by Marlie May
A hint of an idea tickled my mind. That handwriting. I raced upstairs for the note I’d placed in Dad’s locked box and returned to the living room and handed it to Sean.
He stared at it for a long time then looked up at me through watery eyes. “This…the y’s. They’re the same. I’d recognize them anywhere.” He gulped and tilted it forward to show me. “Janie. This note? It’s your aunt’s handwriting, too.”
Shock stilled my breath. Swallowing, I tried to make my lungs move, to gulp in air, but they’d frozen. I sank onto the couch, my legs unable to support me, and lifted my hands to cup my face.
Everything was coming together.
Thankfully, Manuel and Chief Sancini arrived a short time later. My aunt would be home from school soon.
I showed Chief Sancini the insurance policy, the pictures of the formulas for explosives, and the suicide note with the eerily same handwriting. And I gave him the folder with the paperwork Dad had drawn up to end his and Mr. Somerfield’s partnership, plus the letter to the CIA agent. We’d been unable to find out anything further about the latter.
“You okay?” Manuel dropped down onto the couch beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. I nodded and leaned into him, soaking up his warmth. Even though it was hot, I felt chilled. Had someone turned up the AC?
Sean raged around the room, his fists clenched. “They’re freakin’ murderers. I lost Brianna because of their greed.” The devastation in his voice was like someone reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart.
“Is this enough to arrest her?” I asked. “To arrest them both?”
The paperwork clutched in his hands, Chief Sancini rocked on his heels. “It’s certainly suspicious.”
I was beginning to hate that statement.
Sean stormed up to him. “Does that mean you’re not going to do a damn thing? You can’t let them get away with this.”
“Slow down there, boy,” Chief Sancini said, nudging Sean backward.
I stood. “What does she have to do to convince you? Put a gun to my head and shoot?”
“Life insurance policies will pay out for murder but not if the murderer is the beneficiary,” he said. “Sometimes, however, they pay double if it’s an accident.” He studied the document. “This is dated prior to when your brakes were cut. Hmm.”
Meaning my aunt would’ve been planning for a double payout.
The Chief cleared his throat. “And life insurance will pay benefits after suicide but the policy has to be in effect at least two years.”
“My aunt may not know that.”
Speak of the devil.
Someone clicked the code into the lock, and the door swung open. My aunt burst inside. “Janie?”
It couldn’t be panic rising in her voice. It must be anticipation. Did she hope to find me lying dead inside? Which made me wonder about the soup she’d left me before she left. The one I’d dumped down the drain. If I’d eaten it, would another suicide note magically appear?
Now, I wished I’d kept it for evidence.
To think I’d trusted her. Believed she was starting to care for me like I was starting to care for her.
She collapsed against the doorframe, gaping at us. “Why is a police car parked out front?”
“This is Chief Sancini.” I waved to Manuel’s dad.
Relief filled her face and she straightened. “Is everything okay, Chief Sancini?”
“Janie has been filling me in on a few things,” he said, studying her intently.
Her gaze darted to me. “Oh?”
“I’ll need to bring you down to the station.”
Aunt Kristy gasped. “You’re arresting me? Janie?” Her words rose to a shriek. “What is going on here?”
Now I could hear panic in her voice. Good. She deserved to feel a fraction of what I’d been going through for the past twenty-four hours. No, what I’d lived with for months. That fear that someone had done something horrible to you followed by the realization that they weren’t finished. They wanted you dead.
She needed to be arrested and tried for her crimes.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions.” Chief Sancini approached her slowly.
Hands lifting, she backed into the foyer. “Why?”
“We’ll explain when we get there.” His hand dropped to his gun. Would he pull it and shoot her if she tried to run? “Are you willing to come in and answer a few questions?”
“Of course.” Her pleading eyes met mine and her shoulders drooped. “What’s going on, Janie? I don’t understand.”
I took a strange satisfaction in seeing Chief Sancini in action. Her betrayal had left a bitter flavor on my tongue. And the affection I’d felt for her had morphed into anger. How could she do this? She’d killed my best friend and my parents, and left me an orphan. She’d destroyed my life, and she had the nerve to look at me like I’d hurt her?
“We need to discuss the possible murder of your brother and his wife,” Chief Sancini said. “Plus, the possible attempts on Janie’s life over the past week.”
My aunt gasped. She blinked, and tears formed in her eyes. Fake? If so, she was an awesome actor. Her tortured gaze pinned me in place. “You think I’d do something like this?”
How could I think anything else? The evidence convicted her. I wanted to shout it to the world but kept my mouth closed. I’d leave the questioning to Chief Sancini. He’d be better at grilling someone than me. And I didn’t want to tip her off to the evidence I’d collected.
In my aunt’s case, silence wasn’t always golden. Sometimes, it glared darker than sin.
My aunt whimpered when I said nothing. She strode forward, reaching for me, but Chief Sancini pulled her back with a tight grip on her upper arm. “Please come quietly,” he said.
I backed toward the sofa as if she could kill me with her gaze alone. Not that she was shooting daggers. Even under overwhelming suspicion, she still appeared more bewildered than guilty.
