How do I even answer this? I must have shock written all across my face because she smiles meanly and continues, thankfully, before I say anything.
“Well, we are. Damien was your father, too. Surprise!”
“I don’t know what to say.” This is the truth. I am at a loss for words. I am bruised and burning and the air around me coruscates. I have to fight down the nausea.
Yes, I know she is my sister. Of course, I do. And here I was worried about Becca. Becca is a gnat compared to Ashlyn.
She is responsible for all of this. I should have known. I should have seen this coming. I am so stupid.
“Half, Lex. You get half. And I don’t think that’s exactly fair.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Stop playing dumb. I know they told you Daddy dearest left half the estate to you. I saw Nickerson here today.”
She finally steps out from behind me, and I bite back my gasp of surprise.
Ashlyn looks like she’s been living in the woods. Her hair is matted and dirty, her clothes covered in leaves and cobwebs. She throws a bag at me. I know what’s in it. The vestiges of a life. An ID card, a passport. A bank card. The key to a flat.
“I need my life back, Ash.” This is said with such derision I cringe. Sod it all, this was her idea in the first place, for me to use the name Ash Carlisle.
Get it together, get it together.
“What are you saying? You want me to walk away and you’re going to stroll into Goode and pretend to be me?” I ask, horrified.
“Oh, but who is pretending to be whom, darling sister? No, give me what I want and you can stay at this stupid little school. I’ll even pay for it.”
“You’ll pay for it?”
She laughs, uproariously. There was a time when that laugh could set my heart alight, the joy in it, the freedom, the adventure. But now, I see it for what it is. A trap.
“A reward. You’ve done such a good job of being me. You’ll claim your filthy prize, hand it over to me. I’ll just say thank you and take the money.”
“What money?”
“What is wrong with you? Are you high? Have you started down Mummy’s path at last? The money you inherit from the estate, what else?”
“But there’s no way. If I admit who I am now, they’ll kick me out. The Honor Code—”
“Do you think I care about your stupid little school? This little world you’re creating? I don’t. You need to sign the paperwork and take possession of Daddy’s cash, and I will relieve you of the funds and be off. No reason to wait until I’m twenty-five if we can do it now.”
“You must be joking. I can’t just walk away from this. That will blow up my life.”
Her eyes are strangely lit as if there’s a fire inside her. “Oh, are you settling in? Becoming one of them? Don’t you realize you’ll never be one of them? You’ll always just be the daughter of a junkie, a chip shop worker. You have no future, you never did. I was willing to give you a chance to earn your own way, to get the education you were dreaming about. But since you managed to get yourself in Daddy’s will, we might as well do this now. Sign the paperwork and hand over the cash.”
“But if I sign the paperwork, they’ll know who I really am.”
“Sign it, or I’ll walk into the school and tell them you’ve been keeping me captive so you could take my place and steal my money. Who do you think they’ll believe? The impostor? Or the rightful student? Look at me. It will take nothing to convince them you’ve been keeping me hostage.”
God, she is the most devious person I have ever known. Was this her plan for leverage all along? Think. Think.
I stand up straight. I’m taller than her, and I can look down, intimidate.
“I don’t care for your threats, Ashlyn. Do you honestly believe I don’t have proof you wanted me to do this? Do you think I didn’t protect myself? You wouldn’t dare blow me up. Yes, I might get kicked out of the school, but if you do that, I will make sure you get put in jail. No money will save you from a double murder charge. I know what you did. I know how you did it. You won’t be able to blame their deaths on me. Fat lot of good Daddy’s money will do you then, shriveled up behind bars, only allowed to see sunlight an hour a day. You’ll go mad in there. Madder than you already are.”
I’ve hit a nerve. Her face twists in anger, and she lands a stunning blow to my cheek before I have a chance to pull away. The punch knocks me to the ground. The pain is incredible, mushroom clouding until I feel it peak and begin to throb. It’s almost as sore as the burn on my rib cage.
But my anger dissipates. This is what she’s gone through her whole life. She was on the receiving end of our father’s rages. How many black eyes did I minister to? How many times had she come to me with a bloodied nose or a missing tooth? He made her into this monster, just like he made me into a liar. We are a pair.
I roll over and get up on my knees. Her eyes are on fire now, the anger simmering, flames ready to leap.
“I’m sorry,” I say, in the most placating tone I have. “You’re right. I’ll get you the money. You just have to give me a few days to figure out how to make this all work. I think I already have an idea. Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just come forward as the illegitimate daughter? They’ve already taken my DNA swab. You go to the lawyers and do yours, I’ll hack into the database and switch them. Easy. Then you’ll receive the money, and I can stay here, at school. No one needs to know anything more.”
She looks at me like I’m the insane one. “How could you want to stay here? They treat you terribly. That girl, Becca, she isn’t your friend. She’s going to hurt you, hurt you worse than you could ever imagine.”
Oh, what little you know, sister. She’s already torn me apart.
“No, she’s not. It’s a game. I’ve been tapped for a secret society, that’s all. It’s all in good fun.”
“You can’t possibly believe that.”
