanced at the gold watch on her thin wrist. “Oh. Late, I’m late. Ta-ta, girls!”
Allie leaned against the cart and smiled at her daughter. “Morgan’s funny, isn’t she?”
Caroline nodded. “She’s loud too.”
Allie smothered a chuckle. Leave it to kids to call it how they see it. And Caroline was right. Morgan was loud, but she embraced life fully. No one would ever say she was boring. And she was still Allie’s friend. Despite the letter. And whatever else. Emma was wrong about that.
With a gentle push of the cart, the buggy wheels began to move along the tile floor. As they moved, Caroline fingered the edge of her shirt, humming softly to herself. She was so adorable; Allie could watch her for hours.
Later that afternoon, elbow-deep in pizza dough, Allie felt a jolt of sadness. She looked around her tiny kitchen, the beat-up cabinets, the rickety table in the center of the room.
It hadn’t really hit her, until now, that she was really leaving.
Allie covered the bowl with a clean cloth to let the dough rise, then wiped her hands clean, washing them twice to rid her fingers of the sticky mixture. She inhaled the scent of yeast and flour melding together. A pinch of sugar, a dash of salt.
Tonight she needed to spend time with Emma. Just reconnecting. It was way overdue.
As she cleaned up the kitchen, Allie called her sister one last time. Emma picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Mom picked up Caroline. It’s just you and me.”
“Give me a half hour. I have to make a stop first,” Emma said. She sounded distracted, rustling paper and clinking keys.
“What do you need? I might have something here.”
There was a pause. “My stomach’s just a little unsettled,” Emma explained. “Nothing to worry about. See you in a bit.”
With a sigh, Allie poured the cabernet, watching as the deep red liquid sloshed up the sides of the glass. Her sister’s half hour was more like forty-five minutes or an hour. But that was okay. She could wait.
Her stomach growled with hunger. She nibbled at a bit of Brie on toast, put a few juicy grapes in her mouth. Allie took a sip of the wine, smiling as she remembered Morgan’s animat
ed sales pitch about the adorable labels. Allie never should have bought three bottles. But, then again, what harm would it do?
Allie stretched out her legs and took a long drink from her glass. The sweet, dark wine was lovely, she decided. Just right for a night like this. A warm glow spread over her body, the alcohol making its way into her limbs, loosening everything a little bit.
Out of habit, Allie picked up the phone, checked the volume. Was it on silent? Were there messages? Had she missed something? When she flipped over the cell to check, the screen was blank.
She clicked on the television, aimlessly running through the channels. “Nothing, nothing, nothing,” she announced to herself after ten minutes of searching. She pushed off her chair, poured a second glass of wine, and considered her options.
Allie would wait another fifteen minutes, then call.
She wandered around the living room, pausing at photos of her and Emma. There was a particular one of the two sisters on Allie’s ninth birthday, dressed in princess costumes and tiaras. They were grinning with cake-smeared smiles, clutching each other’s shoulder. Beside it, in a wooden frame, was last year’s anniversary dinner with Ben. He was so handsome in his navy sport coat and tie. Allie was tanned and laughing, clinging to his arm after he’d told her a joke. She loved that photograph.
Allie adjusted the picture frame and turned to lean on the counter. Where was her sister? As she stared out at the dark lawn, Molly, sensing her unease, trotted up close to her leg, sniffing the air.
“What do you think, girl?” Allie murmured, reaching down to rub the dog’s head and neck. She stroked her fur, thinking it so odd that Emma still hadn’t arrived. Her neck prickled. If something else was wrong and Emma was in trouble, she needed to know about it.
She straightened and took another sip of wine. “I’m such a worrier, aren’t I?” she asked out loud.
Molly cocked her head up and raised her ears expectantly. She let out a sharp bark.
Allie grinned, then walked to the front door and opened it. “Don’t rub it in, Molly.” She watched as her dog bounded outside, then rolled in a pile of dried leaves near the curb. Allie squinted, barely able to see the dog’s shape under the thin sliver of moon. Wispy clouds floated across the black sky, the shadows softening the edges of the sidewalk and mailbox.
Sister Dear Page 29