“Will you arrest her?” I asked.
Chief Sancini shook his head. “Not unless we get a full confession.”
My aunt glanced toward the front door. Would she run? She must know Chief Sancini would be on her in seconds, tackling her in the foyer. And fleeing would only make her look worse.
“I don’t want her coming back here,” I said. “Can you promise me that?”
“It can be arranged,” he said.
“If she’s released after questioning, I want protection.” What if she came back and tried to kill me again? She had nothing to lose now that we were on to her. Would she still inherit if she killed me? I worried she would.
My aunt’s entire body trembled. Tears streamed down her face. Anyone looking at her would believe she was innocent but I knew better. She’d done it, and the police would prove it.
“I’ll arrange protection,” Chief Sancini said. “I can send someone out to watch your place.”
It wasn’t a bodyguard—which I’d hire the second I figured out how to do it—but it would have to do.
Chief Sancini escorted Aunt Kristy from my house.
“Wow,” Sean said as I shut the front door behind them. I turned and flopped against it. “I can’t believe it. Brianna? Your parents.” His voice cracked and his body shook. He looked ready to rip someone apart. My aunt, most likely. “Murdered.”
I rushed over and hugged him, supporting my friend in this time of grief as well as taking support from him. If he’d known about my investigation from the start, he could’ve added to my evidence earlier. Without him, I might not have connected the chemical formulas with the suicide note, let alone known it was my aunt’s handwriting.
Manuel crossed the room to stand beside me. He patted my back. Sean’s.
Sean stepped away and wiped his eyes. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the ceiling, before releasing a heavy sigh. “I just can’t believe it. Brianna.” Her name came out in a whimper.
She’d been lost to both of us, but the future he’d envisioned for the
m had been stolen.
“I’m glad you were able to connect things,” Sean said. “Put it all together. Once they arrest her, you can put it behind you.”
“I’ll always remember.” Most of it, anyway.
“The memories. You haven’t said. Have they all come back?”
“What can I do for you?” Manuel asked at the same time.
“My aunt will be back. We need to make sure she can’t get inside the house.” I could tell Sean what I’d remembered once the house was secure.
Manuel grunted. “My father will keep that from happening.”
I had a feeling Manuel would keep it from happening, too. I was grateful he was here with me.
“I don’t mean she’ll come back and threaten me,” I said. “She’d be stupid to do that. But she’ll want her car, some clothes. I want to pack up her stuff and put everything in her SUV. Can your father tell her she can come here to get those things but she has to stay away other than that?”
“Sure.” He sent a text.
We went upstairs and gathered her things. She didn’t have much which wasn’t surprising. Maybe she intended to buy more once I was dead and she inherited my money. I growled as we dumped her things in her trunk and left her keys on her driver’s seat.
“I need to change the codes on the doors,” I said once we’d returned to the foyer. “Then she can’t get inside.”
They helped me reprogram the locks and make sure the security system was fully armed throughout the house. No one was sneaking in through my back door tonight.
Sean left soon after that, saying he had to get to work. I couldn’t imagine how he’d be useful at his job but I knew his family needed the money.
Like I’d done over the past few months, he’d have to push through his pain.
Standing in the doorway before saying goodbye, his stark eyes met mine. He shook his head and then dragged his feet out the door.
“I’m here for the night,” Manuel said from beside me.
I had no intention of asking him to leave.
I was done with missing school. My still-aching brain could find a way to deal.
When I left my house with Manuel the next morning, my aunt’s SUV was no longer parked in the drive. Good. Now she no longer had a reason to come back here.
I drove Mom’s car to school, and Manuel followed in his own. We parked near each other in the lot and strolled inside.
Whispers chased me down the hall to my first class, telling me word had gotten out already. It was a toss-up what everyone speculated about, my supposed suicide attempt or my aunt’s trip to the police station.
Who knew what she’d told the school. Would she dare come to work today or would she take some ‘time off’ to ‘get her affairs in order’? If I was on the school board, she’d be fired.
If she was convicted, she’d never work here again.
Between classes, I’d call Mr. Trudale and fill him in on what happened. Surely, he could be made a trustee of my estate. In fact, I’d demand it.
“Thanks a bunch,” Brandon said when I walked into my English class. The scowl he sent while I took a seat next to Manuel made my legs quake. I understood being upset with the person who’d harmed you so I could recognize that same emotion shining in Brandon’s eyes. “The police came to the house last night and questioned my dad. You did this. You sent them after him, didn’t you?”
“Do the crime and you’ll pay the time.” I sounded flip, but I couldn’t help it. My aunt wasn’t the only one I had a reason to be angry with. Mr. Somerfield was a murderer. I had no sympathy to offer, though I did feel bad Brandon had to learn this about his father.
Stumbling to his feet, Brandon clenched his fists, his face flushing redder than a smashed tomato.
“That’ll be enough, Mr. Somerfield,” our teacher said, directing a glare his way. “Please resume your seat or leave my classroom.”
Brandon flung his arms up and stormed for the door. “I’m not staying in the same room with that bitch.”
