by Emily James
Becky’s lips trembled, like little bits of her were cracking away until only the raw core was left. She didn’t cry, but the red around her eyes darkened. “I hit the car too hard. It was supposed to scare you off the case and make you think this was all about Alice Benjamin. The guard rail was supposed to stop the car.”
Becky couldn’t have known the guardrail was too fragile to stop a biker, let alone a car. Even though she hadn’t intended to kill us, she’d still meant to scare us. Scare me. She’d known my vulnerable area, and she’d chosen to exploit it.
Anger boiled up inside me and hardened the edges of my heart like metal tempered in a forge. “And Mandy? She’s innocent, and you tried to send her to prison for your crime.”
“I spread the evidence out. It was supposed to be too scattershot to point guilt at anyone. I shouldn’t have used Mandy’s car the second time, but it was the only one I’d duplicated a key for so no one would notice when I took the real key.” She reached out a hand to me, the same hand that had held mine when the memories had overwhelmed me. “I truly am sorry for what I did to you.”
The sympathy I’d once felt for her tugged at me again. She’d intentionally hurt me, but she was acting out of a soul that’d been badly damaged by the wrongs she’d experienced and witnessed. At one time, I’d have seen the fact that I still felt sad for her as a sign of weakness. It’s what my dad had always called it. This time, though, I saw it for the strength that it was. My ability to still feel compassion for her was what would keep me from ever becoming like her.
I squeezed her hand. “I know you do. So make this right by confessing. Be a better person than the men who hurt you.”
I sat with Becky while she wrote down and signed her confession. She refused to name her accomplices, even though the district attorney that Chief McTavish called in offered her a reduced sentence in exchange for testifying against them. Becky said she’d rather plead guilty in court, explain the circumstances to a judge, and take the sentence he or she felt was fair.
Even without her naming names, we had what we needed.
When Chief McTavish took Becky’s confession to Julia, Julia admitted to killing Penny’s husband, crying the whole way through. She’d forced him to go into the living room and write his confession, assuring him that, if he wrote it all out so that they could take it to the police and have him charged with assault, she’d let him live. She’d never intended to let him live. Their other accomplice told her she’d need to put his hand on the gun before pulling the trigger so he’d have GSR on his hand, but she was too afraid he’d be able to overpower her and take the gun.
Julia also refused to name the third accomplice, the one who helped Becky dispose of Vilsack’s body.
My mom and I waited in Chief McTavish’s office while he talked to Penny.
The look on his face when he came back told me without him having to say anything that she hadn’t confessed the way the other two had. “She said we don’t have anything on her, and she’ll argue her case in court.”
The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that she was the mastermind behind it all. All those years as a police officer’s wife had taught her enough about the legal system to know how to throw doubt into the case. Plus, she’d made sure she wasn’t the one committing the actual act. That almost guaranteed her a lighter sentence than either Becky or Julia.
But it was in the hands of the court now.
My mom slung her purse over her shoulder, said goodbye to Chief McTavish, and motioned that it was time for us to leave.
We walked in silence most of the way to the car. As she was unlocking her doors, my mom glanced back at the station. “With a good enough lawyer, she’ll walk free.”
My smile felt rusty at the edges, but it still worked. That was a small miracle in itself. The PTSD group probably didn’t encourage their members to face their attackers the way I’d once thought, but maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. Or, at least, maybe the principle of facing up to your hurts and fears until you ruled them rather than the other way around wasn’t such a bad idea. I didn’t have the same tumor growing in my stomach as I walked away from this case as I’d had in the past. “I guess it’s a good thing she probably doesn’t have the money to pay your fees, then.”
My mom grinned the most genuine smile I’d ever seen her give. “Indeed.”
22
The discomfort on my mom’s face as Mrs. Cavanaugh hugged her goodbye was almost comical. And I’d swear Mark’s mom knew exactly what she was doing. Based on the stories I’d already heard from her, she’d been an imp in her youth. In her youth, she was always careful to clarify, but I suspected that wasn’t something you completely outgrew.
Mark wished her goodbye, minus the hug, and then he and Mrs. Cavanaugh backed off to give my mom and me room.
“Give us some warning before you come down,” my mom said. “We’ll make sure we schedule in time for a couple meals.”
To most people, “a couple meals” might sound like my parents didn’t care, but I saw it for the peace offering that it was. My parents didn’t normally make guaranteed time for anyone who wasn’t a paying client. It was time I started accepting them for who they were rather than who I wished they were—it’s what I wanted from them, after all.
“It’ll be sometime in the next few weeks, but I’ll let you know when we book our flights.” There was still one thing I needed to know from my mom before she left, though. “Did you have something to do with Mark’s job offer in DC?”
Anyone else might have looked at least a little sheepish. My mom’s smile had canary feathers poking out the corners. Remorse, according to my parents, was a useless emotion. When you did anything, you should be confident and not look back.
“I brought him to their attention,” she said, “but Mark’s credentials got him the offer.”
