What Doesn't Kill You

by Aimee Hix

“I’m coming home.”

  The exact opposite of what I wanted. “No, Dad. Just no. You and Mom deserve this trip.”

  The silence on the other side went on a little too long. “Tell me what’s happening. All of it this time.”

  I forged on as quickly as possible because I knew the roaming charges would be racking up like money in a slot machine. “The other day the Horowitzes came over to see if you would help Violet move because her boyfriend had been hitting her. When they realized you had already left, they convinced me to help.”

  That earned a chuckle in spite of the dire results of the favor. I ignored it and kept going.

  “When I arrived, there were no cars and I thought no one was home. I waited about fifteen minutes and then I saw the boyfriend’s dead body through the back door window when I went to knock. Now Violet’s in the wind and David and Susan are understandably distraught.”

  “And you feel responsible?”

  I hadn’t until Seth showed up at my door telling me to butt out, but I certainly couldn’t mention that.

  “Not responsible exactly but … they looked to me to fill in for you and I … ”

  “Feel accountable,” he said.

  “That’s just another word for responsible, but, yeah, I guess I do.” That wasn’t a lie exactly. I did feel responsible; I was the only one who knew Seth might be involved. I wasn’t about to give Boyd that suspicion. Hell, I wasn’t even admitting it to my own father.

  “All right then, rule number one is always be prepared, and number two is don’t ever ask a question you don’t already know the answer. Start a case file.”

  “Done,” I said.

  “That’s my girl. Once the case file is as complete as you can make it with your first-hand experience, you need to run the particulars on everyone involved that doesn’t have a badge. That means David and Susan too.”

  It shocked the hell out of me that he’d even consider them being involved, but I kept my mouth shut and my hand moving, taking notes.

  “Since you’re not a cop you won’t have access to any of the evidence, but if all we want to do is point the cops away from Violet, you shouldn’t need it.”

  “I, uh, I may have gotten back onto the scene and have a copy of the evidence log.”

  “Willa Elaine!”

  “Legally, Daddy. The lead detective, Jan Boyd, invited me back to the scene to review my statement. She gave me the log.”

  “How in the hell did you charm her into that?” he asked.

  “Can’t she just like me?”

  “No,” he said.

  Well, ouch.

  “I may have accidentally kept a piece of evidence out of my original statement—a footprint. A real accident, I swear. But no one on scene logged it. And I happened to have a photo of it.”

  Even through the cell static crackling across the Atlantic Ocean I heard him suck in his breath.

  “Look, the deal is you’re just a private citizen indulging her curiosity by looking some things up. The footprint worked in your favor, but consider yourself out of lucky breaks, baby girl. Stay on the computer and don’t get in Boyd’s way. She obviously sees you’re an asset to her and is giving you some leash—don’t choke yourself.”

  We disconnected after I promised I would call him back if things went badly. Too late, Dad. I couldn’t deny it. I had to set my own mind at ease or this was going to eat me.

  “Benjy? You home?”

  We really needed to get that boy a car so I’d know when he was home and when he wasn’t. Dad’s solution to that problem would likely run to GPS trackers and subcutaneous chipping, but considering the kid was more responsible at seventeen than I would ever be, I could convince them to get him some old beater. He spent too much time at home anyway. Especially by the standards I set. Michael, Seth, and I were rarely home as teens. Of course, we didn’t have computers to take apart and put back together again. Or apps to design. Or sexting. Thinking of sexting reminded me how grateful I was that there wasn’t any evidence of that stupid, horrible mistake I had made sleeping with Seth just in time for Ben to wander into the kitchen and eye me suspiciously.

  “What’s got you so freaked out?”

  I rolled my eyes at him, trying to regain my composure. “Just thinking about an article I read on sexting. You’re not into that, are you, mutant? You’re not sending some cheerleader pictures of your junk, right?”

  The look of horror on his face rescued me from any further need to torture him. It was mean but an effective way to get my mind off thoughts that didn’t need thinking.

  “Ew! Why would you even ask me that? I can’t even … geez, that’s just such a weird thing to ask your brother.”

  I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to adopt a stern expression. “Sexting is a serious problem affecting families in America, Benjamin. People are being charged with possession of child pornography from what started as a simple joke or a consensual relationship. No one is more distressed than I am to have to bring this up, but I wouldn’t be a good guardian if I didn’t.”

  He stared at me, his expression growing more disturbed as I’d continued talking. His hands clenched and unclenched and it looked as if he was fighting the urge to covers his ears. “Please stop talking. I’m begging you.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t torment him for too long without breaking. His face was always so earnest. The child didn’t have a jaded bone in his body.

  “I’m screwing with you, Benj. I know you’re not stupid enough to do something that would leave that much evidence. Plus, you can’t even talk about sex, so I’m positive you’re not sticking a camera down your pants.”

  He stomped out of the room as much as his gangly legs would stomp.

  “Dinner in thirty minutes?” I called after him.

  Ben walked back into the kitchen, clearly still annoyed with me. “If you stop saying embarrassing things, I will order pizza so you don’t have to try to cook tonight.”

