by Sylvia Warsh
He looked up and blinked, some curly bangs in his face. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”
“I’m looking for Stu.”
“Upstairs,” he said, giving me another quick look before going back to work. Probably wondering why his mom had never mentioned me.
I climbed the stairs, past the Private sign. I hesitated at the door. Maybe this wasn’t such a smart idea. Stu was a big guy. If he didn’t like what I had to say, he could knock me flat without trying. I took my cell phone out of my bag and held on to it. He might think twice if he thought the cops were on speed dial.
I wasn’t going to wimp out. I could do this. I knocked.
Stu opened the door, blond hair freshly spiked. “Hey, babe. Glad you could make it. Come on in.”
I took a breath and followed him, holding my cell in my hand. The place was decorated in expensive modern. White leather sofa. Abstract blue and white rug on the dark wood floor. Big-screen tv. Snazzy. Royalty money.
“Drink?” he asked, pouring one for himself at the bar. “Vodka? Tequila?”
I shook my head. Now that I was here, it was awkward. He was the star. I was the kid who cut hair for a living.
“Take a load off,” he said, sitting down on the sofa. He looked at my hand. “Expecting a call?”
Good. He noticed. I reached into my handbag and brought out the folded photocopy of “Best Girl.” I walked toward him and handed it over.
“What’s this?” he said, unraveling it. He sat still, his eyes taking it in. “Wow! This is ancient. Where’d you dig it up?”
“My mother kept it.”
“No shit.”
“Read the words,” I said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa, nervous.
He stared at the page. His face went white.
“Look familiar?”
“Well…”
“It’s ‘Playgirl.’ Everything’s the same but a couple of lines.”
“No, it can’t be…”
“‘Playgirl’ is ‘Best Girl.’”
“It’s probably a coincidence. Freddy and me were close. On the same wavelength, you know?”
“You stole his song!”
“No! I—”
“You killed him for that song!”
Stu’s mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head. “No! You got it all wrong.” He closed his eyes. “He was already dead when I found it.”
He rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. “Freddy kept a stash of songs in our van, and I was cleaning it out after he…you know. Then I saw this piece and it was good. Not great, mind you. I gave it style. I rocked it out, man! I put my own stamp on it. This song would’ve gone nowhere without me.”
He was so full of himself I wanted to smack him. “Here’s what I think. You wanted the song so bad, you killed Freddy when he wouldn’t give it to you.”
He shook his big blond head. “If I’d sung it for him and he liked it, he would’ve played backup guitar for me. He wasn’t stupid.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you’re not stupid either. Look, how much do you want?”
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“How much will make you happy?”
“Are you trying to pay me off so I don’t go to the cops?”
He laughed. His face went bright, made him look years younger. “Go to the cops. I didn’t do it. I know it hurts to think your mother did, but that’s no reason to go around pointing fingers.”
Is that what I was doing? Pointing fingers to deflect the guilt?
Just then Brooke walked into the room. She was trying to put on an earring, pushing away her thick auburn hair, when she saw me. “Oh! Hi. Come for the show?”
“I can’t stay,” I said, embarrassed, jumping up.
“Well, I’m just going down now— you might catch him rehearsing before he starts.”
I threw back what I hoped was a meaningful look at Stu. Then I let Brooke lead me downstairs. When she opened the wide door to the club area, Lexy stood center stage playing his guitar, singing a folky rock song.
“Isn’t he great?” she said, grinning at her son.
Lexy was the hot new artist! Thing was—the song kicked ass. He was good. He was also the owner’s son, so he got a chance to prove it. The spotlight shone on him, his face turned toward his guitar while he checked the chords. That’s when I saw it. His ear. It was a flat clamshell like mine. Clamshell ears! What were the odds of that? I watched the way he stood there, slumped over his guitar, like the world was too sad to look in the eye. The rhythmic way he moved his head, the dark hair falling over his face. I’d seen that before. The YouTube video. Freddy. I stared at him, stunned by the recognition. It was so obvious. I looked at Brooke. Brooke and Freddy?
“Can I talk to you?”
I pulled her out into the hall where we were alone.
“Is there something you want to tell me about Lexy?”
Her smile disappeared.
“I mean…is he…um…related to me?”
“What?”
“He doesn’t look like Stu’s kid.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I pulled my hair back from my ear. She stared at it. “He’s got ears like mine. Like Freddy’s. He moves like Freddy.”
Her face went pale and she looked away. “You’re imagining things. Lexy is Stu’s son.”
“Doesn’t Stu see he doesn’t look like him?”
“Kids don’t always look like their parents.”
“No, sometimes they look like their parents’ friends.”
She gave me a dirty look.
“If I have a brother,” I said, the word strange in my mouth, “I want to know.”
“Stu’s nuts about the kid. Been paying his keep the whole time. Don’t go spreading rumors.”
“Maybe that’s a motive for murder,” I said.
She pulled in a sudden breath. “There was no motive. Stu never found out. Hey, it was a mistake! Freddy and I were both at a low point and…But you’re wrong about Stu. He may be a dick, but he wouldn’t kill anybody. Look, if you want something, money—whatever…Just don’t say anything. Please.”
