After fifteen minutes of reading, and a fresh Irish coffee she now wishes had no coffee in it, Kimber rests the laptop on an ottoman and sinks back into the chair’s deep cushions. “How is any of this possible?”
“I’m sorry, Kimber. I couldn’t have been more surprised to find this stuff. It doesn’t sound like your dad was actually involved in the old man’s death.” Shaun leans forward and puts a hand firmly over hers. “I wish it wasn’t this complicated. This Kevin Merrill is serious trouble.”
“God, what about that old man? He left him to die. How does someone get so twisted?”
Troy looks from Shaun to Kimber. “Could this Kevin person’s family life have been more messed up? I mean he’s your brother—almost the same age as you. And you’ve got pictures of him with your dad.” He pats the photo album beside him on the couch. “Which means somehow your dad was in his life at the same time he was in yours. That’s crazy.”
Kimber puts her face in her hands, her mind racing with all the things she didn’t know for most of her life. Nothing is as she thought it was.
“I mean how does that even happen?” Troy sounds genuinely perplexed. “How could you and your mother and sister not know?”
Kimber looks up. “There wasn’t any reason to suspect anything. He traveled all the time. It wasn’t like now with pinging cell phones and GPS. It was easier to disappear.” She’d gone off by herself many times after her father left. There were hardly ever questions. Only once when she said she was spending the night at a girlfriend’s house had her mother called. Not to check up on her but to ask if she knew where she might have misplaced her own car keys.
Michelle had been no goody two-shoes. Kimber knew for a fact that she sometimes had gone to bars with a fake ID. It was one of the things Kimber once had on her. Leverage. “But what does it matter now?” Shaun and Troy’s interest in the past makes her uncomfortable. It could lead somewhere she doesn’t want them to go.
The two men exchange a look.
“I tracked down the birth records for Kevin Merrill. Your father was married to—”
“I know. What was her name? I can’t remember. Or maybe I don’t want to.” Her voice is harsher than she means it to sound.
Shaun reaches for the laptop. He types a moment. “Faye Wilson Merrill.”
“That’s right. Her name is in the bible.” Kimber’s voice is leaden. “So Faye and John and Kevin? That was my father’s other family. He had two families at the same time. He fooled us all.” The photo album is evidence of who her father was. Who he wasn’t.
“Why do you think your father came back here?” Shaun asks. “Can you guess?”
“To get away from his deadbeat son, obviously.” Troy picks up a cookie from the plate. “I mean his own son sets him up with a dead guy’s car, then takes off to hang out in a motel by the beach. So where was the mother?”
Shaun types some more. A couple of moments later, he says, “Died about fifteen years ago.”
Hearing this, Kimber wonders about the woman’s thin features, the shadows beneath her eyes in the last few photos in the album. Still, she and John Merrill looked happy. It hurts that her father was so happy without her.
Troy says, “Your mom remarried, right? Nobody even knew your father moved back here. If you’re interested, I think I really know why he returned.”
She’s heard him, but another thought has begun to form in her head. A thought about her father and what he knew. She tightens her jaw, refusing to let it go any further. It’s not possible.
“Okay, tell us.” Shaun leans forward.
Troy gives them a smug smile. “It has to be the money, right? Neither the family nor the cops ever came up with the old man’s money. I think maybe your dad had it all along. Maybe he was hiding it for your brother while he was”—Kimber tenses at the word “brother”—“in prison and decided not to give it back, because Kevin is obviously a dick. Your father bought the house, right? Maybe Kevin was looking for the money, except the house is the money.”
“But the cops would definitely have been keeping an eye on him,” Shaun says. “An expenditure like that would raise eyebrows.”
“We’re in a whole different state. He was using a different name.”
“My dad never liked banks. He always paid cash for everything. It drove my mom nuts,” Kimber says. “The house needed so much work. When Gabriel saw the original papers, he said it sold to my dad way below market value. Kevin isn’t stupid. He has to know there was a lot more money.”
“In the tax office,” Shaun tells them, “we discover a lot of shady cash deals. People think fewer financial records will keep them under the radar, but it raises all kinds of red flags.”