  “You’re a giver, Ben. And don’t try to act like it’s some big favor to me. You’ll order some whole wheat crust thing with organic tomato sauce and locally sourced vegetables and try to pass it off as a real pizza. Also, then you don’t have to try to eat anything I’ve made.”

  He laughed. I guess I was forgiven for my earlier mention of sex and genitalia. Another wonderful thing about my baby brother was he didn’t hold a grudge. Although I was pretty sure some therapist was going to end up making big bucks off him when he was in his thirties. No one was that together, especially not a teenage boy.

  “I’ll order a real pizza too. One with lots of pepperoni so you can get your daily grease allowance.”

  “And that’s why I love you, Ben. You know me and you don’t try to change me,” I said.

  While I emptied the dishwasher, he picked up the menu from our favorite Italian restaurant, run by a real Italian family and serving authentic food, and perused it casually. Too casually. I continued the kitchen task, one of the few I couldn’t screw up, and waited for him to spill what was bothering him. Ben was a talker. He couldn’t let silence be unless there was a movie on and then woe to the idiot who talked during dialogue—even movies he’d seen dozens of times before. He flipped the short menu over in his hands a few times too many, cutting his eyes over to me with every flip.

  “What’s going on with the Horowitzes, Will?”

  My stomach clenched. How did he know anything was going on with them? I looked up, hoping my face was as blank as I wanted it to be. “What do you mean? Is something going on with them?”

  “Fine. No pepperoni for you then.” He put the menu down on the counter and shoved his phone back into this pocket. He was annoyed and was going to attempt to blackmail me with pizza. As if I didn’t have my own phone and the ability to call the restaurant myself. I was planning to make spaghetti, the only
thing I could make with any consistency, anyway, so the joke was on him.

  “Clearly you think something’s going on. Would you like to tell me why and I can look into it?”

  “I see stuff. I’m not a kid, you know.”

  But he was a kid. I tried to remember what it had been like to be seventeen. It was only a decade ago that Michael and I were seniors in high school. I had dated a wrestler who hated Michael—not him personally, the mere fact of him. We had broken up because I refused to spend less time with my best friend. It had been such a big deal at the time and I barely remembered the guy’s name now.

  “Their granddaughter is in some trouble, that’s all, Ben. It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m helping them as much as I can.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  Ben had found a bone to shake and he wasn’t going to give it up.

  “Help me make dinner and I’ll tell you as much of it as I think you need to know, okay?” I pulled a box of pasta out of the cabinet and he took my lead and got out the ingredients for the sauce.

  “Are you going to be okay with meat, sport?” I asked, knowing he’d try to pawn off some kind of meatless substitute. “I mean real meat, Ben.”

  “How about ground turkey?”

  It was the best I was going to get so I nodded and he grabbed a package of thawed organic, low-fat ground turkey from the fridge. The fact that it was already thawed tipped me off that he hadn’t really planned to call for pizza. The little monkey.

  I dropped a dollop of butter into the sauce pan and inhaled the rich, creamy scent as it sizzled and melted. I drizzled in some olive oil and mixed the two before adding the clove of garlic Ben had just chopped. I had about thirty seconds before I needed to add the meat so I busied myself opening the can of tomato sauce—also organic, naturally—and rehearsed the information I was willing to give Ben and the information that I would allow him to pry out of me.

  I placed the meat in the pan and allowed it to brown, a process that took no longer than two minutes. I was out of time and had no idea how much information was too much, so I decided to let him in on the whole deal.

  I dumped the can of tomato sauce into the pan and lowered the heat on the burner, giving the whole mixture a few swirls.

  “Violet had been living with a guy who wasn’t treating her very well. He’d been verbally and physically abusing her.”

  Ben’s eyes widened.

  “The Horowitzes asked me to help her move out when they realized Dad was on vacation. Long story short, Violet wasn’t there but the boyfriend was.”

  “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  My sweet baby brother.

  “No, Benjy. He was dead.”

  “She killed him?” Ben asked. It was clear I had blown his suburban teen mind.

  I shook my head, resisting the urge to laugh. “Also no. She’s not the kind of girl who could do something like that.”

  “How did he … what had … ?”

  “He was shot.”

  His eyes widened and I turned back to the sauce. He needed a moment. And if this didn’t push him back to the safety of his computers, we were all in for a long haul. It also gave me a moment to think. Seth was a great shot. Even before he joined the Army, in fact. He could have easily gotten that placement, at that angle, from that distance. After the ugliness at the garage I wasn’t having a hard time imagining him doing anything anymore.

  “Were you scared?” Ben’s voice had gone quiet and low.

  I kept my back to him and stirred. “No, not scared. Wary. Unnerved. Annoyed. Which sounds awful, I know, but I hadn’t wanted to help anyway and suddenly I had a murder on my hands.”

  “And it was a murder? He didn’t, you know, off himself?”

  Off himself. The words sounded so alien out of his man-child mouth. I turned to look him in the eye.

  “No. He was shot twice in the torso. And I got to find him because Dad’s a PI and I was a cop. I was there because the Horowitzes looked to me to help them in a situation they were unprepared for. That’s what this job is like, Ben. You do not see people at the high points in their life.”

