All Good Deeds (A Lucy Kendall Thriller) (Lucy Kendall #1) (The Lucy Kendall Series)

by Stacy Green

  “Jesus!” I braced my hand on the dash. “Get a grip right now. This thing says we’re five miles away, so we need to pull over and collect ourselves. We need a plan. We can’t just go barreling in the front door.”

  “Why not?” He eased off the accelerator.

  “You realize you’re going back into the lion’s den of your memory, right? You don’t know how you’re going to react when you see that barn, or the house, and God knows what you’ll remember. If you break down, I can’t handle Martha on my own. Not without some kind of distraction. Translation: we need a plan, and I’m in charge.”

  He scowled and pulled the car over. “Fine. What is the plan?”

  “If you can keep it together, you go to the front door and knock. Let’s pray she won’t recognize you. Say you’re broken down and your cell reception sucks. Anything to get in the house. While you’re doing that, I’ll check the barn. If I don’t see anything, I’ll come around to the back door and find a way inside. Put your phone on silent. If I can’t get inside, I’ll text you.”

  “What if you find Kailey in the barn?”

  “I’ll send two texts.”

  “What am I supposed to say to her?” He shouted the words.

  I laid my hand on his arm. “Relax. I just told you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Just keep her occupied. Try not to say anything about yourself or Kailey until you hear from me.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “I know it won’t be. And if you can’t do this, it’s okay. I’ll figure out plan B.” That was bullshit. Plan B would be calling the police. I was out of my element, with little preparation and in an unfamiliar place. If Chris couldn’t perform, I’d make sure we’d found Martha and call Todd.

  “I can handle it.”

  He put the car back in gear and pulled onto the road. That’s when I realized how truly isolated we were; no one had passed while we idled on the shoulder, and no one lingered behind us now. The road quickly turned to gravel, cutting through a woody countryside. The fat clouds still hovered overhead, but they’d become a more ominous gray, almost as though they were sucking up the dead grasses and fields.

  I stared as one cloud grew larger, billowing into a brilliant haze until it pulsated like a racing heart on the operating table.

  “Oh my God.” The words lodged in my throat as if I’d inhaled smoke. “That’s a fire.”

  33

  I once saw a fire department demonstration on how fast a fire can overtake a room. They’d set up a room of sorts, complete with Goodwill furniture and decor, on the lawn of a church hosting a community event. I don’t remember the exact dimensions of the room, but it was pretty standard size. And the fire turned deadly in exactly twenty-two seconds. The fire chief warned about the importance of smoke detectors, because with the right accelerant, a fire can double in size every thirty seconds.

  By the time we reached the farmhouse, long streaks of fire jetted out the busted windows, and the entire house was surrounded by black smoke. I called 911, but someone must have beat me to it, because the engines squealed past us not more than a minute later.

  We played the lost card, saying we were out for an afternoon tour after some stress in the city. Once they were sure we had nothing to do with starting the fire, the police told us to get lost and set up a perimeter while the firefighters fought the blaze.

  We drove a half mile down the road and watched.

  Neither of us spoke. Nothing to say. Nothing to do but wait. Everything–and anyone–in the house was lost, and the goal was stopping the fire from spreading to neighboring farms. The barn wasn’t on fire, and it didn’t look like anyone had been recovered from it.

  At some point, I called Todd. He yelled at me for several minutes and then said he’d call Lancaster County and put them on the lookout for the body of a young girl.

  “Maybe the house is empty,” I tried to say. I felt like I’d inhaled a roomful of smoke, although I’d barely been out of the car before Chris and I both decided heroism was no more than a death sentence.

  Sometime after seven, when the sun had rescinded and the blaze was finally ebbing, a dusty-looking SUV pulled up beside us. My heart sank into oblivion. The vehicle bore the Lancaster County Coroner’s logo. The passenger window slid down revealing an unshaven, pissed off looking Todd.

  “I didn’t expect to see you,” I said. “This isn’t your jurisdiction.”

  “I’ve got a friend at the Lancaster precinct. When I told him what was going on, he invited me out.”

  “Is it a kid?”

  He gave me single curt nod. “I got the call on the way from the city, caught the coroner as she was leaving. Place has been empty,” Todd said, “except for the occasional contractor’s truck. No one’s met the new owner, but the gossip is that he was from the city and working on the house.”

  “He?” Chris spoke for the first time in hours.

  “Lancaster P.D. said the only person ever spotted out here was a man,” Todd said. “But the owner is listed as female, age 56.”

  “I don’t even know my mother’s birthdate.”

  “We’re having trouble locating her birth certificate,” Todd said. “Everything we know about Mary Weston says that she was born poor, married off to your father young. She was in her early thirties when he was arrested, so the age fits.”

  “How many bodies are in the house?” I asked.

  “Two.” Todd’s dismal tone reflected my own sorrow. Whether it turned out to be Kailey in the house or not, people had died, burned to death. And one was a child. I’ll never understand the cruelty of life.

  Todd turned and said something to the driver, who I presumed was the coroner. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Everything became very hazy after that. Time stood still while Chris and I hung out on the fringes. The air reeked of burnt wood, and when the wind gusted just right, the rancid scent of pot roast that had been barbequed to a dry pulp on a charcoal grill.