Oh my god! I had a brother!
She gave me a long pleading look. I shrugged, numb. She went back into the club to join Lexy.
I stood there confused, angry. Everyone wanted to give me money. Why wasn’t I grateful?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That night I tossed and turned in bed for hours. All I could think was, She did it. My mother killed my father. I was the kid of a murderer. Shelley was right. It was better not to know the truth. Better not to feel this pain in my chest where my heart was supposed to be.
The whole time I had been on a wild-goose chase. Now it was over. There was no one else to pin the murder on, no one else who looked guilty. I felt like a chump for believing Diane. She didn’t have to work hard to convince me my mother was innocent. I wanted desperately to believe her. But why did she bother? What did she get out of it?
By three in the morning I gave up on sleep. I turned on the light and sat up in bed. The envelope Diane had given me lay on my night table. I pulled out the shots of my parents. Stared at the one where they had their arms around each other. A young couple in love. Carol with her bright eyes and bushy hair, smiling at the camera, all innocent and happy. When did she become desperate enough to kill?
For the first time since I started working at the salon, I called in sick. I felt sick. I stayed in bed till noon. Then I stood in front of the mirror staring at myself in pajamas, my hair all over the place. I looked like her, everybody said so. Was I like her? Was I desperate?
I opened a can of chicken soup for lunch. Then I went back to bed.
The phone woke me up late in the afternoon. I looked at the caller id. Shelley. I didn’t answer, but I felt guilty enough to get up and dress. I was also getting hungry. I checked the fridge. I was hankering for a grilled cheese sandwich. Only I was out of cheese. Oh well, I had to go out. The local c
onvenience store sold all the necessary food groups—coffee, sugar, cheese and bread. This was what I lived on.
It was good to get outside. The sun was still out, but it was cooling off. I picked up some coffee and cheese, and because I felt sorry for myself, a chocolate bar. I trudged home. Remembered to check my mailbox on the way in. Along with the usual junk mail, there was another letter from the lawyer.
I set my goodies down on the table and ripped open the envelope. It was a statement of money spent over the years, like he’d promised. Legal fees for the trial—modest because of legal aid. Legal fees for the appeal. Court costs. Photocopying costs. Costs for this, costs for that. Sale of the house, real estate fees, legal fees, taxes. On and on. My eyes glazed over.
This much I figured out: the house had sold for $120,000. He had subtracted the costs, then added bank interest over the years. There was $91,000 left! He said there would still be some expenses and he’d let me know the final figure. But wow! That was more money than I ever expected to see in one place. I didn’t know whether to want the money or be creeped out by it. An inheritance from a killer.
I fried my grilled cheese sandwich and sat there chewing, not happy. Apart from the idea of blood money, something else bothered me. Something in the statement.
I set the letter in front of me and read as I ate. The house Carol sold. It was the address. I started to cough. This was wrong. They had it at 140 Maple Glen. Somehow they had confused it with Shelley’s house on Maple Glen. But that wasn’t quite right either, because Shelley was at 142. Did the lawyer screw up? Did the secretary type in Shelley’s address by mistake? But the house number was wrong.
I reached for my cell and called Randall Webb’s office, hoping he was working late.
“Webb here,” he answered.
“It’s Amanda Moss. I think there’s a mistake in the papers you sent me. The address of my mother’s house— the one she sold. One forty Maple Glen. That’s next door to where I grew up. Maybe it’s a typo…”
“Oh. No mistake,” he said. “The woman who adopted you lived next door. Shelley, right?”
My heart started to pound.
“I thought you knew.”
“Shelley lived next door? You mean I grew up right next door?”
There was silence on the other end.
My head couldn’t get around it. “But I don’t…” I said “Why did you choose her?”
“Oh. Well, she was your babysitter. She didn’t tell you?”
I was so confused. “Shelley babysat me?”
“I thought she would’ve told you. When your mother went to prison…Well, Shelley was already looking after you. And she wanted to adopt you. We thought it would be less disruptive if you stayed with someone you were used to.”
“Oh. I…um…” My brain wasn’t working.
“She really wanted you. I thought it was a good fit. We even gave her the piano so you could learn to play.”
So that’s where it came from. I learned to play on my mother’s piano!
“Did things work out okay with her?”
“I…um…”
“Sounds to me like you better have a talk with her.”
After hanging up, I ran to my night table. I pulled out the photo of my mother and me on the stoop of the house. It had looked familiar. Now I knew why. It was just like the stoop at Shelley’s because it was next door. The houses were the same style. My family lived next door to Shelley. And she never said.
I punched in Shelley’s cell on speed dial. She sometimes worked late on Fridays. But it was nearly seven.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” I said.
“I just got home…”
“I need to talk to you.” I hung up and grabbed my purse.
I walked down Maple Glen Avenue, seeing it for the first time. I grew up on this street, but now it looked strange and unfamiliar. I could’ve been dreaming. Only the dream was a nightmare.
