Resolutely, she turned her thoughts to something more positive, something productive: her new book Proof Positive. Mallory’s instincts had been right; the case was a natural for a murder mystery. She could see why the insurance company hadn’t closed the files. There were too many unanswered questions. And so many red herrings that the reader would be leaping to all sorts of conclusions about the identity of the murderer … all of them wrong.
She was only five chapters into the book but she sensed a degree of difficulty with writing it that she hadn’t experienced before. It was probably because the killer’s motives weren’t clear-cut. He had all kinds of issues and agendas. Funny, she thought, how in many ways the book paralleled…
“Oh, my God!” She slammed on the brake.
“What? What’s wrong?” Mallory bolted upright, eyes wide. “Did you hit something?”
The tires screeched as Abby guided the car toward the shoulder. “Not yet, but give me a moment.” She put the car into neutral and twisted the key in the ignition. “You lied to me, damn you! You led me to believe Proof Positive was loosely based on an insurance case. But it’s our parents’ deaths and Connor’s that I’m writing about, isn’t it?”
Mallory turned in her seat to face her sister. “Yes.”
Abby felt her body shake with anger. “How could you do this to me? How could you betray me like this? How could you, Mallory?” she demanded.
“Because if you’d known the truth, you wouldn’t have gone along with me.”
“You’re damn right I wouldn’t have gone along with it,” Abby said, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands, wishing it was Mallory’s neck. “Tell me, sister mine, just when you were planning on telling me? After the book came out?”
“I almost did tell you yesterday morning, when I asked you how you liked my interview with Kathie Lee. But I chickened out. I figured you already had enough to digest, so I decided to wait until after we talked to Constance.”
Abby stared through the windshield at the oncoming cars and had another revelation as she thought back to their discussion about the show, specifically the part where Mallory had revealed the book’s basic plot. “You used me,” she said, disgust ringing in her voice. “You used me, my career, to …”
“Wait a minute, Abby,” Mallory said, holding up her hand to stop her sister. “Before you draw all kinds of wrong conclusions let me explain. First of all, I did not lie to you, I simply didn’t tell you everything. What I said to Kathie Lee about Proof Positive … Yes, I did it intentionally. In fact, I manipulated her into asking me about it, knowing that everything I said would get back to Donovan. I will probably never have enough proof to convict him, so I thought …”
Eyes squinting, Abby interrupted her sister to venture a guess at how she would have finished her sentence. “You thought you would frighten him?” Before Mallory could agree or disagree, Abby contradicted herself. “No, you thought you would put him on alert that you were on to him. You think he’ll tip his hand somehow … and you’ll have your proof. Right?”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but he did call you after the show, which says something …”
“Yeah, it says he was confused about why you were impersonating me, Mallory.” Abby stared at her sister without seeing her as Donovan’s words flashed through her mind. You could be opening up a huge can of worms.
“What? What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Abby denied, the heat of her anger cooling slightly. “No, that’s not true. If your suspicions about Donovan are right … and I’m not saying they are … we could be in real danger. Did you ever think about that? Anyone who has killed three people isn’t going to hesitate to kill again, especially if he thinks he’s going to be exposed.”
Mallory rubbed the sleep from her eyes to draw a steadying breath. “I know that. If there was another way, I would take it, but I can’t think of one.”
Abby shook her head, refusing to let herself believe what was going on around her. “You can deny it all you want, but I know you’re doing this for revenge. You want to get back at Donovan and Carol for institutionalizing you. But listen to me, Mallory, in spite of what you think, they saved you from yourself.”
“I am not doing this for revenge,” Mallory protested. “I know what kind of kid I was. I couldn’t stand myself! Putting me in Argone was the best thing for me. It scares me to think what would have happened to me if I hadn’t been sent there. I’m doing this because he murdered our parents and your boyfriend. Do you want his crimes to go unpunished?”
