by Sylvia Warsh
“You going to kill me too?”
She put her hand up to her forehead. “What?”
“All these years you pretended to love me.”
Tears filled her eyes. “No, baby. I always loved you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You were his. I had part of him with me. I’m not a strong person. I didn’t have the guts to confess and go to jail. I felt terrible about Carol. But then, like a miracle—you needed me. No one ever needed me.”
I hated her. She stole my life. She was a psycho. She was a slut. She was… the only mother I remembered. I couldn’t think.
“I have to call the cops,” I said quietly.
She nodded.
“I’ll give you a head start.”
She looked down at the floor. “Where am I going to go? You’re all I’ve got.”
I still had Diane’s cell in my hand. I sat down at the table, shaking. I hated Shelley. But I had this picture of us in the kitchen when I was little and she made me breakfast. She knew how I liked my eggs. And after school she’d wait for me at home, so happy to see me. Sometimes when I was really miserable she’d hold me…
Through my tears, I punched in Randall Webb’s number. She’d need a lawyer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Shelley surrendered to the police accompanied by Randall Webb. He told me the police were shocked to receive a new confession in a case that had been solved twenty years earlier. They had no evidence to link her to Freddy’s murder and, in view of the confession, recommended the court be lenient. But not for Diane’s death. Shelley had left her fingerprints in the flat. They locked her up and denied bail.
I didn’t really want to see her again. But I wasn’t sure I could keep away. She still felt like my mother, in spite of everything. How could that be?
She called me from jail to say Happy Birthday. We pretended like nothing was wrong. It was weird talking to her. But she was one of the only people who knew, or cared, that it was my birthday.
Over the next month, I tried to take my mind off everything with music. After my day at the salon, I’d come home at night and write edgy songs about love and hate, and how hard it was to tell them apart.
Brooke called a few times to check on me. I felt a connection. Maybe she did too. Stu had taken off to some casino or other to do his thing.
Brooke said she wanted to hear my songs. I was in kind of a funk, so she had to ask a few times. But one day I kicked myself and said to the mirror: This is what you wanted. Get your butt out there. Besides, it was a chance to see my brother.
So on one of my days off, I went to the club, lugging my Gibson. I’d never played my music for anyone else. I sat on the low stage—scared and hyper. I bent over my guitar. Didn’t want to see Brooke’s and Lexy’s eyes on me. Afraid of what they’d see.
They loved it. Brooke smiled and Lexy clapped like crazy after each number. I did three.
“That’s some serious music!” Brooke said. “We have a winter show for new talent. Seven or eight musicians. Each gets to do two songs. You interested?”
Was I interested! “That would be awesome!”
“I’ll put your name down.”
While Brooke headed for the door, Lexy came toward me. “Those songs are amazing,” he said, a big grin on his face. “Wanna jam some time? Maybe we could do a song together.”
“Wicked!” I felt stupidly happy.
Brooke stood near the door, watching. Nervous, I thought.
“Wanna get some coffee?” he said.
“Sure.” I added, “Then I have to meet my boyfriend.”
His face fell. But Brooke’s brightened up. She was probably worried about two things—one, Lexy would fall for me, his half sister. Or two, I would spill the beans about his father. She didn’t have to worry. It was her business what she told her kid. I wasn’t going to piss her off—she was going to give me my big break. Besides, I liked her. And my imaginary boyfriend could stick around in case Lexy got romantic. He was a good musician and I was looking forward to jamming with him. Maybe we’d form a new band. I could be a big sister to him.
SYLVIA MAULTASH WARSH is the author of the Dr. Rebecca Temple mystery series set in 1979 Toronto. The first book, To Die in Spring, was nominated for an Arthur Ellis Award in 2001; the second, Find Me Again, won an Edgar Award in 2004; the third, Season of Iron, was shortlisted for a ReLit Award in 2007. Sylvia lives in Toronto with her family.