I could believe that. Mark might be a medical examiner in a small county in Michigan now, but he still corresponded with researchers across the country who wanted his insights into the forensic pathology techniques they were developing. What he lacked in social skills, he made up for in scientific acumen.
But my problem wasn’t that I worried my mom had pulled strings to get Mark the job. I knew he deserved it on his merits alone.
My concern was why she’d brought him to their attention at all. Because I was afraid of what it said about my future relationship with my parents if we chose not to go. If I stayed here and gave up the law entirely and made maple syrup for the rest of my life. I was finally tired of pretending like my heart wasn’t crushed underneath the elephant that none of us ever wanted to discuss.
I ran a hand over my neck, trying to loosen whatever was making it hard for me to swallow. “It feels like the only way you and dad will ever be proud of me is if I come back to DC and become someone I’m not.”
My mom stepped backward. “What makes you think we aren’t already proud of you?”
The list was so long that it wouldn’t fit past my vocal cords and out my mouth. I stared at her with an expression that I knew showed utter disbelief. I didn’t even care if she found it disrespectful.
My mom slowly shook her head. “You’re not hard on the people who have no potential. You’re hard on the ones who do because you know what they can achieve. We were only ever trying to help you be everything we knew you could be. You’re smart enough to have figured that out.”
The urge to laugh and the urge to cry warred inside me. Love really must blind people. “What you wanted me to be. I’ll never be an attorney like you or dad. I’m like a toddler with a stutter in front of a jury.”
I left out the part about not wanting to defend criminals anymore. We’d talked about that once already, and I didn’t need to throw it in her face a second time like a criticism.
My mom shrugged. “You struggle with your openings and closings. I used to flub the questions when I had hostile witnesses on the stand.”
It felt like she’d said
the earth will be destroyed by a meteor tomorrow with the same nonchalance that belonged with there used to be a coffee shop on that corner.
My parents were two of the top defense attorneys in the country. I’d seen my mom question all manner of witnesses on the stand. She was confident. Insightful. She never flubbed anything.
But she was afraid of large dogs, and that was something I also hadn’t known about her before this visit. Maybe it wasn’t so impossible that she hadn’t been perfect when she started out, either.
My mom touched my arm, butterfly-light and then gone, almost like I’d imagined it. “You love being involved in cases. It’s what you’re good at. I don’t believe you’ll be happy if you walk away from being a lawyer, but I also saw how happy you are with Mark. All I did with that job was make it so that you could have both if you wanted it.”
She opened her car door before I could process and slid inside. She rolled down her window. “Your dad will be glad to hear you and Mark are engaged.”
Her window zipped back up, and then she was gone.
Even if I’d had the chance, I wouldn’t have bothered to ask how she knew. She always seemed to know.
And that’s what scared me the most.
Because I had the uncomfortable feeling that she was also right that I wouldn’t be happy if I walked away from being a lawyer.
BONUS RECIPE: Microwave Maple Syrup Candies
INGREDIENTS:
1/4 cup unsalted butter
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup maple syrup
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup sweetened condensed milk
Sea salt for sprinkling (optional)
INSTRUCTIONS:
Find a large, microwave-safe bowl. The candy mixture will bubble up, so it needs sides high enough to keep it from boiling over.
Butter an 8×8-inch square glass pan.
Mix all the ingredients (except the sea salt) in the bowl until combined.
Microwave on high for 5–6 minutes. Stir every 60–90 seconds. (How long you cook it for depends on how soft you want the candy and how strong your microwave is.)
Pour the mixture into the buttered pan.
If you want to top with sea salt, allow the candy to cool slightly and then sprinkle with sea salt.
Once the mixture has cooled completely, cut into small squares.
OPTIONAL TIP: These also taste delicious drizzled with dark chocolate or sprinkled with sea salt.
To all the people who told me I was crazy for wanting to be an author. Thank you. You made me more determined than I otherwise might have been to make my dream come true.
And to anyone who has ever been told their dream is crazy. Crazy doesn’t mean impossible.
The most dangerous untruths are truths moderately distorted.
Georg Christoph Lichtenberg
1
For the third time in a row, my phone call to my best friend Ahanti went to voicemail.
My trip to Washington, DC, with Mark to consider the job he’d been offered wasn’t starting out the way we’d planned.
I knocked on her apartment door again. Ahanti never went anywhere without her cell. If she forgot it, she turned back, even if it meant she’d be late to an appointment. So she was either in her apartment and something was wrong, or she was out somewhere…and something was wrong. I’d been trying to reach her since our plane landed at Dulles International Airport hours ago. She couldn’t possibly be asleep or indisposed for this long.
Mark leaned against the wall next to the door. “I know what you’re thinking. Would it help if I promised you she’s not dead?”
I shifted the phone to my other hand and contemplated dialing again. Mark was right. He did know what I was thinking. Not only because he knew me better than anyone else and because I apparently had an expressive face, but also because I’d ended up in the middle of more murders than anyone other than a serial killer should ever see in a year. It’d made me a little paranoid.
