Autumn Anthology

by Heather B. Moore

  My own sister? She wouldn’t lie about me. Clint wouldn’t either. But what other explanation makes sense?

  No explanation makes sense.

  I need to get out of here. She couldn’t afford a hotel, but she’d drive to campus, sleep in her car— anything to get away from Clint and Eden.

  Mallory moved to stand. It took a moment; she felt heavy, feeble. “Give me my phone. And I need my keys. I don’t know what you two are doing to me, but I’m leaving.”

  “What we’re doing?” Eden glanced at Clint.

  “I didn’t bring those drugs into the house,” Mallory said.

  “Are you saying we did?” Eden asked. “You think we’d hide them in your room? Why?”

  “I have no idea. Does one of you have a secret you want me blamed for?”

  In silence, Clint and Eden both stared at her. Mallory realized how irrational she sounded. She had absolutely no reason to suspect either of them.

  But someone had put the drugs there. Had Clint been using drugs to deal with work stress? Had Eden, to cope with the fact that no matter how hard she worked, she wasn’t perfect?

  “Mallory… how about you get some rest?” Clint said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “I’m leaving,” Mallory said. “Give me—”

  Clint stuffed her phone in his pocket while Eden stowed Mallory’s keys.

  “You can’t hold me prisoner,” Mallory snapped.

  “You’re not a prisoner,” Clint said. “You can leave if you want, but if you go out that door tonight, I’m calling the police.”

  “I need my keys. I have to be to work at four.”

  “We know,” Eden said. “We don’t want you to lose your job. I’ll take you there. But you’re not going out tonight to… meet with anyone.”

  “Do I look like a druggie?” Mallory snarled then realized she probably looked anything but clean at the moment, with shadows of exhaustion under bloodshot, teary eyes, and her body shaking.

  “We’ll get you in to see my doctor tomorrow,” Eden said. “We’ll help you through this.”

  “What happened to kicking me out?”

  “You can’t live here, but that doesn’t mean we’re abandoning you,” Eden said.

  “I’m happy to go with you to the doctor. They can test me and prove that I don’t use drugs. But I think one of you already knows that.” She stumbled into her trashed bedroom and locked the door behind her.

  Eden and Clint would surely be locking their door as well, to protect themselves from her. Not that the locks in this old house were worth anything. She slumped onto her bed, pushing a pile of papers to the floor, and closed her eyes, too stressed to think.

  Chapter Five

  When Mallory rose at three o’clock to get ready for work, Eden got up as well. She gave Mallory her phone back, but not her keys. Mallory didn’t bother to argue against the tacit implication that Eden was afraid Mallory would drive while impaired, nor did she bother avoiding Eden’s searching looks as she scanned Mallory for any signs of drug use or withdrawal. After a sleepless night, she knew she looked glassy eyed and ill; whatever Eden was seeing, she’d regard as evidence.

  They didn’t speak as Eden drove her to campus until they arrived at the Rains Building and Eden said, “I’ll call you as soon as I talk to the doctor.”

  Mallory nodded and exited the car. She wanted fervently to talk to Darien and get his perspective, but she’d have to wait a few hours. He’d planned to come in when she finished at eight to take her to breakfast. She couldn’t call him now, waking him up, whimpering and accusing her own family of turning on her.

  He showed up at seven forty-five as Mallory wheeled the vacuum into the janitorial closet, so tired it was hard not to steer the vacuum into the walls. He hurried toward her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You look exhausted. I kept you up too late, didn’t I?”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep at all. Things are a disaster. Come talk to me while I clean the drinking fountains. Then I’m finished.”

  Darien followed. He took the cleaner and paper towels out of her hands and worked while she updated him.

  “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” she said after she finished her report on last night. “I can’t believe I accused Clint and Eden— my own family— but who else could it be? I hardly know anyone in Birch Falls. I’ve only been here a month and a half! How could I have made an enemy like that?”

  “You’re certain you’re the target?” Darien polished the handle of the fountain. “Maybe there are drugs throughout the house and the culprit wants all of you in trouble.”