The theory sounds reasonable to Kimber. In her father’s complicated life, he wouldn’t have wanted too many financial records. “Oh God. What if there is money hidden in the house?” All those holes in the walls and in the basement floor suddenly make sense.
Troy brightens. “Wait. If Kevin was in prison but got out early, he’s probably on parole. Maybe he’s a fugitive from Florida. That’s possible, right? The police would have to arrest him and send him back there.”
“Shit. I can’t believe we didn’t think about that sooner. This we can find out about.” Shaun, too, looks relieved. He looks at his watch. “It’s late, but maybe I can catch someone downtown.”
“It’s also Sunday, love. No one is anywhere.”
Kimber chews at a nail. She doesn’t want to get too hopeful. Even if she can legally get Kevin out of her house, it doesn’t mean he’ll leave her alone. He could still ruin her life with a phone call to the police. Or even just a word to her mother. Is it possibly just money he wants? He had their father all those years. Shouldn’t that be enough for him? But Kevin might have known an entirely different version of the man she knew as her father. They might’ve hated each other.
Hate. Yes, Kevin was full of hate.
Oh God. Did he tell you, Daddy? Did you see the pictures? What did you really know?
An hour later, Troy insists they put away everything related to Kevin Merrill. Shaun puts marinated tuna steaks and corn on the grill while Troy makes a tall batch of pomegranate and lime daiquiris.
Kimber sips the equally bitter and tart drink. “Whoa. I didn’t even know this was a drink.”
“It wasn’t until I invented it.” Troy looks pleased with himself.
During dinner, the daiquiris having loosened her tongue, she tells them about the trouble at work. Unlike Gabriel, neither of them immediately asks if she’s guilty. But they exchange a look that she’s not too drunk to miss.
“Oh, come on. What do you think I am, guys? Why would I do that?”
Shaun takes a second piece of grilled corn on the cob from the tray. “Nobody’s saying you did anything.”
“Leeza doesn’t like you. Not one bit.” Troy sounds a little drunk too. “You should be careful.”
Something is making its way from the back of Kimber’s mind. What is it?
“We’ve got brownies,” Shaun says, changing the subject. She’s not certain if it’s intentional. The rum makes everything less clear.
Oh yes. The store account. That’s it.
Troy came to Kimber a year ago and said he wanted to do some radio advertising for the store, but the three of them—Shaun, Troy, and Kimber—agreed she shouldn’t handle it because business and family shouldn’t mix. Leeza was only too happy to take the referral.
Leeza and Troy know each other, and they both have reasons to dislike her. She’s the ex-wife to deal with for one of them and competition—real or perceived—for both. Without a job, without her house, she’d have to move away, leaving the field completely clear for each of them. Vengeance would be theirs. Leeza she could see, but Troy? She watches him eat. It’s not possible. Troy is her friend now. She’s made it clear she has no romantic interest in Shaun.
They try to keep the mood light, but something has changed in the haze of the alcohol. Or mayb
e it’s just her imagination. After coffee, they do the dishes without talking much, and she goes up to bed.
Before she goes to sleep, she gets a text from Gabriel.
Mr. Tuttle is fine. Bought more food, a bed, and a couple of toys.
Thanks for taking care of him, she types. Staying at Shaun’s. He confirms Lance Wilson is definitely Kevin Merrill and my half brother. Some kind of criminal from Florida who violated his parole. Shaun’s following up. Guess you knew about him and my dad already.
We should talk. Please call me.
So he did recognize Kevin Merrill/Lance Wilson from the photographs.
I don’t want to talk. Am wrecked and need to sleep.
I can come get you.
She doesn’t want to go to his apartment, doesn’t want to see him. Not yet. It’s too complicated, and she’s uncomfortable with the thought that he might have been trying to take care of her by hiding the photographs. If Kevin doesn’t mess up her life completely, then she’s going to have to decide whether or not to be with Gabriel again. Whether to trust him or not.
Will check in tomorrow morning.
When he wishes her a simple Good night, she doesn’t respond and shuts down her phone.
