There’s something under the transcripts. A smaller white envelope. I rip it open and pull out a newspaper clipping with a sticky note on top that says “This is the guy.”
I look to Weathers for an explanation. “That big-nosed cop demanded I give that to you. I asked him for one small favor in faking your death, and now he thinks he can get me to do whatever he wants.”
I pull off the note. Underneath the headline “Clairmont Killer Caught” is a mug shot. Of a man. Elton. “Oh my God,” I whisper. He snuck up behind all those girls and used his cane to beat them to death. He killed two more after I left. Four girls dead. I rub my hand over my leg. I touched that cane.
Under the mug shot is another picture. An altar in the back of his station wagon. In the carefully displayed collection are a Northside sweatshirt, a stuffed bunny, a tiny diamond nose stud, and a name tag that says KAYLA.
I’m going to be sick.
Weathers leans in to look over my shoulder. “Yep,” he says. “That’s totally a serial killer. How many bodies had to pile up before Big Nose figured it out?” He’s getting cocky again. But I don’t have to take a swing at him. Teddy does it for me.
He comes barreling into the hospital room with his fist already in motion. “You son of a bitch!” His hand smashes into Weathers’s face, sending him down to the shiny floor. “You used a kid again! She got shot. What the hell were you thinking?” He’s ready to swing again. Weathers glares up at me.
“Stop,” I say. Teddy doesn’t hear. Weathers’s head slams into the linoleum from the force of Teddy’s fist.
I sigh. “Teddy, stop,” I say loud enough to send a shock wave of pain through my upper body. But he doesn’t snap out of it until Football Player runs into the room and pulls him off Weathers.
Weathers touches his bleeding lip. “Tell him,” he snarls at me.
I try to sit up, but the pain forces me down again. “It was my idea,” I say to the ceiling. “We had to get the Koi to come out into the open. Weathers broadcasted a message that I was still alive. We knew the Koi wouldn’t be able to resist coming after me.”
I had to finish it. Weathers was going to get even more people killed hunting down the Koi. This wasn’t about my life or safety. It was about all those future children. The future Jordans. The future Kaylas.
“You can’t make that decision, Betsy. You’re a child.” Teddy turns to Weathers. “Children are supposed to be protected.” Football Player steps forward and places a hand on Teddy’s chest to hold him back.
“Betsy is a child,” I say. Teddy’s attention focuses on me. “Kayla turned eighteen weeks ago.”
“But…,” Teddy says.
“Until now”—I hold up the envelope—“I was still legally Kayla. It was my choice. My decision.”
Teddy deflates. Football Player glances out into the hallway. “We need to go.”
Weathers stands up and produces a handkerchief from the pocket of his suit coat. He dabs his lip. “Just so you know, I had a nice home picked out for the little girl. An agent and his wife in Los Angeles. She would have had everything. She would have been loved.”
It’s too much for Teddy. He grabs Weathers by the lapels and slams him into the wall. “I’m going to be watching you,” he growls. “I’ve got the pictures that prove you were responsible for that girl’s death.” He’s bluffing. The pictures are still in Marie’s wall, but Weathers doesn’t know that. “If you ever go near a kid again, I’m sending those pictures out to the media, the FBI, and the Justice Department.” He smiles. “Maybe you and the Koi can be cellmates.”
Weathers blanches. Teddy lets go. Football Player, who’s been standing back watching, takes Weathers by the arm and steadies him on his feet. He nods respectfully at Teddy.
They leave as loud, determined footsteps echo in the hallway outside.
“I told her you tripped taking out the trash and hit your head. A neighbor saw you and called 911,” Teddy says, and hides my envelopes behind his back.
Mom peeks around the doorway. When she sees Teddy, she looks relieved. “I had the hardest time finding you. After I talked to the doctor, the nurse took me to the wrong room.”
Her relief goes away when she sees me. “Betsy! What happened?”
I shrug and instantly regret it when the pain flares up so much I see stars. “I guess I’m a klutz.”
She doesn’t believe me. “You broke two ribs and got a concussion taking out the trash?”
“I’m a superklutz?”
She backs off. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. The doctor said you need to take it easy for a few weeks, but soon, you’ll be good as new.”
“How was your date?” I ask to take her focus off me.
Teddy blushes and looks down at his feet. Mom can’t help but smile. That tells me everything I need to know.