Abby found herself at a loss for words. She sat staring at her sister, remembering even more of her conversation with Donovan. Was this the something he’d predicted she was being set up for? No, she thought. It would be the book’s ending, when the murderer was revealed. Though everything would be fictionalized, Donovan wouldn’t have any problem recognizing himself unless … she broke the contract. Of course that would be committing author suicide. But the way things were going, she was going to die anyway.
Donovan Mitchell swung the full-sized rental car onto Route 1 and headed north.
“Can’t you drive any faster, Donovan?”
“No, Carol, I cannot drive any faster. I’d like to get there in one piece if you don’t mind. You need to relax because this is out of our hands, and there’s nothing either one of us can do at this precise moment. Bobby is going to be fine. You do not die from appendicitis.”
Carol turned her head to glare at him. “Do you live on some other planet, Donovan? People do die from a ruptured appendix. Do not tell me not to worry,” she said, giving him a withering look. “I’m a mother. I also have to wonder why you aren’t worrying more. You sure as hell worry about Abby and that fruitcake Mallory. Why is that, Donovan? And while you’re explaining that, I’d like to know why you felt compelled to call Abby and tell her about Bobby. She doesn’t give a damn about him or us, and you know it.” She looked at him from beneath lowered eyelids.
“Will you listen to yourself, Carol. I don’t know you anymore. What the hell happened to us? We’re constantly at each other’s throats. Even Bobby has picked up on it. He asked me what your problem was and wanted to know if you were going through menopause. I don’t know what’s the matter with you. It can’t be money. Do you feel overworked? If you don’t want to do the interior design on the model homes anymore, just say so. Personally, I think you’re bitter about your failed relationship with Abby. If you hadn’t tried to control her life, everything would have been fine. But no, you couldn’t stop. And now what you did has even rubbed off on me. So now that’s two daughters I’ve lost. Against my better judgment, I hardly ever went to see Mallory because you wanted it that way. And I mistakenly thought I should respect your wishes. I’m not proud of that decision. I just wish to hell I could make it up to her somehow. God, I’d give anything …”
“Shut up, Donovan,” Carol grumbled. “I’m sick and tired of you talking about how I’m this way and that way. And I’m sick of you talking about Mallory and Abby. For that matter, I’m sick of you, too. Sometimes I wonder why we stay married.”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing myself,” Donovan flashed back. “Do you know how long it’s been since we made love? My God, we don’t even share the same bed anymore. Maybe we should think about a divorce.”
“What? So you can latch on to some bimbo? Not likely,” Carol snarled.
“We can’t even talk to each other anymore without fighting. What kind of life is this?”
“That’s almost funny, Donovan. How can we talk or have a life when you leave at five in the morning and get home at midnight? Maybe you need to explain all that to me when you finally get around to explaining all those other things.”
“You always did have a problem with my schedule. Yes, the hours are long, but Jesus Christ look at the vacations we take—three to four weeks at a crack. I thought I was making up for all those late nights.”
“I really wish you’d drive a little
faster,” she said, ignoring him.
“I don’t even know where the hell I’m going. What hospital is Bobby in? You didn’t say.”
“Jersey General, and I did tell you. As usual, you weren’t listening.”
“Why not St. Peter’s? I think Abby thinks it’s St. Peter’s.”
“Abby, Abby, Abby. If it isn’t Abby, it’s Mallory. Ask me if I care what she thinks. On second thought, don’t ask me. I don’t care.”
“Abby cares, Carol. She was very concerned when I told her about Bobby. She adores that boy, and you know it. I think you’re jealous of their friendship.”
“We’ll see how upset she is if she shows up, which we both know she won’t do. Saying I’m jealous of my own son doesn’t even bear discussing.”
“You don’t give up, do you, Carol?” Donovan clamped his lips shut and concentrated on the road and the traffic ahead of him. Carol slouched in the corner, her eyes closed. Donovan risked a glance at his wife out of the corner of his eye. He sighed when he saw a single tear roll down her cheek.