“You can’t promise me that.”
He gently removed my phone from my grip and tucked it back into my purse. “No, but the odds are in my favor. It’s more likely she went out of town.”
Perhaps. But if she’d gone somewhere, it’d be the first time in years that she’d done it without telling me. Even though I wasn’t her designated next-door plant waterer anymore, she’d still told me when she and Geoff went to the Dominican over Christmas and headed down to Florida to spend Easter with his parents.
Relationships did change over time, though. I just hadn’t expected it to happen to Ahanti and me. Since I’d moved to Michigan, we’d talked weekly and texted more often than that. I was supposed to be in her wedding next spring, and we’d stopped by her apartment so I could ask her in person to be in our wedding party. Since Mark wanted his two brothers as his co-best men, I’d planned to ask Ahanti to be co-maid of honor along with Mark’s cousin Elise.
A trip did seem more likely than the macabre alternatives running through my head. I took the hand Mark offered me and let him lead me back to the elevator.
The unanswered calls continued to nag at me like an itch out of my reach. They weren’t the only recent difference. “She didn’t reply to my text saying we were coming down for a couple of weeks, either,” I said softly.
Mark hit the button for the ground level, and the elevator doors dinged shut. “That only lends support to the theory that she’s off somewhere. She’s probably been gone since last week.”
He sounded a little less certain than before.
“Is there someone you could call to check?” His hand tightened around mine. “Not that I think there’s something wrong. Just so you can set your mind at ease.”
Ahanti’s relationship with her family was civil, but I wouldn’t have called it close. They didn’t approve of her career as a tattoo artist any more than my parents supported my move to Michigan to take over my Uncle Stan’s maple syrup farm. She was supposed to be a doctor, like I was supposed to be a lawyer. Navigating the expectations of our families, alongside figuring out what we wanted from life, had been one of the things we bonded over.
I doubted her family knew when she was in the city and when she wasn’t. Geoff would know. If I couldn’t get him, either, then I could relax knowing they’d taken off on a trip together.
The elevator doors opened, letting us off in the lobby of the apartment complex. I wiggled my phone back out of my purse and trusted Mark to keep me from running into anything or anyone.
I didn’t know Geoff’s cell number, but since it was Monday, he should be at work. That number I still remembered. Geoff was my chiropractor when I lived in DC. Ahanti and I ran into him at the movies one night, I’d invited him to sit with us since he was there alone, and they’d been together ever since.
His receptionist answered, but she wasn’t the one who’d been with him when I’d gone there. Not surprising, since his original had been close to retirement.
The new receptionist confirmed that he was in the office. I gave her my name, told her I was a friend of Geoff’s, and said I’d wait if he was with a patient.
The hold tone beeped in my ear all the way out to our rental car. We climbed inside, and Mark started the car, cranking the air conditioning against the oven-like late-June sun. He didn’t put the car into drive.
“Nicole?” Geoff’s voice came through the phone. “Is everything alright?”
That was a weird reaction. Granted, I didn’t normally call him at work now that I wasn’t his patient, but the tone of his voice was shock to hear from me rather than surprise.
This could all have a simple explanation. Maybe Ahanti’s phone wasn’t working and she didn’t realize it yet. Maybe she hadn’t even gotten my text. Maybe Geoff didn’t know I was in town for a visit.
“Everything’s fine.” No need to advertise I’d let my anxiety get the best of me. “Didn’t Ahanti tell you I was coming down? I’ve been trying to call her, but I
kept getting her voicemail. I thought we could all get together for dinner or something.”
The pause on his end stretched, and my ribs started to ache. It took me a second to realize I was holding my breath. I let the air out and sucked in a fresh gulp.
“I think she might have changed her number,” he finally said.
My heart felt like I’d been sucked back in time, back to the teenage girl I’d once been who hadn’t been asked to the prom. Why wouldn’t Ahanti have told me if she changed her number? Ahanti had never been the type to be easily insulted, and I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to make her this angry, but it felt like Geoff was holding back. Almost like Ahanti had asked him not to give me her new number.
“You’re not sure if your fiancée changed her phone number?” I asked carefully, trying desperately to control the snark that wanted to creep into my tone.
“She broke up with me a week and a half ago. By text. I tried calling her a couple of times, saying we needed to talk about it. I got another text telling me that if I didn’t stop calling, she was going to change her number.”
I mouthed the words holy crap to Mark. My mouth was probably hanging open so wide we could have hid valuables in it.
“I don’t know if she actually did or not.” A ragged edge sneaked into Geoff’s voice.
None of this made any sense. A few weeks ago, Ahanti was texting me links to strapless wedding dresses that would show off her tattoos, and we were joking about the best spring honeymoon destinations. She’d been all puppy dog eyes and he’s my soulmate over Geoff practically since they met. They’d been hunting for an apartment near her studio that would be big enough for both of them to live in since Ahanti’s studio apartment was too small to fit all Geoff’s stuff, and she really wanted to stay within walking distance from work.