“Of course not. I’d do anything to help.”
“Well, that’s the thing. Claire won’t be staying. It’ll just be me,” Ted said.
Bitty raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Claire . . . well, she . . .” He wrung his hands together. “She doesn’t want to see me right now.”
Miss Bitty frowned.
“They haven’t released the house back to us because of the investigation, so we rented her a motel room in Truro. But she won’t let me stay there,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “She’s . . . she’s paranoid because they’ve been questioning her about me nonstop. You know, me being the stepfather and all. She won’t talk to me. She won’t let me in the motel room. And, like I said, we can’t afford—”
“Goodness,” Bitty said, frowning. “What a mess.”
Allie watched Ted. He hadn’t made eye contact with her since he’d been there. It was like she wasn’t even at the table. She figured it was probably too painful for him to see one of Hannah’s friends. It certainly made sense.
Miss Bitty rapped her knuckles against the table. “Then that’s that,” she said decidedly. “You’ll stay in the guesthouse for as long as you need to.”
Ted looked relieved. “Thank you, Miss Bitty. I really appreciate this.”
“Do they think it’s the same person who killed that woman in Truro?” Big Joe asked.
Ted stared at his coffee cup. “I have no idea. They don’t tell me anything. They just ask questions.”
The mudroom door opened and Louis walked in. Miss Bitty blinked. “Oh, Louis, I’m so very sorry. I forgot to call to tell you that Allie won’t be having her lessons today.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes, considering the circumstances. But I do need your help elsewhere if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Louis’s gaze fell on Ted. His eyes softened. “Hey, buddy, I’m really sorry about—”
“Thanks,” Ted mumbled, shifting his coffee mug between his hands.
Louis’s eyes traveled from Ted to the old woman. He stared at her. “You okay, Miss Bitty?”
The woman smiled weakly. “Yes, why do you ask?”
“You just look . . . I don’t know . . . a little unwell.”
“No, I’m fine.” She rose and cleared Allie and Big Joe’s empty plates. Allie watched her walk back to the kitchen sink, her light linen shirt hanging from her frame. For the first time she realized how incredibly thin the woman had grown.
“So what is it you’d like me to do?” Louis asked.
“Make up the back bedroom in the guesthouse, if you don’t mind. Ted’s going to be staying here awhile.”
CHAPTER 55
IT WAS PITCH-BLACK in Allie’s bedroom even though it was only three o’clock in the afternoon.
Since Miss Bitty had canceled all her activities for the day and forbade her to go outside, Allie had snapped her blinds shut and lay down. The problem was, when her eyes were closed all she could hear was blood pounding in her ears.
She was lonely and afraid. She needed to be around someone.
Anyone.
Miss Bitty had changed—and it frightened her. All the woman had done for days was drink, scrub everything in the house, or sleep. And she had barely said a word to Allie. Right now she was holed up in her bedroom.
Something was terribly wrong.
Allie thought of the days when she was working the streets. How she’d sold her body in part for food, but in even larger part so she wouldn’t have to be alone. She shivered at the memory, at how her life had once been. Now she was scared of being forced back to it.
Did Miss Bitty blame her for the murders? After all, they didn’t start happening until she arrived. Was the old woman thinking of sending her back? Or could Miss Bitty be losing her mind? Just like her mother had? Maybe Allie did that to people. Made them lose their minds. Allie shivered at the thought.
Crawling out of bed, she walked, barefoot, through the hallway. The house was too quiet and had lost a lot of its warmth without Bitty shuffling around, busying herself with her many projects. Even the usually super-soft carpet fibers between her bare toes felt coarser and unfriendly.
She walked into the living room—one of her happy places—only to find it empty and barely lit. Even the television was off.
She wanted badly to talk to Miss Bitty—to figure out what was going on—but the truth was, she was actually a little afraid of the old woman right now, because Miss Bitty, too, had lost her warmth. The ground beneath her had fractured and she was quickly losing her footing.
Feeling tears gathering, Allie headed back to her bedroom.
A couple of hours later, Allie heard voices in the front of the house. She sprang out of bed and hurried toward them. When she reached the kitchen, she found Big Joe and Louis sitting at the table, talking.
“Oh good,” Louis said. “I was hoping I’d get the chance to talk to you before I left.”
Allie’s eyes flitted from his to Big Joe’s. Both men looked very serious.
It made her knees feel funny.
“Why? What . . . what’s going on?”
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Louis said, picking up on her anxiety. “We’re just concerned about Miss Bitty.”
Good. I’m not the only one.
“But first, how are you?” Louis asked.
Allie shrugged and peered down at the table. “I’m fine, I guess.”
“Hearing about Hannah had to have been a shock.”
Allie swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
The memory of Hannah’s perfect face the day they met in the garden, the gorgeous chocolate eyes, the perfect gleaming teeth, flashed through Allie’s mind.
Her whole life, she’d only had two friends: her brother and Hannah. And now they were both dead.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Allie shook her head. “No.”
“Well, if you change your mind—”
“Thanks, but I’m mostly just really worried about Miss Bitty.”