A few girls tittered and chatter flew around the room. If I knew my classmates, Brandon had also been subjected to speculation and stares.
Fortunately, I didn’t see him again that day, making me believe he’d left school.
When I went to study hall at the end of the day, Manuel manned his desk. I strode into the library and he smiled and came around to greet me. “Help you, Ma’am?”
My heart warmed at the nickname that had become a joke between us. “I think I’m all set, Sir.”
I was tempted to drag him to the back corner to discuss this further, but Alex sitting in her usual place facing the wall drew my attention. Explaining, I left him and crossed the room, but stopped immediately behind Alex.
My breath wheezed in my throat like I’d run a marathon.
Now that the moment was at hand, I had doubts about what I should do. I’d stalked across the room with one goal in mind, to confront her about the saving her mom lie. But while I’d been determined to ask why she’d made it up, I paused and gnawed on my fingernail instead.
The red wig sat snugly on her head, the one she wore when she was trying to cheer herself up. Was she feeling down today, like me?
My world had spun out of control the moment the yacht went down. I’d sucked it up over the weeks that followed because the pain of my burns and my loss had absorbed my mind. Then I’d discovered they’d been murdered. Focusing on who might’ve committed the crime had taken over where my pain left off. It had given me purpose. But I was emerging on the other side. Once the police finished their investigation, I’d see justice done for the death of my parents and Brianna. I could find closure.
Life had been horrible to Alex. She might never find closure.
If I threw my anger on top of everything else she had to deal with, could she take it? Or would I break her? Her shoulders were broad, but people could only carry so much before they collapsed.
I couldn’t do that to a friend even if she’d lied.
Being this girl’s friend had become an obsession for me since we met at Grief Group. I knew I needed her. Making her confess she’d been dishonest could destroy our budding friendship. The end result was the same no matter the story leading up to it. She’d somehow made it out of the fire, as had her mother. Much like I’d escaped the burning yacht.
That was the thread connecting us. We were survivors.
“Hey,” I said softly.
She jumped and pivoted in her chair, looking up. “Janie.” No mistaking the guarded tone in her voice. Her mother had shared.
I sat across from her and nudged my head to her textbook. I needed to bridge the awkwardness stretching between us. “Studying for AP Chem?”
“Yeah. Crazy when I don’t know if there will even be a test on Monday. The teacher…” Trailing off, she turned her head away.
Obviously, I knew what happened to the teacher.
“Anyway,” she said in a perkier tone. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Trying to ditch my guardian. Get her arrested for murder. And fill out paperwork so I can become an emancipated adult.”
She snorted. “Just a regular day in the life of a Finley Cove High School senior.”
“You said it.”
Her scarred fingertip traced the words on the front of her textbook. “I’m swimming this afternoon once everyone’s gone. You want to meet me there?”
One more step I needed to take to bring this chapter in my life to closure.
I needed to overcome my fear of the water.
After supper, I parked behind the school and went inside.
While Alex had asked me to arrive at the pool after she’d finished changing, I ended up coming early. Dragging my feet to make it take longer, I crossed the lobby and walked down the hallways leading to the pool locker rooms.
I stood outside the door and stared at my phone, telling myself I needed to wait until the agreed upon time.
Grunting, I tucked my phone into m
y back pocket. This was stupid. There was no reason to wait for her to get changed. I understood she feared people seeing her scars but unless she wore a wetsuit, her bathing suit would expose most of them before we got into the water.
She planned to remove her pressure garment to swim which implied she was done with hiding. She must know I wouldn’t mock her or stare.
Pulling the door open, I tiptoed inside, holding my bag containing my suit and towel. If she balked, I would turn away while changing and wait to face her when she said she was ready.
But when I saw her standing on the other end of the room, her back facing me while she sorted inside her locker, my footsteps slowed.
I came to an abrupt halt.
She’d removed her wig. The pressure garment had a Velcro closure in the back. To remove it, she must pull it apart and slide the garment forward.
But that wasn’t why I remained locked in place, my mouth gaping like a fish caught on a line.
As I’d expected, a mesh of rippling scars covered her neck and shoulders. The thick seams extended part way down before giving way to smooth skin.
I couldn’t stop staring at her small tattoo—a hummingbird created in vivid colors—inked on the right side of her lower back.
I had the matching tattoo.
Earlier this summer, Brianna and I had bribed a tattoo artist to do them for us when we went to Portland for a long weekend with my parents. We’d snuck out and somehow convinced the artist we were eighteen.
It couldn’t be. This was not Brianna. My friend wouldn’t do something like this to me. She wouldn’t lie.
But the tattoo. No one else would have one like it.
She’d drawn it on the desk at school. Had she left it for me as some sort of sick clue?
“No,” I whispered, my knees weak.
Anger flashed through me, followed by a feeling of devastation almost greater than the one I’d felt when I lost my parents.
This wasn’t Alex. That girl must’ve died in the fire that burned so hot, her mom said they could barely find remains.
Brianna stood in front of me. How had she survived?
She must’ve escaped the ship, swam to shore just as I had. But instead of wandering the beach in confusion and pain, she’d made her way toward a populated area.