“I’m glad,” I say. Teddy isn’t touchy-feely, but I reach out for his hand. “I’ve kind of gotten used to you.”
—
Manny has learned how to smile. He gives me a big gummy one when I walk through the front door of the mobile home. Happy deposits him in my arms and makes my still-sore ribs twinge. She flops down on the couch. “I don’t know if I’m more bored or more tired,” she says, and flips off the TV. “I actually wish I was at school.” She didn’t go back after the baby was born. In the fall, she’ll transfer to a school in El Paso where she can take Manny and they’ll help her graduate. I’ll miss her.
Happy points to my head. “I like your hair.” It’s still dark and short, but it’s professionally cut. Mom and I went shopping and bought new clothes, too. I still have to wear shirts that go up to my neck, but we found a bunch of cute things. Today, I have on a pink top and a black skirt. Tomorrow, I might wear holey jeans and a T-shirt. I’m still trying to figure out who Betsy is.
A polite knock on the door rouses Happy from the couch. She looks at me with concern. No one ever knocks. They just walk in.
Happy opens the door. Out of reflex, I turn my body to shield the baby against whoever might be out there.
“Um, it’s for you,” she says. She scoops Manny up. “We’re going to take a nap.” She disappears into the bedroom.
I hesitantly make my way to the door. Adrian stands on the other side of it. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you coming in?” I ask.
His body practically vibrates with nerves. “Maybe you should come out.” He glances over my shoulder to the hallway where Happy hovers, smiling at us. When I turn, she dashes back into the bedroom.
I step out and the rickety door slams behind me. Adrian’s gaze moves from my face down to the spot over my heart where my hidden tattoo lies.
He lifts his eyes. “Teddy told me what happened to you. What happened before and”—he points to my ribs—“what you did that got you hurt.”
“I’m sorry,” I say too fast, like if it doesn’t come out now, it never will. “I’m sorry about everything.”
“Stop,” he says. “I’m not here for an apology. I don’t accept it. Not now, maybe not ever.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “I deserve that.” Still, part of my newly mended heart breaks.
“I’m here to tell you that I get it. If something happened to Rosie, I wouldn’t rest until the bastard was dead.” He digs his toes into the earth. “I got rid of my carp. Happy’s is gone too. I told her that it was covered in lead paint and would make the baby sick.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He’s silent for so long that I’m afraid he’s done. That he’s going to march away and never speak to me again.
“Can we start over?” I plead. “You don’t have to like me, but give me a chance to prove I’m different. That the girl from before is gone now.”
He’s hesitant, but he nods. I stick out my hand. “Hi, I’m Betsy Hopewood.”
Adrian’s brown eyes flash, like maybe he’s suppressing a smile. He takes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Betsy.”
Over his shoulder, I catch a reflection in the window of the m
obile home. I see a girl staring back at me. A girl who’s been scarred and battered and hurt. A girl who will have to relearn how to trust and love. A girl who will get up and try again.
I see Betsy.
I see me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
You would not be holding this book if it weren’t for Stacey Trombley, Brenda Drake, and Pitch Wars. Stacey, thank you for picking me and for putting your time and thoughtfulness into this story. Brenda, you have made so many dreams come true. I am in your debt.
Thank you to my kick-ass agent, Rachel Brooks, for her enthusiasm and guidance.
A huge thank you goes to my editor, Krista Vitola, for believing in this book from the start and for loving M&M’s as much as I do.
To everyone at Delacorte Press who worked to make this book a reality, words cannot express my gratitude.
I am also eternally grateful to Bonnie Bryant for reading everything I foist upon her and for being my biggest cheerleader. And to Kelly Darnell who was an early beta reader.
Thank you to Bonnie Hearn Hill for believing so strongly in me when I first began walking down this path. And to Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen for all the aha moments and for being a role model for writers everywhere.
I would have never made it without the support and friendship of the 2017 Debuts. Thanks, guys. Here’s to many more books.
To the Pitch Wars class of 2015: We fought a battle together. I wish you all great success.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amanda Searcy has a BA from New Mexico State University and an MA in human rights from the University of Essex in England. She works in collection development for a public library system and loves chocolate, cats, and curling up with a good book. She lives in New Mexico. Visit her online at amandasearcybooks.com and follow @aesearcy on Twitter.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
* * *
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.
The Truth Beneath the Lies Page 25
