by Debra Driza
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” came the suspicious voice.
Lucas, who stood more directly in her line of sight, cleared his throat. “Hello? Mrs. Applebaum?”
The door didn’t budge.
“I knew I should have gotten one of those no soliciting signs,” she snapped. “Get off my porch, or I’m calling my neighbor. Who’s a retired police officer, by the way.”
“We’re not here to sell you anything, ma’am. We want to talk with you about Sarah Lusk.”
There was an awkward silence as we all stood there motionless. It was almost as though we were expecting Sarah’s ghost to materialize.
Then again, Sarah’s ghost had been alive from the moment I was created.
“Who are you people?” Mrs. Applebaum finally said. “Is this some kind of cruel prank? Sarah is dead!” The door started to close, but Lucas moved with more speed than I knew he possessed. He managed to stop the slam with the toe of his shoe.
“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to startle you,” Lucas said. Then he tilted his head at me. “This is my stepsister Mona. She’s Sarah’s cousin. If you open the door, I think you’ll see the resemblance for yourself.”
At first the door didn’t move. Then it squeaked while she inched it open farther, wide enough that she could see my entire face. We could also see her for the first time. Mrs. Applebaum was a petite woman in her early seventies, wearing a pair of stretchy black yoga pants and a white zip sweatshirt. Her denim cap was embellished with sequins, a few pieces of gray-streaked brown hair dangling from beneath it. Laugh lines were etched into the skin near her mouth and eyes.
As she sized me up, I waited like a tightly coiled spring. This would be the first real test of my appearance alterations. If Mrs. Applebaum noticed something that spooked her, our conversation would be dead in the water.
Thankfully, though, she seemed to relax, her posture softening at her shoulders. “There is a similarity, yes.”
The door opened wider. “Sorry about before. If I get only two solicitors a day, it’s a blessing. And sometimes, they don’t like to take no for an answer,” she said. Then she did something surprising. She reached out and took my hand in hers, patting it gently. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Sarah was such a dear, dear girl.”
“Thank you,” I said, shifting my weight from foot to foot, hoping that she would invite us in. “We don’t want to intrude or anything, but do you think we could talk to you for a few minutes?”
A faint smile formed on her lips. “Of course. Come and have a seat on the porch.” She waved us over to the small table. “I’ll go fetch us some iced tea.”
Maybe this old woman knew something useful.
Mrs. Applebaum bustled back outside holding a tray with three large plastic cups. Ice clinked as she set them in front of us. “Sugar?” she said, nodding at two spoons and a glass container. “I don’t have any of that artificial sweetener that’s so popular these days, I’m afraid. That stuff is poison, full of toxins. What’s wrong with plain old sugar? I like to know where my food comes from, thank you very much.”
I took a sip.
Apple cinnamon.
I remembered this flavor.
“Are you trying to bamboozle an old lady?” A Mrs. Applebaum with less gray in her hair peered at me from across this exact same table, fanning a stack of red-and-white playing cards.
I laughed, setting my own cards facedown on the table. Even beneath the shade of the porch, the sun beat down, dampening my bare legs. I took a long chug of the iced tea, the crisp hint of apple sweetened by cinnamon, before pressing the cold glass to my face.
“You like the tea? Sarah drank it when she’d stop by sometimes to play gin.”
I drained half the glass to give myself time to recover, conscious of her gaze. “It’s great.”
“Now, what brings you around these parts?” she said. “Do you live here? No, you couldn’t, or I imagine I would have seen you, hanging around with Sarah,” she said, answering her own question.
“I’m just visiting. I’m interested in a couple of colleges in the area, and I thought I should stop by Sarah’s old house.” My chest tightened as I spoke, each word becoming harder to say. “I was shocked to see how different the place is. I hadn’t been there in years, but I still remember exactly how it looked, you know?”
Mrs. Applebaum reached across the table and placed her wrinkled hand on my shoulder. “I know. It’s hard to face it every day, remembering what happened. Such a tragedy. To lose someone so young.” When her eyes began to water, she dabbed at them with a napkin. “I could barely make it through the memorial service. Were you there?”
“We came late, our flight from Seattle was delayed,” Lucas blurted out.
My fingers gripped the cup tightly.
“Damn airlines. You can’t rely on them to get you anywhere without a big hassle,” she said, wiping at her cheeks.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Rack up another save for Lucas.
“I miss that family so much,” Mrs. Applebaum went on. “My own kids, they moved halfway across the country, but with Nicole and Dan, I almost felt like they were my own. Though, did you know, my son and his wife and my three precious grandbabies are coming for a visit this Thanksgiving? It’s about time. I can’t wait. I don’t do much cooking anymore, since cooking for yourself isn’t much fun. But I am planning a feast! Pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes, creamed spinach, the works!”
Next to her, Lucas nodded, eyes sparkling with genuine interest in her holiday plans. “That sounds great, Mrs. Applebaum. I’m sure your family will have a wonderful time.”
“Call me Maggie. I never have been one much for formalities,” she said.
“Maggie, then.” Lucas smiled, easing back in his chair a bit.
Whatever comfort Lucas and I were beginning to feel here, we were on borrowed time. We had a long way to go if we were going to find out what Holland was up to.
I had to cut to the chase.
“I was wondering, could I ask you some questions about the fire?”