  He nodded and swallowed, hard. “Maybe I should put the pasta in the water now.”

  I saw that it was boiling rapidly, large bubbles rushing to the surface and exploding. I nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  We finished up the dinner prep in silence. I used the rote activity to think about Seth’s possible involvement with Joe Reagan’s murder. I was content to eat in silence too, but Ben, thinking he was changing the subject, wanted to chat.

  “So when Seth was here … I know you said it was complicated … ”

  “Yeah.” If complicated was code for I have no idea who Seth ever was and he is possibly a double murderer, sure. It was complicated.

  “And I really don’t want to know anything else but … here’s the thing. I’ve been kind of … hanging out with him.”

  I dropped my fork, the utensil glancing off the plate with a clunk and landing on the floor. My lungs burned. I took deep calming breaths that turned into choking on a mouthful of spaghetti I’d inhaled into my throat.

  While I coughed up the clot of pasta, Ben grabbed his plate and glass, going for refills. He ate like the food was going to be taken away from him at any moment.

  “I see.” I clenched my fists and then released them.

  “I mean, you were in Santa Fe with Leila and … and … Michael’s gone. We’ve kind of all been spending time together as families.”

  How had no one told me this? I’d been in touch while I was in Santa Fe for three months. I had texted or talked to Ben every damn day. I wasn’t immature enough to be pissed about being replaced or anything, but I was annoyed that no one had told me.

  “And I just thought that maybe Seth had given you something for me. A game.”

  I nodded like that made sense. “A game you’ve been playing with Seth?” I felt like I was behind on a TV show that had aired new episodes without advertising them.

  “Yeah, a computer game. It’s called Hearts of Iron. I mean, no, not Seth. I’ve been playing it with the Colonel.”

  More nodding. I was starting to feel like one of Dad’s bobble heads.

  “I mean, it’s no big deal. I can just get it from him this weekend when I see him. We’re going for pizza on Saturday night.”

  “Seth or the Colonel?”

  “Duh. Seth. I don’t even think the Colonel likes pizza.” He attacked the food piled on his plate without giving me another look. Which was good because I was pretty sure I wasn’t able to hide my shock and horror.

  There was no turning back now. I had to find out what Seth was up to before something happened to my baby brother. I had no idea how to stop Ben from seeing him, but Seth was going to have to walk over my cold, rotting corpse to imbed himself any further in my brother’s life.

  Chapter

  11

  I scrounged through my nightstand. Whatever I couldn’t find a place for got dumped into the drawer over the years, so it was awash with useless crap. But I knew the item I was looking for was in there. I remembered the moment I had dropped the key in, a single metal W attached (really an M for Michael but I had pointed out to little humor that an M was just an upsidedown W), sure I would never need it. I doubted when Michael gave it to me “for emergencies,” he imagined this was the occasion I would haul it back out for. Maybe he thought I’d need to fetch something of his from the apartment he shared with his brother while he was out of the country, I don’t know. I know I hadn’t imagined this, but with the key, I was merely entering a home I had been granted unfettered legal access to. That was the argument I planned to use if I somehow got caught in Seth’s home. At least, by someone other than Seth, because I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to sell that story to him. And if I did get caught by Seth, well … th
at was a bridge I’d cross if I got to it. Either way I wasn’t letting some hurt feelings stop me. He’d made a big mistake getting Ben involved.

  I caught sight of the key through an empty CD case and dove my hand underneath to grab it, promptly jamming a golf tee beneath my middle fingernail. A few colorful curses later, I had the key in my other hand wondering why the hell I had a golf tee. I set my alarm for way too early and tried to get some sleep. I had a busy day ahead of me enacting a halfway decent plan to stake out and then search Seth’s place.

  The best place for a stakeout? Apartment building parking lot. The worst place for a stakeout? Same apartment building parking lot at rush hour. I made sure I was in an inconspicuous spot with plenty of time to spare before I could reasonably assume Seth would be off to work. And then I waited and tried not to nod off and waited some more. I had no idea what time the garage opened (Andrews Motorcycle didn’t have a website), so I was out the door before Ben’s bus came for the second morning in a row. That gave me tons of time to cool my heels and obsess over my crappy plan and how Seth was involved with Reagan’s murder and what the hell had happened to him that he would even think about his brother’s death like he had yesterday, let alone say it, and wondering how I could have been so wrong about him for so long and how holidays were going to be super awkward if I put my dad’s best friend’s son in prison.

  That killed more time than it should have and I practiced looking busy and professional and not like a stalker when the denizens of the Edgecombe community all swept out of their apartment doors and into the lot at seven. Pavlov would have been proud.

  As the cars on either side of mine were unlocked and entered, I feigned looking in my bag for some unknown yet essential item. When the lot cleared considerably I felt more exposed. It also gave me a better look at the vehicles I had as options for Seth. While I was certain he’d be on a motorcycle it wasn’t out of the question that he might still have Michael’s car too. I didn’t have a key for that but I didn’t think he’d leave anything too incriminating in something so easily searched if he got pulled over.