by S. E. Green
An audio file sits open on her screen and I read the description: Phone call with Mom’s high school boyfriend.
Wow, look at Daisy tracking down stuff I’ve never even thought of.
I press play.
Daisy: Hi, I’m Daisy and I’m the daughter of Suzie Cameron.
Old boyfriend: *silence*. Wow, that’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.
Daisy: I’m not sure if you know, but she passed away.
Old boyfriend: No… I hadn’t heard. I’m so sorry.
Daisy: Thank you.
Old boyfriend: How can I help you?
Daisy: I’m putting together memory books for my sister and brother and was hoping you’d tell me what she was like in high school.
Old boyfriend: Well, she was driven. Focused. She always got what she wanted.
Daisy: Is that how she got you?
Old boyfriend: *laughter*. I wish. I was more of a prop on her arm. Something she thought she needed.
Daisy: You mean like to look normal?
Old boyfriend: Huh, never thought of it that way, but yeah. Probably.
Daisy: I’m sorry for the question I’m about to ask, but did she ever cheat on you?
Old boyfriend: This is about more than memory books, isn’t it?
Daisy: Yes, but I hope you’ll still talk to me.
Old boyfriend: Cheating… I never actually caught her, but I sensed there was someone or something else that occupied her time.
Daisy: What do you mean something else?
Old boyfriend: Not sure. Again, just a feeling I always had.
Daisy: Anything else you can tell me?
Old boyfriend: Just that she was a great girl. We dated about a year and we always had fun. Your mom was adventurous. She was a true gift to this world. You should focus on that and not anything else.
Daisy: Great, thank you for your time.
Old boyfriend: Oh, wait a minute. Whatever happened to her older sister?
Daisy: *silence*. She had a sister?
Old boyfriend: Yeah, her name was Marji. She was a weird one, but Suzie sure liked her, so I rolled with it. The three of us hung out quite often.
Daisy: To be honest with you, I didn’t know my mom had a sister. Thank you for the information.
They end the call, and all I can think is, Shit, she knows about Aunt Marji.
Aunt Marji, another demented relative.
Aunt Marji, who made me harm animals.
Aunt Marji, who kidnapped and tortured people.
Aunt Marji, my first pre-meditated kill.
11
Downstairs Victor’s on the phone. I didn’t realize he’d come home. Whoever he’s talking to is on speaker.
A man says, “Yesterday there was a body found in Alexandria—woman, early twenties, who had sliced into her own neck. The poor son woke up from a nap and found her. Apparent suicide.”
Woman in her twenties, a lot of blood, suicide. This must be what I overheard those two cops talking about at the courthouse.
Victor says, “Not to be rude, but what does this have to do with me?”
The man clears his throat. “We’ve now had a chance to dissect the scene and there was some blood found that didn’t belong to the victim.”
The questionable evidence.
Victor says, “Okay, and?”
“It belonged to your wife.”
Silence.
From my spot on the stairwell, my body sways, and I grab onto the banister to keep upright.
“The sample is degraded,” the man says, “but it’s a match.”
Victor clears his throat. “Degraded as in…?”
“As in old. One of the tech’s found it in a nearby closet. They’re estimating that it’s been there forty years.”
More silence.
I hold my breath, waiting to hear what’s said next, and as I do my heart picks up pace to the point it slashes through my body. Pressing the palm of my right hand into my chest, I make myself exhale, inhale, exhale…
Again, Victor clears his throat. “To be clear, my wife would have been five years old forty years ago.”
“Yes, I know. Also, I did some digging and forty years ago the exact same suicide occurred in that house. A woman had sliced her own neck and the child was the one who found her.”
More silence. “What’s the address?”
The man rattles it off, and I make a mental note. Victor rushes out of the house, not even seeing me on the stairwell, and for several minutes, I don’t move.
Forty years ago a woman killed herself. Fast forward and the exact same suicide occurs in the exact same house. Both women found by their children.
Why would Mom’s DNA be in this place?
My phone buzzes with a text from Victor: I HAD AN EMERGENCY COME UP. CAN YOU PICK UP JUSTIN FROM AIKIDO?
For one brief second, I consider ignoring the text. I’d much rather be racing to Alexandria and the address Victor is currently headed to. But the truth is, there’s nothing I can do there but hide in the shadows and watch. There’s no way I’d get inside that house.
Plus, haven’t I been reminding myself that family comes first?
YES, I type back.
12
Ten minutes later, I pull into the building where Justin and I both take Aikido lessons. Daisy did, too, for a while but eventually lost interest.
Dressed in his hakama, Justin is already outside waiting and it strikes me as odd. He normally hangs out inside after class is over.
He catches sight of my Jeep, and with a sigh, he pushes away from the brick building and trudges over. Opening the door, he takes the one step up and swings inside. Without looking at me, he shuts the door, props his elbow in the sill, and looks at the Aikido building. Through the front windows, another class has already begun.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Fine.”
Tilting forward, I get a good look at his face and specifically the bruise on his chin. I’ve had my fair share of bruises from Aikido class and so it’s not unusual to see an occasional one on Justin. Still, I ask, “You give as good as you got there?”