Chapter Forty-Two
Bingo!”
Sunshine floods the darkened guest room, and Kimber cautiously opens her eyes and squeezes them shut again. Her mouth and brain feel equally fuzzy.
After opening the curtains, Shaun settles on the end of the bed, reading from his phone. “Kevin A. Merrill has failed to report for parole for the last twenty-three weeks and is considered an absconder/fugitive parolee. If you know of his whereabouts, please contact local law enforcement and request that they get in touch with our office.” When he turns to her, he’s wearing a familiar grin. “What do you think about that? He’s toast.”
Something in Kimber’s face pulls him up short. “What is it? What’s wrong? This is great news. He’ll be arrested and sent back to Florida.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just woke up and I feel like shit is all. I need to brush my teeth.”
“Sure. But I don’t believe nothing’s wrong. I’ve never seen you drink like you drank last night. At least not since you were twenty-five.”
She slides back down onto the pillow and pulls the comforter closer to her chin. “How am I supposed to act now that I know what my father was really like?”
“You know, you didn’t mention Diana or Hadley last night.”
The one thing she often forgets about Shaun is how well he knows her. He’s developed a feel for when she’s lying—except when the lies are buried so deep that she can almost forget them herself. Almost.
“Shaun. How in God’s world do you know so much? It’s like you have access to some objective truth that we’re all supposed to know and live by.”
“Nice try at changing the subject. I would think you’d have moved on to some other tactic by now.”
“You’d think.”
He lays the phone on the comforter. “Did you and Diana have a falling out?”
“Not exactly. It’s not a good time for me to be hanging around. She needs all her energy for Hadley and Kyle.”
“Ah, I see.”
“I don’t think you do. Let me up.” Kimber pushes at him from beneath the covers with her foot. “I need to get out of here.”
“She thinks you had something to do with the accident, doesn’t she? It’s not right she should blame you. Just because your theory is that Kevin did it doesn’t make it so. It could’ve been some drunk. Or maybe Kyle lost control and hit somebody else before he went over. Maybe Kyle was drinking.”
Kimber hesitates, not wanting to appear eager to agree.
“She’s just upset,” she says. “You would want answers too if your daughter were lying in a hospital bed.” The image of Hadley near death overcomes her. She hasn’t even seen her since the accident, and so it’s possibly even worse than she thinks.
Shaun suddenly grabs her hidden foot and squeezes it affectionately. “I know this whole thing sucks. It’s going to be over soon, and you’ll keep your job— Wait, don’t interrupt. Or it will be a different job. You’ll land on your feet. Troy and I will help you figure it out.”
Scrambling from beneath the covers, she plants a quick kiss on Shaun’s thick curls and runs into the bathroom and shuts the door before he can see the emotion overwhelm her.
The .22 revolver is wrapped in a scarf behind the Mini’s passenger seat.
Inside Kimber’s purse her phone rings and rings. The voicemail notification jingles. Once. Twice. Gabriel is trying to reach her, but he wouldn’t approve of what she’s about to do and would only try to talk her out of it if she told him.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she sees a small blue Toyota, a woman wearing a floppy hat and sunglasses at the wheel. It’s a fantasy, perhaps—but then she’s prone to fantasies—that the woman is following her and even knows where she’s headed. It could be Kevin’s accomplice. Or the police? Kimber checks her speed and slows down, and the Toyota slows as well.
Brianna has a blue Toyota, but she remembers it as being darker.
It’s less than a fifteen-minute drive from Shaun and Troy’s house to hers, and the Monday traffic is light. All the sensible people are at work or are by their pools or have retreated into air-conditioning. She thinks of Diana and Kyle’s pool, of Hadley and the way she laughs when Kyle shows off doing cannon balls, trying to splash them all.
No matter what happens, she probably won’t see Hadley’s smile again, and the thought makes her wince.