Becca is the least of my worries.
But Ashlyn’s sagging now—the beaten, cowed, unloved girl is back. These sparks of fury that make her lose her mind are frightening, yes, but they’re usually over as quickly as they start. It’s like she’s possessed. I’ve seen the worst her anger can do, lying on the floor of the parlor, pale, waxy, lifeless.
And on the headstone that sits atop a tiny coffin, buried on the estate.
And the blood on the parlor floor, leaking from Sylvia’s body.
And in my flat, the guileless, endless sleep of my mum, Gertrude, the needle still dangling from the crook of her elbow. I’ll never know if she did it on her own or if Ashlyn helped her along to make my part of the plan easier to stomach. I was too afraid to ask, too desperate to get out.
Ashlyn will do anything when her demon rises. I need to keep that part of her at bay for as long as possible until I figure out what to do.
She wasn’t supposed to come here, ever. She was supposed to be in Tahiti, or Bora Bora, wherever she decided to go.
Though it sounds like she’s been parked in Oxford, in my old flat, listening to the gossips and getting high with Kevin. Waiting for me to get the degrees in her name so she can inherit the estate and drown herself in whatever marsh she’s picked. What a fucking idiot. I got her out. I handed her a new life, one she begged for. And I got hers in return, the one she hated.
It was a fair trade.
Daddy dearest wasn’t supposed to name me an heir. When Nickerson told me about my phantom sister, so apologetic, so worried, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All of the plans, all of the machinations, the hacks, the identity theft, being an impostor—none of it was necessary. If I’d waited, had a little faith, I would have had enough money to pay for any education I could desire.
Mum always told me to watch out for a woman scorned. She said Sylvia would kill me if she ever found out.
Yes, Mum told m
e about their affair. It’s why she ended up taking pills, to forget the dynamic, exciting Damien Carr when he threw her over and married simpering Sylvia.
Damien killed my mother. No one else.
But little did she know it was Ashlyn who was the real danger, all along.
Think. Think!
None of the plans I’ve been working include the real Ashlyn ever showing up in Marchburg. Now that she’s here and dancing on the edge, I have to reboot everything. Everything.
“You have to give me some time. I can work this, but it’s going to be tricky.”
The fever light gleams in her eyes. “You have twenty-four hours. I need to get out of this shit town. I don’t know how you can stand it.”
“You have to give me more than a day. I have to—”
She has a hand ripping my hair back and the knife at my throat so fast I don’t even have time to blink.
“Listen to me, you stupid, hapless twat. Twenty-four hours, or I will blow up your entire world and dance on the ashes. You’ll have the distraction you need.”
She lets me go and disappears into the forest, leaving me alone with the graves and trembling hands. I sink to my knees, the past few months parading through my brain. I should have known better.
What am I going to do?
I’m going to run.
72
THE CONVINCING
I’ve convinced her. I can see it in her eyes. Even as she scurries away, back through the tunnel into the school, she is already plotting.
She’s going to find a way, she always does. Alexandria is the brains of the family. She is going to find us a path out like she found us a path in, and I will have my fortunes restored. Once that happens, she can go on living whatever life she wants. I have no reason to kill her.
Well, none good enough. Not yet.
She is the one who most resembles Damien. She has his face and brains, yes, but she’s been gifted with his ability to manipulate, too.
I make my way back to the abandoned cabin I’ve been sleeping in. It has a tunnel directly into the school, like most I’ve managed to sneak into, which makes it so easy to enter after dark, once everyone is asleep, and creep, creep, creep around. Did you know the dean leaves her safe unlocked? What an idiot. Probably can’t remember her combination.
I’m telling you, while the school itself is okay, Marchburg is a shit of a town. Who would want to live here? There’s nothing to do. The only thing it has going for it is a view, but hell, you can get a view off a cliff in Italy. Why would you saddle yourself to a stupid little nothing town in the Blue Ridge Mountains?
Alex wanted this. She wanted it so badly I couldn’t resist trying to make her dreams come true. But she’s changed. She’s no longer the sweet, adorable little Lexie who would do anything for me growing up. Now she’s my sister, my flesh and blood. She’s complicit. She knows the truth, all of it. And she has a power that I don’t—the power of altering records. That changes everything.
Everything.
I had to come. I had to have her make this right.
But before I handle Alexandria, I need to deal with that bitch who’s been hurting my sister.
73
THE EXIT
Ford hasn’t been back in the Westhaven family house for a few months. Her mother’s omnipresence is clear and literal, she’s left dishes in the sink and newspapers on the table. Happily, Jude has retreated from the scene. Ford received a breezy text from her earlier:
Heading north to DC today for an emergency alumni meeting, sorry to miss you. I’ll be back this weekend for the Odds and Evens celebrations, assuming I’m still welcome. Be in touch if you decide you need my help sooner.
Like that will happen. Jude’s help is why she’s in this mess with the school, and with Rumi.
Fretting about Jude will accomplish nothing. Ford needs a plan. But she wants Rumi’s input first.