“Mm, hm.”
I keep staring at his dark hair and the side of his face. There’s no mistake he’s Victor’s son. Justin is most definitely a mini-Victor.
Finally, he looks over at me. “We going or what?”
I keep looking at him for another beat or two. “Yeah, we’re going.” I put my Jeep in gear and pull away.
A few small months ago this wouldn’t have been him. We’d be talking, or rather he’d be talking about all kinds of stuff.
I drive a few blocks, my brain cycling with conversation starters. Odd, I’ve never struggled to talk to Justin. I glance over at him again. His hair rustles in the chilly breeze coming in the cracked window as he watches the trees, cars, and buildings go by.
“How about I come to your next class?” I suggest.
He glances over. “Why?”
“Because I want to.”
“Um…I don’t think so.”
I downshift. “Why is that?”
He shrugs. “Because…because I said so.”
With a nod, I turn on my blinker. “Okay, I respect that.”
Yeah, no I don’t. Something is up, and I’m going to find out what.
13
With Justin home from Aikido and in the shower, I’m in Victor’s office using his computer. I dig around, searching for anything on the forty-year-ago suicide.
But other than the facts I already know, I get nothing.
Is it some weird kismet that the same exact suicide would occur forty years later in the exact same house? Maybe, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to listen to my gut instinct. And my gut says something is up.
On the screen of Victor’s computer is the old newspaper article from forty years ago. Gloria Michaels was the woman’s name. The young daughter found her, though her name isn’t listed.
I stare at the small print of th
e equally small article, and something niggles away at my memory—like I’ve seen this exact article before, though I can’t quite place where.
With the degraded DNA sample of my mother, Victor’s going to be interested in the house and its history. He could very well tap into the FBI’s resources for this. Though that would have to be on the down low. I don’t imagine the FBI will give Victor official approval for some degraded DNA.
Either way, dots are to be connected. Why would Mom’s blood be in this house? How is it that two suicides occurred exactly forty years apart in the same place? Whoever is investigating this will be interested in the recent suicide and if there was foul play. That’s fine because I’m more interested in Mom’s blood.
Mom’s past.
I never met her parents, my grandparents. They died in a car accident before I was born and when Mom was in her early twenties—at least that’s what she told us. Who the hell knows if that is the truth? Because she never told us about her sister, Aunt Marji, either.
Does Victor know something I don’t? Maybe. He knew about Marji. Or at least he had met her a few times and he didn’t like her. Does he know Marji and Mom were sisters? I’m not sure. He’s never said. When he and I spoke about Marji, he knew her as Mom’s childhood friend.
He certainly doesn’t know they were both serial killers.
Everything about my mom is buried deep.
Mom’s past. Justin. Daisy. Rachelle Gentry. School. Work. Tommy. Victor. These are all the things that need my attention. It’s a lot to juggle, but I can manage all the moving parts. I like marking things off my “To Do” list.
Rachelle Gentry will be the easiest. I’ll quickly mark her off. It’ll give me a sense of accomplishment.
Through the walls of Victor’s office, I hear the front door open. It’s a bit past eight and likely Daisy. Grabbing my notes, I shut down Victor’s computer and emerge.
From the kitchen, Daisy glances over. “What are you doing here?”
“Dad had a work emergency and asked me to pick up Justin. Speaking of, do you think he’s being bullied?”
My sister gives that some thought. “Maybe, it might explain his attitude. Why, what are you thinking?”
“He’s got a fresh bruise on his chin, and he’s sulking. It reminds me of that eighteen-year-old guy who was bullying Justin and a bunch of his friends a couple of years ago.” Granted I tracked the guy down and taught him my version of a lesson, but still.
“Okay.” Daisy nods. “Let’s both keep an eye out.”
She dishes up cold spaghetti and takes a couple of hungry bites. Her recent research into Mom’s past trickles back in and I debate whether to tell her about Aunt Marji. If I do, maybe it’ll show her she can share things with me, too.
With a mouth full of meat and noodles, she glances up. “What?”
She might find the timing coincidental, but I forge ahead anyway. “I want you to know that Mom had a sister. Her name was Marji. I found out about her after Mom died. She sent us a condolence card.”
Daisy swallows. “What the hell? Why are you just now telling me about her?”
Because I know you know. “Because I went to see her, and she was awful. I didn’t want you and Justin to ever meet her.”
“Where does she live?”
“Richmond,” I say. “Or at least she did. I believe she moved.” Or rather was killed—by me. “I drove by her house months ago and there was a For Sale sign in her yard.”
“Wow.” Daisy puts the Tupperware bowl on the counter.
“Yeah.” I wait, hoping she’ll share and not suspect I was digging into her laptop.
She sighs. “Well, you should know I talked to Mom’s high school boyfriend. He actually mentioned Marji, so I already knew. Or actually, I just found out. I was going to tell you.”
“Sure, yeah.” Shifting, I prop my hip against the counter. “Did the boyfriend mention anything else?”
“Just that Mom was a great girl and that Marji was a weird one. Also, he thought Mom had something else going on.”
“What do you mean?”