  Todd mostly ignored us, talking alternately on his phone and with the local police. At times, his voice raised, and I wondered who he was arguing with.

  The coroner and a man I presumed was her assistant brought out the bodies one by one. The smaller one came first, tightly sealed in a shapeless, black body bag.

  Chris walked back to the car.

  I started to cry.

  Surely this was a dream. I was still in bed, never having brought Chris to see Kelly, my twisted mind only making up the details of the house and its owner. If it weren’t for the anguish coursing through me at the smallest movement, I might have actually convinced myself.

  Later, when I was in a weird haze, weaving like a drunk, Todd appeared in front of me.

  “What?” Chris had evidently returned at some point. My shoulders felt weighed down. I realized Chris’s black jacket was slung over them.

  “Two bodies,” Todd said. “One is definitely an adult, but it’s so damned burned up the coroner can’t tell gender. Fire inspector says it looks like the accelerant was dumped straight onto the body. And no, without an autopsy, we don’t know if the victim was alive or dead when the body caught fire. We’ll have to wait on dental records for an I.D.”

  “What about the child?” The words came out of my own mouth, but I couldn’t feel myself speaking. I wasn’t sure I could feel anything. The only real sense I had was sight, vivid and unrelenting. The house still smoking, its foundation littered with red embers; firemen hustling about, water still spraying; police lights flashing; Todd’s drawn, broken expression.

  “The child isn’t as badly burned. Believed to be a female between nine and twelve. Brown hair. Pink shoes.”

  Pink shoes.

  I felt more wetness on my lips. Chris’s arm came around my shoulders. Todd cleared his throat, his own eyes glistening. “Lots of little girls have pink shoes.”

  He sounded as empty as I felt.

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it? A child los
t her life.” I went back to the car and waited for Chris.

  34

  “Do you think she killed herself too?” Chris finally spoke when we were halfway back to the city.

  Sitting with my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the dark night rush by, I thought of nothing else but the smell of that little girl’s–Kailey’s–burning body.

  “No.”

  “Me either.”

  My mind was too trashed to reconstruct what Mother Mary had done, but no way had that woman killed herself. She’d managed to escape punishment for her crimes once and had been living an unsuspecting life. Justin had never truly stood up to her–she had no reason to believe he’d have any impact now. And if the accelerant had been dumped on the adult body like the fire inspector believed, the person either magically stumbled into a vat of gasoline or had it thrown on the body. My gut told me Mary had done the throwing, lit the match, and then took off.

  “You heard what Todd said about there being a man around here, working.”

  “A new man at her beck and call. She had a kid stashed here. But why burn the place now? How could she possibly know we were getting close?”

  Hell if I knew. “She took a child. Her stepson was on the case. Maybe she thinks Justin would eventually put Todd on her. Or maybe she figured the damage for Justin was done and decided to get rid of the evidence. Or maybe she’s just a cruel, paranoid bitch.”

  “We’ll get her, Luce. If I have to spend every dime I have tracking her down, I’ll find her.”

  “Oh shut up,” I said savagely. “Stop thinking about your own personal revenge and appreciate what’s happened here. A child is dead. Burned like a piece of fucking meat. A mother’s life is ruined.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you? Because all I hear is ‘I.’ All about how you’ll even your own score. Do you ever think that maybe the woman should be brought up on charges? That maybe killing’s too good for her?” I was screaming, the sound high and guttural, coming from some dark place inside me I’d kept it bottled. Now, it unleashed on Chris. “What about the victims’ families? The ones who think your mother’s innocent of killing their daughters? Don’t you think they should have the right to see her sentenced? What about Jenna? Doesn’t she have the right to confront Mother Mary face-to-face? Look what she’s done to her.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” His snort of laughter made me want to wrap my hands around his throat. “Do you know what a hypocrite you are?”

  “No. The men I’ve targeted were all pedophiles who somehow charmed the system. Given third, fourth, fifth chances. Released on mistrial.” I spit the words at him like snake venom. “But every kid–every family–got the right to face their accuser. My actions were never based on personal needs.”

  “Bullshit. Everything you’ve done is based on personal need.” His voice sounded as angry as I felt. “On personal failures. You feel guilty for not being able to help your sister. Convinced yourself that once you’d grown up, you’d save the children.” He took his eyes off the road to smirk at me. Pompous sonofabitch. “Only you get inside the system and see how things really work. It eats at you, gnawing at your guilt and your pride until you’re ready to explode. Then Justin gets out and you snap. Not for the children, but for yourself. To alleviate your own sense of hopelessness.”

  I hated him. Exhaustion and a tight seatbelt kept me from launching myself and pummeling his perfect face. “You know nothing about my choices. You’re an outsider, an arrogant, rich boy know-it-all, one of the saved kids who tried to tell himself he understood what the others had gone through, but the truth is, you don’t have a damned clue.” Spurned by hot self-righteousness, I twisted in my seat until I fully faced him and jammed my finger into his shoulder. “You got out. You don’t have the memories of Mother Mary that Justin has. Giving you to your uncle was the kindest thing she ever did.”