  “They searched the whole house, or said they did. The only place they found drugs was in Eden’s drawer— next to mine— and in my bedroom. There’s no way to mistake my room for the master bedroom. Mine only has a twin bed.”

  “So you think Clint or Eden is the addict and is trying to keep from getting found out by blaming you,” Darien said. “That maybe they’re afraid their spouse saw the drugs, or now that the emergency money is gone, they need a way to explain where it went.”

  “I don’t know. No, I don’t believe that. I have no reason to believe it. But I don’t know who else… They’re good people… and it doesn’t make sense. If one of them has an ongoing drug problem, there must be money besides Eden’s emergency cash that’s unaccounted for, but they didn’t say anything about that. And Eden keeps such careful track of her money, she would have noticed anything missing. Maybe Clint is planning to claim there’s been money missing from his wallet.”

  “Seems like he would have mentioned that last night,” Darien said.

  Mallory sighed. “Accusing one of them made more sense when they were just trying to throw me out, but after they found the drugs in my room, they took my keys, took my phone, and they warned me that if I left, they’d call the police. You’d think the guilty spouse would want me out of there fast rather than pretending they’re worried about me. They both seem on board with taking me to the doctor, but if one of them is setting me up, they must know that the first thing I’ll do is insist that the doctor give me whatever kind of drug test is most accurate, whatever kind there’s no way I could fake, and that will prove I haven’t—”

  Feeling lightheaded, Mallory stopped. She’d assumed tests would exonerate her, but weren’t there foods that could cause false positives? She often ate Eden’s cooking— Eden loved cooking and always urged Mallory to join them if she was home and to eat leftovers if she wasn’t. If Eden was trying to…

  Are you kidding me? You think your sister would do that to you?

  Mallory sat on the tile floor of the hall and pressed her burning eyes against her knees. She sensed Darien sit next to her and felt his hand on her shoulder. “Mallory?”

  She kept her head lowered. “I’m crazy paranoid. I’m seriously losing it.” How can I suspect my own family? But they suspected her. More than suspected— they were certain she was guilty.

  But they had reason to doubt Mallory. What reason did Mallory have to doubt them?

  “Hey, let’s stick with the original plan, all right?” Darien’s fingers pressed her shoulder, massaging it. His touch calmed her, and within a few moments, anxiety started to erode, washed out by sleepiness

  “The fact that the situation is worse than we thought doesn’t change how we approach it.” Darien’s hand shifted and began to rub the knotted muscles in her other shoulder. “We need to find out if anyone’s been seen near your sister’s house.”

  She didn’t look up; a few more minutes of Darien’s comforting touch and she’d conk out with her head on her knees. She wanted to ask him to reassure her that he believed the drugs weren’t hers, but that wasn’t a fair question. She and Darien had barely become friends. He didn’t know her that well. To put him on the spot would be whiney and make him uncomfortable.

  This was so pathetic. It had been so long since she’d been interested in a guy, and how did she start off? By making her
self look like a needy, hysterical, possibly unstable, probably drug-addicted drama queen. Whatever smidgen of romantic interest he’d had in her when he brought her the flowers must have evaporated during this morning’s rant about Clint and Eden.

  Forget your silly crush. He was never going to get involved with an overage freshman. If he’s still willing to be a friend, be grateful.

  “You okay?” Darien asked.

  She lifted her head and tried to smile. “Just really, really tired. And confused.”

  Darien drew his hand back. “Is there any other way Eden or Clint could benefit from getting you in trouble— besides setting you up to hide their own issues?”

  “Yes. If they can make it appear I died of a drug overdose, Eden inherits my share of the family jewels.”

  Darien grinned. “A solid motive at last.”

  “Sorry.” She laughed weakly. “I’m not used to acting like a character in a PBS Mystery special. No, I don’t have any money, or I wouldn’t be working a four-in-the-morning janitorial job and taking out student loans to pay for school. We don’t have any rich relatives. Our parents had more debts than assets. Uncle Mike doesn’t have much money, and anything he does have would go to his son, not Eden or me. I don’t own anything valuable. My car is sixteen years old and smells like Pine-Sol. I shop at thrift stores.” She pointed to her Bowman University sweatshirt. “I bought this at Goodwill for six dollars.”