Daisy shakes her head. “No clue, it was just a feeling he had.”
With a nod, I give the space between us time to breathe, waiting to see if there’s anything else she wants to divulge. She now knows Seth, my real father, is her real father. And she now knows Mom had a secret sister, Marji.
It’s a lot.
My gut tells me she’s not giving up. Daisy wants more. Yet in this moment I’m not sure what else to share. I decide on Seth. With a glance over my shoulder to make sure Justin is still upstairs, I say, “Would you like to know everything I know about our real father?”
With a relieved breath, she nods.
I place my folder of printed research from Victor’s computer on the counter, and I grab a fork. We both jump up on the kitchen island, and with the spaghetti between us, I twirl up a bite. “Our father died of colon cancer. He was raised by a preacher and his wife. The preacher, our grandfather, was not a nice man. He horribly abused our grandmother. She committed suicide.”
Daisy doesn’t even react, as if she already knows some stuff. “And our grandfather?” she asks.
“Mom told me Seth was defending our grandmother and accidentally killed our grandfather.” That’s partly true. Mom told me Seth was defending his brother, our uncle and The Decapitator, but our uncle is a fictitious person the whole world thinks is a serial killer.
When in reality, The Decapitator is, of course, Mom.
My sister reaches in the Tupperware, picks out a chunk of tomato, and puts it in her mouth. “An uncle who was a serial killer. A grandfather who was abusive. And a father who killed his father defending his mother who committed suicide. That’s some legacy we have.”
“Hm.”
“So what about Seth?”
“Mom told me they met in the Marines. She said he had a good sense of humor but was also stoic. She said he didn’t want anything to do with me and signed over parental rights to Victor.”
“And me?”
Like Daisy, I find a chunk of tomato and put it in my mouth. “Honestly, I’m not even sure he knew you were his. I found the DNA paperwork hidden in a lockbox. He and Mom probably fooled around behind Victor’s back. She got pregnant and told Victor you were his.”
Gripping the sides of the counter, Daisy looks down at the tile floor. I wait to see what she’ll say, but nothing comes.
“Daisy, it’s a lot. I wish I could tell you not to think about it, but it’s there. When I found out, it was all I could think about. I didn’t want you to know. I wanted to protect you. I hope you understand.”
She nods. “You’re being a protective big sister. I get it.”
Reaching across the small space, I gently squeeze her shoulder. “Just don’t shut me out. Talk to me, okay? No matter what you find, talk to me.”
She glances over. “You knew I talked to Mom’s old high school boyfriend, didn’t you?”
If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s lying, but now is not the time. “Yes, I went on your computer. I knew you were digging for information. I did, too, when I first found out.”
“Is there more?” she asks.
The front door opens, and Victor walks in.
She lowers her voice. “Is there?”
I nod toward Victor, lowering my voice, too. “Yes, we’ll talk later.”
Victor tosses his keys onto the dining room table and crosses into the kitchen. He comes to an abrupt stop when he sees us sitting side by side on the counter sharing spaghetti.
Daisy says, “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, girls.”
I study his expression, trying to get a read, but he looks normal. Not tired, worn out, confused, or anything else. Maybe he’s already figured out the degraded DNA sample and there’s a logical reason it was there.
But probably not.
He holds up a finger. “Lane, I got you something.” He disappears into his office and comes back holding a
white zipper pouch. “They’re noise canceling headphones. With your loud roommate, I figured they’d help.”
I love Victor. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Sure thing.” He places them on the counter next to the folder with the printed research. “What’s this?”
“I used your computer to print off things for school,” I say.
With a nod, he grabs a fork and dives into the spaghetti, too.
And together the three of us talk and share spaghetti, like we’re just a normal family and not keeping secrets from each other.
14
Rachelle Gentry. It’s out of my way, but I’ll drive by her mobile home before going back to the dorms. At this time of night, it only takes me thirty minutes to get there. It’ll take me thirty more to get back to the dorms, which is perfect because then my roommate will be fast asleep and I’ll avoid all conversation with her.
Unless I can talk Tommy into another sleepover. I’m driving and so I send him a quick voice text: ANY INTEREST IN ANOTHER SLEEPOVER?
As I wait for his response, I bring up Daisy’s name, surprised to find she hasn’t texted me. With my parting words, I thought for sure she would. Interesting.
My phone buzzes with Tommy’s response: CAN’T. BUSY TONIGHT.
OK, I voice text back. Now most girls would probably dive down a paranoid slope of Is he cheating on me? Why is he busy? Why doesn’t he want to see me? Luckily, my mind doesn’t do those things. I am honestly cool with him doing his thing, me doing my thing, and us doing stuff together.
It’s all good.
Rachelle Gentry is on my list of things to do. I was going to wait, figure out her patterns, plot, plan, then deliver her to the BDAP. But with the repeat suicides and Mom’s degraded DNA, I’m now more in the mood to get her off of my “List of things to do”.
Tonight is not the night, but I do want to do another drive by. And in an intriguing way, I’m now thinking that I want her to see me again. I want her to feel as if something is coming. Perhaps it’s because of her cocky attitude with me when she and I met.