  Chris’s jaw clenched so tightly I half-expected his teeth to break and go flying into the dashboard. The wheel jerked to the side and the car careened off the pavement. Chris snapped it back onto the road.

  “You may be right. But you’re just as self-centered as I am, and you know it.”

  Something untamed boiled inside me–a rage I recognized. It was the same anger I summoned to attack chosen predators. The first time I felt it was when my sister’s molester showed up at our house and tried to put the moves on me while my mother went to the store. He reached for me, his slimy hand on my knee, and my sister’s voice screamed in my head. My baseball bat was in the corner; I’d been practicing with the neighbor kid earlier. Without thinking, I jumped up, grabbed the bat, and swung it as hard as I could.

  The long-simmering rage erupted, and had my mother not returned home, I’d have killed him. I glanced at the bag at my feet. The cyanide was in its container. Chris concentrated on the road, weaving through thick Philadelphia traffic. Rain had started sheeting down a while back. I could open the container and throw it on him before he could stop me. He might wreck us, but what did that matter? If I died, so what? I’d failed Kailey, just like my sister and Justin.

  But Chris hadn’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t done anything but point out the horribly painful truth I’d been trying to suppress.

  It was still raining when he pulled up to my building. I’d brooded in silence for the last half an hour, and I wasn’t ready to tell him he was right or admit defeat.

  “What about Kailey?” I asked. “Do you care at all that she’s probably gone? Or are you a sociopath after all?”

  He didn’t respond.

  I got out of the car, slammed the door, and let the icy rain drench me.

  35

  I didn’t have any more alcohol in the house. It was hard on my stomach, and I don’t have the willpower not to enjoy a glass of wine if it’s available. Wretchedness kept me from venturing into the rain and buying a bottle from the nearest convenience store.

  My sister had an open coffin. It was pink, lined with even pinker silk. My mother put Lily in a white dress she’d always hated. The long sleeves covered up the gashes on her wrists. The condition of her body terrified me. Not only was she stiff and cold, but her skin looked even more delicate and smooth than it had in life. Her cheeks were rosier than usual, her unfeeling lips curved up in a peaceful smile.

  A lie. She’d died in a horrible way, and here she was, looking happy to be dead. The funeral director had suggested a closed casket since seeing children can be especially hard, but my mother insisted mourners got to say goodbye. I’d always believed she wanted to have as much attention as possible.

  For years, I’d asked myself why Lily believed death was better than life. Why hadn’t she run away? Tried to tell an adult at school? Yelled until someone heard her? It was only as I got older and realized how truly traumatic sexual abuse was that I understood. Yet she must have had second thoughts in those final moments. As the blood drained from her body, had she panicked before losing consciousness? It didn’t look like she’d tried to stop the bleeding when I found her, with her arms spread evenly at her sides. But surely, she’d had at least a moment when she knew she’d made the wrong decision. Had she at least stopped to think about everything she was leaving behind? About who she left.

  She’d left me alone with our mother.

  I hated her for a long time.

  That’s really the crux of my guilt. Chris didn’t suddenly open my eyes. I’ve wrestled with that knowledge for most of my adult life.

  Chris had been right on the guilt factor, and that infuriated me. But my shame went deeper than not being able to save my sister or anyone else. I blamed her. Despite seeing her pain and watching her withdraw into herself, I blamed her for not doing what I thought she should have. I believed I would have handled things differently. I told myself I’d never have allowed him to touch me, and that if he did, it would have only happened once. Lily was scared and weak, and she took the easy way out, leaving me to pick up the pieces.

  I remember th
e exact moment I realized how selfish I’d been.

  My freshman year in college, I took a child psychology class and read an account of child abuse, both from the victim and the therapist. I finally understood the true impact of sexual abuse, the way it can mentally stunt a child’s ability to gain perspective over events in life and his or her decisions. My sister didn’t have a prayer.

  I didn’t sleep for two days. Then I went to church–the first and only time in years–and prayed to Lily for forgiveness. I don’t know if she granted it, but I know I’ve never forgiven myself. Everything that happened after that realization was just more acid in the wound.

  A stream of images assaulted me. Lily, before the devil showed up, and then after. My mother, resolutely looking the other way. Lily in her pink and white coffin.

  Kailey’s casket would be closed.

  The blinking of my phone jarred me back to the present. I’d forgotten to take it off vibrate, and the blue flash made my head hurt. Kelly’s number flashed on the screen.

  “Hey,” was the best greeting I could muster.

  “Chris called me. He was worried about you.”

  I didn’t voice my surprise or acknowledge the warm sensation creeping through me. “I’m okay.”

  “It might not be her, Luce.”

  “Even if it isn’t, it’s still somebody.”

  “Chris said Todd wasn’t giving up.”

  “Did he tell you Todd also had to inform Jenna Richardson?” I asked. “Because he had to ask for Kailey’s dental records?”

  “Yeah. But maybe…”

  “Right,” I repeated.

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  Kelly hated going outside, especially at night. The knowledge that she cared enough for me to do it finally broke the last of my reserve. I burst into tears.

  “I’ll take the bus and be there as soon as I can.”