The Toyota is still in her mirror, but she also catches a glimpse of herself. There’s no mascara on her lashes or blush on her cheeks. Biting her lip, she finds it dry and flaking. When was the last time she put on lipstick? Yesterday? The day before? She and Diana both wore a small amount of makeup to the spa event on Saturday. It feels like it was months, maybe even years ago. Even on the retreat—the goddamn retreat, if only I hadn’t gone—she occasionally put on lipstick to feel normal. To stay in a routine. Now nothing is normal.
Michelle had spent the usual amount of time in the bathroom that morning, but Kimber put on more makeup than usual. Michelle wore makeup like it was a kind of armor, and that day Kimber suddenly felt the need to be similarly prepared. Michelle had told her to be ready. But for what? Makeup couldn’t hurt.
“Ready, Sunshine?” Her father smiled at her, but his smile faltered for a second before returning. “I thought this was supposed to be some kind of field day thing at the state park. What’s with the war paint?”
War paint. That’s what she should have on now. War paint. Like the Mayans or the Celts or the Apaches. Kevin needs to be afraid of her, and she laughs, thinking of herself drawing lines and symbols on her face and body in Sunsilver Pink or Apricot Bronze.
Turning left onto Big Bend from Clayton Road, she glances anxiously in the mirror one last time to see that the Toyota hasn’t turned but continues past her. She puffs out her cheeks and lets out a long, noisy breath.
No one is following her. No one knows where she is. They might guess, of course. But by that time it will certainly be too late.
Standing on her back porch, Kimber experiences déjà vu. It’s before noon, rather than early evening, but she feels similarly off-balance. A stranger at her own door. It doesn’t help that the loaded gun is weighing down the purse hanging from her shoulder.
She pounds on the door, careful to avoid the glass. Kevin’s bike is gone and so is the black ball cap. Unlike last Monday, when the whole nightmare began, she senses an emptiness about the house.
“Hello?” She pounds again. The back porch can’t be seen from the house to her right, and she knows Jenny’s house is empty because Abby, Jenny’s daughter, rang her that morning from Georgia to ask if she would keep Mr. Tuttle permanently. Because Abby’s husband is allergic to dogs, she would have to take him to a shelter or have him put to sleep. Kimber didn’t hesitate to tell her she’d ke
ep the little guy. Abby was happy to hear, too, that Mrs. Winkelman, the cat, was now living across the street with the family occupying the house where she’d once been abandoned. The last thing Abby told her was that she’d come up at the end of the week to bury her mother and deal with the house.
Kimber calls her landline number and hears it ring inside the house. There’s no guarantee that he will pick it up, but there might be a chance. It rings six times, then goes to voicemail.
What now?
The hideous orange SUV is gone from the garage, as she guessed it would be. If Kevin was really the one to sideswipe Kyle into the ravine, then there’s no way he would keep it around. She knows it’s too much to hope he’s gone away forever.
She couldn’t be that lucky.
Murdering whore.
Whoever wrote that on the mirror wasn’t just going to go away.
Why the whore part? She hasn’t thought specifically about that before. Does it refer to her affair with Kyle, which Kevin obviously knows about, or something else? During her young-adult and post-divorce years, she’d been involved with several different men. But she never thought of herself as even a slut, let alone a paid whore. Maybe it was name-calling. A good old sibling taunt.
Unfortunately, she could be wrong about so much. She could be wrong about the SUV. The color might have been a coincidence. Kevin might not have sent the nude selfie from her computer. Diana could have found it when the police turned Kyle’s phone over to her. Or what if someone was blackmailing Kyle? Someone jealous of his life, his money. He could be abrasive and his business methods rough. He’d been sued a dozen times and once hinted that his friends at the downtown athletic club sometimes compared notes on their mistresses, girlfriends, and wives. Assholes. Like an old boys’ network from another century.
She remembers a drawing in the art museum’s eighteenth-century masters gallery, an enormous sketch for a painting that was either lost or had never been painted. A dozen men in formal dress, two women sitting side by side on chairs placed on a table above the crowd. One woman raising the hem of the skirt of her companion’s dress and grinning at the man closest to her, a mischievous look of curiosity on her face. The man looked young, maybe eighteen, and most of the men around him didn’t look much older. But the women had a look of hard experience about them.
The Stranger Inside Page 22