  “Could they be after something other than money?”

  “Nothing.” Too tired to sit up straight, she flopped her head back to her knees.

  “What time is your first class?” he asked. “Do you have time for a nap?”

  “Not until ten, but even if I did have my car, I wouldn’t want to go home.” This is ridiculous. Eden’s going to call me about a doctor appointment, and I have no idea what to tell her. I can’t believe I don’t trust my own family. And they don’t trust me. What’s wrong with us?

  Chapter Six

  Mindlessly, Darien exited his class with no idea what the discussion had been about. How could he help Mallory? He’d reviewed and analyzed everything she’d told him. He’d organized it all in a spreadsheet: what had happened, at what time, how Mallory interpreted each event, what Clint and Eden had said— as reported by Mallory— and his own thoughts.

  He didn’t have enough information.

  He’d debated what to do and had finally decided that gathering possibly biased information was better than sitting in his cubicle, helplessly wishing he knew more. He might have made a colossal mistake that would destroy his friendship with Mallory, but he’d checked the faculty directory for Clints and found one: Clinton Westcott in the Computer Science department. He’d called Clint, but got his voicemail, so he’d left a message, asking Clint to call him about Mallory.

  His phone vibrated. Steeling himself, he pulled it out and saw a call from an unfamiliar number. “Hello, this is Darien.”

  “This is Clinton Westcott returning your message.”

  Darien’s heart rate surged. “Thanks for calling me back. I’m a friend of your sister-in-law’s, and I’m worried about—”

  “Do you know where she is?” Clint interrupted. “My wife and I have been trying to get in touch with her.”

  Darien wasn’t ready to share that he did know Mallory’s location. “Sir, I’d like to talk to you about her, but could we meet in person?”

  “I’m free right now. Come to my office. Number 450 in the Yarborough Center.”

  “On my way.” Good luck explaining to Mallory that you sought information from the guy accusing her. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  The sky was overcast, and wind ripped autumn leaves from the trees as Darien hurried across campus. Clint Westcott’s office door was ajar, and he stood to welcome Darien.

  “Thank you for contacting me. Please, have a seat.”

  Studying Clint’s demeanor, Darien sat. Clint looked tense, but not hostile. Tired, though not as exhausted as Mallory.

  Clint sat behind his desk. “We’re extremely concerned about Mallory. What led you to call me?”

  “Last night and this morning, she told me some disturbing things.” Darien was careful not to sound accusatory. “I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I’d appreciate hearing your side of the story first, Dr. Westcott.”

  Clint frowned. “I take it you’ve come to defend her.”

  “I want to help her,” Darien said. “But until I understand the situation completely, I have no idea how to do that.”

  “Good. If you want to help her, we’re on the same page,” Clint said. “What I’m telling you is completely confidential. I hope, for Mallory’s sake, you’ll keep it that way.”

  Darien nodded.

  “Mallory has a drug problem,” Clint said. “We just found out yesterday and tried to talk to her about it, but she was very defensive and hostile toward my wife and me.”

  Darien spoke neutrally. “What evidence did you find of drug use?”

  “Drugs hidden in her room. And she’s stolen money from Eden. Her sister. My wife.”

  “She’s stolen money? Are you certain it was Mallory?”

  Clint’s eyes were keen, and Darien realized Clint was scrutinizing him the same way Darien was scrutinizing Clint. “During the period in which the money went missing, Mallory was the only one who could have taken it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Eden knows the money was there three days ago when she took out twenty dollars. No one has visited since then.”

  “How secure is your house?” Darien asked. “Do you have a security system? Deadbolts?”

  “There was zero evidence of a break-in. Even if a thief managed to enter with no signs of a break-in, why would he leave jewelry and electronics behind and take the cash without disturbing anything else?”

  “Fair enough,” Darien said. “What evidence of drug use— physical or emotional— have you seen in Mallory herself?”