“Us, too,” Louis said. “I’ve noticed a lot of changes in her the last few weeks. We hoped maybe you could help us figure out what’s going on.”
Allie shrugged. “I . . . yeah, I don’t know. But something is really wrong.”
A motor sputtered in the yard, then roared to life. Allie peered out the window to see Ted with the lawn mower. “Why’s he cutting the lawn? He just cut it a few days ago,” she said. “And it’s going to rain.”
“He can’t seem to stay still,” Big Joe said. “I think he’s just desperate for something to do.”
“What a horrible thing to have to deal with,” Louis said, watching the man push the lawn mower around the yard.
“Losing a child. Especially one who’s been murdered,” said Big Joe quietly.
Louis refocused his attention on Allie. “Miss Bitty canceled her clients for the week. And she’s not eating. She’s also drinking alcohol. It’s not like her at all.” He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses. “In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her behave like this. It worries me.”
“She seems really sad about something,” Allie said.
Louis nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I think she is. But what?”
Allie shrugged. “Maybe she blames me.”
Louis’s forehead creased. “You? For what?”
“For Hannah . . . and maybe even the woman at that supermarket.”
“I don’t understand.”
Allie shrugged. “People just seem to die all around me. It’s always happened. Since I was a little girl.”
“Oh Allie,” Louis said. “Don’t even think—”
“I think she expects something to happen to me, too,” Allie interrupted, a realization popping into her mind. “I mean, why else would she check on me several times a night? She must think something is going to happen to me,” she said softly, more to herself than the others.
Big Joe knitted his brow.
Allie continued. “And when I opened my door this morning I almost tripped on her.”
The old woman had been sleeping, curled up in a loose ball, outside her door as though standing guard.
Was it to ensure she wouldn’t leave?
Or to stop someone from getting in?
“What do you think she’s scared of?” Louis asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said, tears filling her eyes. She wiped them away.
Louis opened his arms wide. “Come here.”
Allie stepped into his arms and felt them wrap around her.
“This has to be very scary for you,” he said. “Just remember I’m here, too. Let me know if I can do anything, okay?”
Allie enjoyed Louis’s warmth. It had been a long time since she let a man touch her. She thought she’d never let a man near her again, but it felt nice. Really nice. It felt like something she needed.
“I’m here, too,” Big Joe said, opening his arms wide as well.
Allie reluctantly left Louis’s arms and went to Big Joe. At this point, just about anyone’s company was welcome.
Louis sighed and peered out at Ted again. “We need to find out what’s going on. I’m sure, between the three of us, we can figure out a way to help—”
“Allie!” Miss Bitty stood in the doorway, her long, wiry, gray hair down around her shoulders. “I was scared to death!” Her eyes were red and swollen, and she was still wearing her robe even though it was close to 4:00 p.m. “I couldn’t find you!”
The old woman’s gaze jerked to the window and her eyes widened. “Who is that in the yard?” she asked, hurrying to the window and peering out at Ted.
“Ted Hanover,” Louis said gently. “You said he could stay in the guesthouse. You remember that, right, Miss Bitty?”
The woman blinked. “Oh . . . right,” she mumbled, her voice like sandpaper. “But he should be resting now. Not working. He’s just experienced a huge loss. The worst loss anyone could ever imagine,” she said, her voice trailing off.
“He can’t sit still,” Big Joe said.
As though he felt their eyes on him, Ted turned toward the window. He saw them and stared, his expression vacant. Then he focused on the lawn again.
“I offered to drive him to the funeral home,” Louis said, “but he told me he wasn’t ready to go back. He said something about not being wanted there.”
Why would he not be wanted there? Allie wondered. Was Claire really that much of an ice queen, to push him away at a time like this? Obviously, the man was hurting.
Miss Bitty crossed her arms and watched the man push the lawn mower toward the shed. Rain was now coming down in fat droplets. Before long, it would turn into a downpour. “Poor thing. You would think he’d take a few days off to just mourn,” she said quietly.
She turned back to the three at the table. “Well, since you’re all here, I should tell you that I’m making a special dinner tomorrow. And I want everyone to be here.”
Something in the old woman’s tone made bile rush up Allie’s throat.
Miss Bitty stepped closer to Allie . . . close enough Allie could smell . . . not wine, but some kind of liquor.
“Sure, Miss Bitty,” Big Joe said. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Maybe we could help cook? Clean? Anything to help lighten your load,” Louis said.
“No, Allie and I will take care of it all. Just make sure all of you are here at six o’clock. Someone please invite Mr. Hanover, too. It’s important that he comes.”
“Sure. I’ll tell him,” Big Joe said.
“And something else. No men in this house until then. And that includes the both of you,” the old woman said, pointing a frail finger at the men. “And you, Allie. I want you to continue to stay inside this house. If you need anything, come to me for it. You understand?”
Allie nodded.
The old woman stared at the men. “Did I make myself clear?”
They both nodded.
Miss Bitty continued to stare at them.
Louis frowned. “Oh. So, are you saying you want us to leave right now?”
“Yes. Right now. Go.”