I stopped in front of 140, the house next door. It looked just like Shelley’s. Three wooden stairs leading up to a porch. That day in the old photo, we sat on the top step, my mother and me. I felt like I’d been sleepwalking my whole life. This was my house. Where I lived with my real parents. Where my father had come home one night and…
It had been there this whole time, waiting for me. Someone else lived there now. This was the house where I was happy with my mom and dad.
I walked up the stairs to Shelley’s. My stomach twisted. Nothing had changed but me. My whole life was a lie.
I opened the door and walked in. Shelley stood there, a funny look on her face, like she didn’t know what to say. I’d dyed her hair mauve-red for the fall, but it was straggly now, like she hadn’t washed it in days. She kept it long, which usually made her look younger. But now she looked tired. Tired and old.
“Why didn’t you tell me about next door?”
She stiffened. “Nothing to tell.”
“I lived there with my parents! My real parents!”
She flinched.
I wanted to hurt her.
“I was trying to protect you,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me you babysat me?”
She blinked, like she had something in her eye.
“You knew my mother! What was she like?”
“I’m your mother.”
She obviously wasn’t going to be reasonable. “What was Carol Allan like?”
She licked her lips, not eager to go on. “She didn’t get it. How lucky she was. She had everything. Freddy. You. She was always going out. Teaching piano. I was the one who looked after you. I’m your mother.”
“You hated her, didn’t you?”
“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Did you see her do it?” I don’t know what made me ask that. Gave me shivers.
She looked at me, surprised. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Tell me!” I said.
“The truth is ugly. You don’t want it.”
“You were right here!” I cried. I was losing control, but I had to know. “You saw everything!”
Her eyes flashed. “What did that bitch tell you?”
We seemed to be in two different conversations. “Who?”
“That junkie Diane. Don’t believe anything she said.”
“You knew her?”
She blinked at me. I had caught her in something. I just didn’t know what.
“I don’t know her,” she said. “She called once. Introduced herself.”
Then I remembered something. I opened my purse and pulled out Diane’s cell. I’d forgotten to ditch it. I scrolled through her last phone calls. There it was. Diane had called Shelley. At least four times. And Shelley had called Diane. The day she died.
“How’d you know she was a junkie?”
She didn’t look me in the eye. “You told me she od’d.”
“I never said! You know she od’d because you were there.”
“Better leave things alone, Amanda.”
“Did you help her od? Were you there?”
Something changed in her eyes. I had a sense she was giving up.
“Did you kill her?”
Shelley hung her head. She swallowed. “Once a user, always a user,” she said. “Didn’t take much.”
My heart fell. I wanted her to deny it.
“She was no good, Amanda. She was trying to shake me down. Said she’d go to the cops and tell her lies if I didn’t give her money.”
“I feel sick,” I said. I went into the kitchen in case I had to throw up. She followed me.
“What could she tell the cops?” I said, standing near the sink.
“Ancient history. Forget it.”
“Tell me or I’m leaving.” I looked at her. She knew I meant for good.
She stared at me, her eyes big and round. “It was…about your father and me…”
I swallowed and stared at her. Yeah, Shelley had been hot twenty years ago, but I hadn’t
expected this. “You…slept with my father?”
“It wasn’t like that…” She took a breath. “One day Freddy came home early. I was there alone with you. He was something, your dad. He had a way about him—I can’t explain. We…we hit it off. I was a knock-out in those days. Carol wasn’t enough for him.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to hear.
She rubbed her eyes. “But then, after a while, I wasn’t enough for him either. He was always looking for something… new. I was so nuts about him. I thought we’d get married.”
She licked her lips. “One day out of the blue he said he didn’t want to see me anymore.”
“You were the neighbor who told the cops they fought all the time.”
“Men are such stupid romantics. He said he still loved her. He didn’t even look at me when I talked to him.”
So he was leaving all those other women behind for my mother. We would’ve been a family again.
I prayed I was wrong. “What happened?”
She covered her eyes with her hand. “I was hurting so much. It made me crazy. He threw me away. Like I was nothing.”
“It was you…”
“No! You don’t understand. I loved him. I never meant to…”
She leaned forward and started to whisper, like someone else could hear. “I’m not a bad person. I was so desperate…That night, it was so cold. I waited outside for him with my winter jacket on. Honestly, I just wanted to scare him. I told him I was going to kill Carol. So I brought the knife.”
I gasped and she looked at me as if she saw something different in me. My mother?
“Oh no, I never would’ve hurt her, I’d never…”
“You were wearing gloves! That’s why there were no fingerprints.”
She turned away and stared into space. “When he thought I was going after Carol—he just went wild! He tried to grab the knife and we struggled and…I just… I didn’t mean…” She leaned back, pale.
I closed my eyes and covered my mouth with my hands. It was some kind of instinct to keep the scream from coming out and breaking me apart. The room got very close and I could hardly breathe. The old Shelley would’ve put her arm around my shoulder to comfort me. I opened my eyes to see if I still recognized her. She was leaning against the counter, staring at the steak knives that stuck out of the wooden stand. She was close enough to reach one.