She cleans up after her mother, clearing away the mess in the kitchen, tidying and stacking and wiping, until everything looks show house ready, then hits the wine cellar. She needs a drink, and with Rumi coming, all she wants is a few moments alone with him to figure out what’s happening. Perhaps a nice bottle of wine and some food will soften his stance.
He’s been as much friend as lover these past few years. And she needs a friend right now.
She finds a good bottle of Bordeaux and leaves it to breathe on the counter. At 9:00 p.m. sharp, the doorbell rings. She hurries to the door, already annoyed. Why couldn’t he come to the back door? He has the keys, he comes here to raid the library. What’s he trying to do, advertise?
Come now, Ford. He simply wants to be treated like a man, instead of a perpetually disgraced welfare employee.
She forces a smile on her face and swings it open.
He’s carrying a bottle of Jack and wearing her favorite green waffle shirt under a down vest, the one that shows off his glorious physique. Subtle.
She steps aside. “Come in.”
He hands her the whiskey and enters. He seems bigger in this setting than in her cottage. Taller than when she saw him last. Thicker through the shoulders. Is that even possible? Or is she imagining things?
She closes the door behind him and locks it. Waits a beat—sometimes he turns with a wicked grin and jumps her immediately, but he makes no overtures, no moves at all, just stands there, broad-shouldered and grim-faced, so she gestures to the kitchen.
“I opened some wine.”
“I don’t want wine.” He looks to be in a dark mood. He’s not scowling, but he isn’t being friendly, either.
She glances at the bottle—he’s brought it to drink, not as a gift. Okay. She’ll let him play this game. But she’ll have to keep an eye on him. She can’t let him get drunk, she needs him to help her plan things out. But a little lubricant might help.
“Bourbon instead?”
“Sure.”
At least he’s speaking.
“Let’s sit in the kitchen. I’ll make you an old-fashioned.”
He catches her hand. His voice is gruff. “Ford. We can’t keep pretending everything is okay. I only came to tell you this—whatever this is—is over.”
She straightens, gently pulls her hand from his grip. “I understand. I’m not thrilled with your decision, though if that’s truly what you want, I will respect your wishes. But, Rumi, we need to have a very serious conversation, about much more than just us. Let me make you a drink, and I’ll get right to it.”
He looks confused but doesn’t resist anymore.
She mixes the old-fashioned too quickly, slopping the bitters into the glass, not getting the sugar totally mixed in, but she’s angry and nervous. She needs him on her side. She needs him to cooperate.
She needs him.
Don’t you dare, Ford. He’s made a decision and you must let him go.
Finally, she hands him the drink, wipes off the counter, and sits at the table. He takes the chair across from her. She puts the phone facedown on the wood. It’s been charging since she arrived and now has plenty of juice.
“I wanted to talk to you because someone sent me some rather incriminating photos—of us and of you. I am trying to decide how to handle things.”
He sits stiffly like his back is hurt. “May I see them?”
“Of course.”
God, they sound so stilted, so careful of each other. She imagines this is how a conversation about an impending divorce must happen, the gentle parlay as two lives break apart and begin their dissection.
He swipes through, face impassive.
And just like a wronged wife, she can’t help herself, she throws the first aspersion. “Were you sleeping with Camille Shannon?”
He hands her the phone. “Yes. Not recently, though. I saw her a few times over the summer. But she ditched me for another guy.”
“I see. Were you aware that she was pregnant when she died?”
“I was. At least, I knew she had been.” The facade breaks. “It wasn’t mine. She came to me when the pills didn’t work. She had an appointment at a clinic in Charlottesville that she needed a ride to. I told her I’d take her. She threw herself off the bell tower that night. I don’t know why. She was pretty determined to end the pregnancy and get on with term.”
“Were you the father?”
He shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Do you know who was?”
“Her stepbrother. She was head over heels for him, broke it off with me so she could spend all her time mooning around after him. She was very clear when she told me, explained the timing. We broke it off in July. She got pregnant in August. She was quite a little slut, but I didn’t kill her.”
“I didn’t—”
“That’s what you want to ask me, isn’t it? You’re sure I threw her off the fucking bell tower because I’m the only one who could have gotten access to your keys. And with these photos, all you have to do is tell your buddy Tony the sheriff and off I go to jail, truth be damned.”
“Wait—”
“But that’s not true. All of the secret societies have copies of your keys. Have for years. Everyone knows you never lock that safe. How do you think they move about the campus so easily? You are so naive.”
“I’m not—” she says but he’s up and storming out of the kitchen so fast he knocks his chair backward and his drink topples to the floor.
She ignores the mess, runs after him. “Stop. Please. That is not why I asked you here. I couldn’t possibly think you hurt Camille. You aren’t your father.”
He is in her face with a roar that makes her stumble backward in fear. “I’m not? How do you know? Maybe I’m just as bad as he is. Maybe I stalked her at school and stalked her at home. Maybe I raped her over the summer and got her pregnant. You don’t know. You don’t know! But I bet you’ve been giving good old Tony an earful. Yes, Ford, I know you’re fucking him.”
Good Girls Lie Page 30