CHAPTER 56
MISS BITTY STARED at her spread: fried pork chops, deep-fried tater tots, collard greens soaked in bacon grease, cherry pie à la mode, pan-fried beignets, a large bowl of SpaghettiOs with franks, a platter of eggs sunny-side up, homemade biscuits, pork sausage gravy, Pop-Tarts, and Franken Berry cereal. Everything neatly arranged on the dining room table.
On the island were six-packs of Coca-Cola and Barq’s root beer—the ones that came in little glass bottles.
She clutched herself tightly as everyone—Allie, Joe, Louis, and Ted—sat down, then glanced around, questioningly, at one another. When their eyes met hers, she saw confusion. The tension in the room was so thick it could be sliced with a knife.
Bitty knew that everyone probably thought that she’d lost it. The truth was, she had—but it had happened years ago, and now she was going to make it right. Even if it killed her.
Which it very well might.
Through her pain, she wore a big smile . . . one so big it hurt.
Big Joe was the first to speak. “You okay, Miss Bitty?” he asked.
She pretended not to hear him. Instead, she spoke to the table. “The Franken Berry cereal, well, it was hard to find. Apparently it’s now a special edition item,” she said, fearing her face would crumple at any moment. “Would anyone like some? Louis? Joe? How about you, Ted?”
“I don’t think I should, Miss Bitty,” Joe sputtered. “I’ve been doing so well with—”
“For God’s sake, go on. Just eat some! You know you want to,” she snapped, her smile straining.
The room went silent.
“Sorry, Joe,” she said. “Eating it will be fine. But if you would prefer me to make you a different meal . . .”
“No, Miss Bitty. This looks great,” he said, dutifully spooning food onto his plate.
After a while, she saw Joe finally—but hesitantly—break an egg yolk with one of the biscuits. It was clear he wasn’t comfortable with the situation, but she also knew that he didn’t want to upset her.
She watched Louis chew on a Pop-Tart. Ted ate some of the Franken Berry cereal and sipped coffee. Allie just sat with her arms crossed, frowning.
The old woman tried to strike up some conversation. She wanted them to relax and enjoy their meal. Especially him, the son she hadn’t lost once, but twice. First, when he was sixteen and admitted to killing a classmate, and the second time, when he was twenty-three and she had learned he murdered a woman who worked at their local Blockbuster store.
Swallowing hard, she accepted the fact she was about to lose him for a third time . . . the final time.
And this time would be the most painful.
She knew that she had gone overboard with the spread, but she wanted him to be able to eat his favorite foods in peace—and his favorite foods had, by far, always been breakfast foods.
He had never had a shot at lasting happiness. He’d been severely touched with mental illness, an illness that had plagued their family for decades. Miss Bitty’s own mother had committed suicide when Bitty was just six years old. Her grandmother had committed suicide when her mother was only ten. And most of the others in their family hadn’t fared much better. Whether it was bipolar disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, multiple personality disorder . . . most had suffered with something awful. But, as far as she knew, he was the only one who’d been violent toward others.
He had been her best work, and her worst.
She would never forget the night when it all started. He had arrived home late, his skin ashen. He stumbled in, vomited on the kitchen floor, then admitted what he’d done to one of his classmates.
Listening to him, she started shaking and didn’t stop for weeks.
She made him promise not to breathe a word about what he’d done to anyone; then a month later she moved them to a different town. She w
as doing what she, at the time, figured any good mother would do.
She was protecting her child.
It turned out that no one who saw the teenagers together on the bike path paid close enough attention to him to give an accurate description, so he got off scot-free.
But she didn’t.
She glanced at him and noticed he was staring at her now. He looked tense, unsure . . . maybe a little afraid. She smiled at him, the most genuine smile she could muster, and his countenance shifted a little. It seemed to relax him and he smiled back—a relaxed, trusting smile.
He still trusted her. Her insides twisted at the thought.
Her heart tumbled into her stomach . . . and shattered.
CHAPTER 57
WHAT THE FUCK just happened? he wondered as he pulled away from the house and onto the street, needing badly to drive and think.
Dark walls of trees loomed on both sides of the road as he raced down the curving, rural roads trying to figure out what was going on.
Why was SHE acting so odd? So nervous? The way she’d been behaving lately unnerved him. A sense of foreboding bloomed in the pit of his stomach as he thought of the food she’d prepared, of the strange good-bye as he walked out the back door. The lingering, too-tight hug she’d given him, the kisses she planted on his cheeks and forehead.
She also refused to look into his eyes.
Why?
After five minutes of aimless driving, he slammed on the brakes.
She didn’t believe him anymore. It’s why she’d served his favorite childhood foods at dinner. And why she had become so fiercely protective of the girl. Not because she knew a faceless killer was on the loose.
But because she knew it was him.
The realization jarred him like a blow to the stomach. The moment he had dreaded his entire adult life had finally come. She’d finally realized what he’d been doing . . . and that he’d been lying to her. And she was ready to do something about it.
She was going to turn on him.
Abandon him.
A cold panic washed over him. But what was she going to do? Go to the police?
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