Abby pulled around the back of the house and parked between the patio and the guest house, out of sight of the neighbors. She was glad now that Mallory had suggested renting a car. Her Jeep and Mallory’s Corvette would have been much too easy to describe.
Her nerves strung tight, Abby stared at the house where she’d spent her teenage years and remembered the good times. Stay alert and shift your mental gears into neutral, she told herself. She needed to remember why she was here.
“If they left in a hurry, maybe Carol didn’t set the alarm,” Mallory said, heading toward the kitchen door.
“Carol sets the alarm if she goes outside to bring in firewood. She believes in security. It’s one of the high-tech selling points in the stuff Donovan builds. It doesn’t matter if it’s a private house or a shopping mall.” God, was this flat-sounding voice really hers?
“It’s a pretty house,” Mallory observed. “It kind of reminds me of Argone with those huge white pillars in the front.” Abby watched as her sister crossed her arms over her chest and shrank into herself. “Do you remember the security code?” Abby nodded. “Do you have your key?” Abby nodded a second time.
Abby slipped the key into the lock. “Carol has a phenomenal memory for detail. What that means is, if we move something, she’ll know. We need to be very careful. I don’t feel right doing this, Mallory. I feel … God, I don’t know what I feel. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Not that it makes it all right, but don’t forget what they did at your house last Christmas. We may never get another chance like this. Someone is watching over us. In a million years we couldn’t be this lucky again. I’m just sorry it took Bobby’s appendix to rupture, though. Quick, key in the code.”
Abby stared at the square white panel until she saw the disarm button turn green. When she saw the way her hand was trembling, she shoved it into her sweat suit pocket.
“If Carol is as paranoid as you say, you have to wonder why she never changed the code,” Mallory said, looking around at the pristine kitchen.
“It’s Bobby’s birthday. Maybe it’s easy for her to remember. Maybe she felt safer with something she holds dear to her heart.”
Mallory shrugged. “Whatever. How do you want to do this?”
“You’re the brains of this outfit, Mallory. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“All right. Mama’s urn probably looks the same as Daddy’s, and we need to look for our parents’ personal stuff. Let’s start with the house and work our way to the garage. What do you say?”
“There’s a storage area off every bedroom, and a really big one on the landing where Carol keeps all the Christmas decorations. She marks the contents of all the boxes, so that should make it easier.”
“It must have been nice growing up here,” Mallory said wistfully.
Abby’s shoulders stiffened. “It was a little too stiff for my tastes. We never sat in the living room. That was for show. We only ate in the dining room on holidays. The family room isn’t particularly comfortable. It looks like it is, but it isn’t. I spent most of my time in my bedroom. Bobby did, too.”
“My room at Argone had a lock on it, one I couldn’t open.”
“I’m sorry about that, Mallory.”
“I know you are. Most of the time, it seems like a very long time ago. But occasionally, it seems like only yesterday. This is a wonderful view of the grounds from this window. Who does all the gardening?”
“Carol. She uses scissors,” Abby said tightly.
“What are all those bushes?”
“Camellias. They bloom when it gets cold, usually around Christmas. The ones on the left are azaleas. The borders around the fence are oleanders. They’re planted all along the battery to buffet the wind coming in from the ocean. The flowers are pretty. My God, why are we having this stupid conversation?” Abby dithered. “Let’s just do what we came to do and get the hell out of here.”
“Then let’s get to it. I’ll take the storage area off the landing, then meet you upstairs.”
Abby thought her skin would crawl right off her body as she went from room to room, looking in cupboards, drawers, closets, and storage areas. When she came up dry, she walked down to the landing and called out to Mallory. “I hope you’re having better luck than I’m having. I didn’t find a thing. How about you?”
Mallory walked out of the storage area dusting her hands. “I didn’t find anything either. You looked in all the bedrooms?”