  “We don’t see much of Mallory. As far as physical symptoms, she’s been able to hide most of the signs. But there are bloodshot eyes, excessive tiredness, isolation, secretiveness, paranoia.”

  Excessive tiredness? She has to be to work at four AM; I’d look tired too on that schedule. “Secretiveness?” Darien asked.

  “If she’s home, she’s in her room— or she heads there the instant I walk in the door. She seems intent on staying out of sight.”

  “What signs of paranoia does she show?”

  “Making crazy accusations against her sister and me, accusing us of holding her prisoner, of trying to frame her.”

  “So this ‘paranoia’ manifested itself after you found the drugs? But not before?”

  Silently, Clint reached forward and twiddled a framed picture on his desk. Darien couldn’t see who was in the picture; he assumed it was Eden. “She also has a history,” Clint said.

  “Of drug use?”

  “It’s… not completely clear what she was involved in, but she hung with a bad crowd. Mr. Thomas, I realize that as her friend, you want to defend her, but denial isn’t helping. If her drug use comes to the attention of the police and the university, she’ll get arrested and expelled. Mallory has had enough trouble getting herself to this point. If you care about her, help us help her before she destroys her life.”

  “I want to help her,” Darien said. “That’s why I’m talking to you. But all of this evidence is circumstantial. I’ve never seen any signs in Mallory that she uses drugs. Until last night, all I’ve seen is…” He thought about his early morning chats with Mallory. “A woman who is hardworking, smart, friendly, funny, conscientious—”

  “Then where did the drugs come from? She agreed to let Eden set up a doctor appointment for her, but now she’s refusing to take Eden’s calls. Why would she avoid seeing a doctor if she’s clean?”

  Darien scanned the bookshelves in Clint’s office. It was easier to focus o
n the spines of textbooks on computational theory, JavaScript and MySQL than to look in Clint’s eyes and see frustration and anxiety. Clint appeared and sounded completely rational. Concerned for Mallory.

  Darien had left his sweatshirt with Mallory, but even in his short sleeves, he felt overheated, with sweat beginning to trickle down his back. He wanted to believe Mallory. But did he have any reason— any rational reason— for believing her over Clint Westcott? Incontestably, Clint’s interpretation sounded far more rational than Mallory’s frightened, confused insistence that she’d been set up.

  “You said you’ve seen her today,” Clint said. “How is she?”

  Darien rallied. It was time to shove back harder and see how Clint reacted. “Scared to death, trying to figure out why someone would do this to her. Is there any possibility someone in your household is trying to cover up their own issues by blaming them on Mallory? Have there been problems before this? Other missing money, maybe from your bank account?”

  “My wife would never do anything like this,” Clint said wearily. “I would never do anything like this, and we never experienced any problems before Mallory arrived. Are you part of the problem? Her supplier, maybe? Are you the one who convinced her that drugs are a good way to deal with the stress of starting college?”

  “No.” Darien refused to let anger disrupt his concentration. He should have known Clint would be suspicious of him. “What about enemies you or your wife have? Maybe someone is trying to hurt you through Mallory.”

  “There’s no one and nothing like that. And yes, Eden has checked with the neighbors to see if anyone has been seen around our house.”

  “She checked?”

  “Yes. It was far-fetched, but do you think she wants to believe her sister is using drugs? If you care about Mallory, get her to talk to us and see a doctor instead of letting her manipulate you with crazy excuses. Do you know where she is right now? She skipped her class this afternoon.”

  Darien was silent. He knew she hadn’t gone to her afternoon class. She’d been too worried that Eden or Clint would track her down there— which, apparently, had been an accurate fear, since Clint knew she hadn’t attended. But the thought of skipping class had rattled her; she was terrified of backsliding into the trouble she’d had in high school. Realizing her stress and exhaustion had hit the point where she couldn’t think clearly, Darien had coaxed her into taking a nap in a private place where no one would find her— the professor’s office to which Darien had a key. Dr. Agosto was off in Chicago, presenting at a conference.