“All but Bobby’s. But you’d have to be a ghoul to put a dead person’s ashes in a kid’s bedroom.”
“Check it anyway. You never know. I’ll go downstairs and start checking all those rooms. They must have kept something that belonged to our parents. Their wedding rings, for instance, or a watch. Something for God’s sake. Constance said I need closure. I thought I already had it, but I was wrong.”
“Right now, Mallory, I don’t care about closure. I just want to get out of here. What if the neighbors were looking out the window and recognized me as the driver of the car?”
“No one saw us, and even if they did, chances are they couldn’t give a description. People mind their own business and don’t want to get involved. That’s the bottom line.”
Abby walked back up the steps to Bobby’s room. It was so spick-and-span, she blinked. Not a wrinkle in the NFL bedspread. The dressers and night tables were clutter- and dust-free. It didn’t look like the room had ever been occupied by a teenage boy. How long had he been gone now? Just a few months wasn’t it? She wondered if he’d liked this room. Maybe, if he’d been allowed to toss his clothes around, to blast his stereo and play his television after nine at night. Where was all his sports equipment, or had he taken it with him?
Abby looked at everything, moving things just to see if there was anything wedged or nudged behind something else. Then she saw it … sitting behind a papier-mâché castle and a box of Pick-up Sticks. She was so excited she felt a head rush. “Mallory. Come here!” she shouted.
Mallory bounded up the stairs. “Did you find it?”
Abby pointed to it. “We can’t take it, Mallory. If we do, they’ll know we were here. As long as we know it’s here, it’s okay.”
Mallory’s lips pressed into a thin tight line. “If we don’t take it, he could destroy it. I don’t want Mama getting thrown out as junk. Do you?”
“No, but…”
“There are no buts. We’re taking it, Abby. Let him blame Carol or even Bobby. Trust me, he’s not going to mention it to either one of them. How would he explain it? You already asked him about it. He knows we’re curious. The natural thing for him to do would be to get rid of it. If you don’t want to carry it, I will.” She took the urn off the shelf. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. You’re finished up here, right?”
“I didn’t find anything I recognized as being Mama’s or Daddy’s, but I’m not sure I would know even if I did find something. I was so young, and my mem
ory …”
“Maybe we should just go and after they get back you can call him and ask him if he saved anything. It’s a long drive to Atlanta. I’ll call Constance from my cell phone and ask when she can see us.”
Back on the road, Mallory said, “Let’s talk about the future. Your future, Abby. Let’s plan your wedding.”
“What wedding?”
“Yours and Steve’s. What kind of dress do you want?”
“I’m not planning on getting married for a very long time,” Abby responded, looking askance at her sister, wondering if she’d finally snapped. “Maybe never.”
“Steve’s the marrying kind. He’s going to want lots of kids to play with all those animals. It’s a wonderful thing, Abby, so don’t close your mind to it. I’d like to be your maid of honor unless that spot is reserved for Bunny.”
“The spot is yours, Mallory. You’re my sister. You better plan on hanging around for a long time, though. Marriage is way down the road.”
“Can I be your first child’s godmother?”
“That’s even further down the road.”
Mallory leaned her head back against the headrest, her hold on the urn secure. She smiled in the darkness. “I can wait.”
Abby’s thoughts buzzed inside her head. She had to admit that she’d thought this whole venture was going to be one big wild-goose chase, but the very first stop had proved Donovan to be a liar. Does it follow, then, that he’s lied about everything else, too? Mother of God, how did it come to this?
“Hello, baby, how are you?” Carol asked, stroking her son’s hair. “You gave us a bit of a scare.”
Bobby looked as white as the pillow behind his head. “Sorry,” Bobby mumbled.
Donovan gently ruffled his son’s hair. “They say you’ll be out of here in no time and back to the old study grind. Your mom wasn’t kidding. You did give us a scare.”
“You can recover at home,” Carol said reaching for Bobby’s hand. “That way I’ll know how you’re doing.”
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