Maggie’s face clouded over. “I suppose. Although I’m not sure why you’d want to discuss it now, on such a beautiful day.”
I glanced over at Lucas, who gave me an encouraging look. So I pressed on.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to dig up awful memories,” I said. “But Aunt Nicole and Uncle Daniel. They became estranged from us, once Sarah died. So I really have no clue what actually happened.”
“I know what you mean,” Maggie replied. “They just vanished from my life too. I wish they’d come by to see me one last time, but I understood. Losing a child like that . . . my word. I can’t even imagine.”
“So they never talked to you afterward?” I asked.
“Once all the hoopla died down, they were gone,” she said. “And the fire was ruled an accident. I read an article in the newspaper, some reporter said something about a lit cigarette.” Her lips pressed together tightly.
Lucas piped up. “Did Nicole or Daniel even smoke?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “And Sarah wasn’t the type to sneak around with any. She was a total good girl.”
Maggie slapped one hand on the table. “Exactly! That’s what I told the detectives, too, when they came around to investigate.”
Lucas shot me a look. “More than one detective?” That sounded unusual for investigating a fire.
“That’s right, though they didn’t come at the same time,” Maggie explained. “I liked the first one a whole lot better than that second one. He seemed, pardon my pun, like he had a fire lit under him.”
Why would two different detectives be sent to cover the same case? I wondered.
“I told the first guy that no one in that family smoked, not a day in their lives,” Maggie added. “But I’d seen a man lurking around the house the day of the fire. I figured he might have had something to do with it.”
My legs tensed. “You saw a stranger near their house? The day of the fir
e?”
Holland.
“Um-hum. This creep tried to look like he had business being over there, but something about him was way off.” Maggie took a sip of tea and then went on with her story. “When I called out to him and asked what he was doing, he pretended not to hear me, then drove away in a big SUV. I would have jotted down the license plate, but it didn’t have one. Just one of those temporary dealership things. Anyway. The first detective seemed very keen on that information, and when he told me he planned to follow up, I believed him.” Maggie tried to ward off a grin, but failed. “He had one of those thick mustaches, like Tom Selleck. And when he showed me his badge, I saw photos of his two dogs in his wallet. Showed he had a heart. I liked that.”
“What about the second detective?” I asked.
She gave a disgusted snort. “Preoccupied, and disinterested. Oh, he put on a good show, but I can tell when someone is selling me a line of bull.”
Lucas stifled a cough with his hand. Like him, I was really hoping that Maggie didn’t pick up the fact that we were in the load-of-bull-selling business.
Which made me wonder. Maggie seemed to be exactly what she presented—a kind old lady who felt terrible about Sarah’s death—but how did we know that was true? Maybe Holland had told her we might be coming, and paid her handsomely to stall us.
I might be paranoid, but that feeling of apprehension had proven useful in many situations.
So my android sensors performed a discreet survey.
Blood pressure, pulse, body language—all in normal range. No reason to believe she was lying.
Maggie scowled out at the street. “He told me he’d already checked it out, and the stranger was just a serviceman. Checking the pipes, or some such. Rubbish. Never once seen a serviceman wearing jeans and a T-shirt instead of some type of uniform. And where was his company van or truck? Plus, he was twitchy. Kept jerking his head around like he expected someone to bust him at any minute.”
Holland, in jeans and a T-shirt? Acting twitchy? Possible, but not likely. Holland was the kind of man who believed his own hype. He’d have no problem explaining his presence, no matter where he was.
Still. “Do you remember anything about what this man looked like? Anything at all?”
Maggie caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I wish I did, but he wore a baseball cap on his head and I never did get a good look at his face. He was tall, though, at least six feet, and plenty scrawny. I remember thinking no one had cooked him a good meal in a long time.”
My fingers curled under the edges of the chair. These details definitely didn’t match up with Holland. And they weren’t much to go on.
“Do you by chance remember either of the detectives’ names?” Lucas asked. “I’d love to know if they ever found that guy.”
She pursed her lips and frowned. “No, I can’t say that I do. But I would imagine you could find all the information in the police reports. As a family member, I’m sure they’d be happy to make you a copy, down at the local station.”
I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be happy at all, but I just nodded.
Maggie sighed. “I wish that I could see your cousin again. I still miss her. She’d come by on the weekends and keep me company. Made this house feel alive again. Sometimes she’d even bring friends.”
“She’d bring friends with her? Really?”
“Well, mostly just one. Chloe Nivens. She and Sarah were practically attached at the hip. They did everything together.”
Lucas leaned forward, seemingly excited by this new lead.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t move. The instant Maggie uttered that name, my memory sparked.
A girl with long brown hair, laughing and falling back into the snow, still stuck to her snowboard.
Chloe.
When I’d had the memory back at the cabin, I hadn’t realized that other girl had been my—I mean, Sarah’s—best friend.
“Did you know her at all?” Maggie’s question drew me back into the moment. She watched me quizzically from behind her bifocals.
I formed my expression into a false smile.
“No. But Sarah always talked about her. You wouldn’t happen to have her number, by chance?” Now that the initial shock had dissipated, some of Lucas’s excitement trickled into me. A lead was a lead.
“Chloe’s number? Why?”
I searched my mind for a good reason to contact Sarah’s friend if I didn’t even know her.
But Lucas was quick on his feet again. “She might have some opinions on the schools Mona’s looking at. Since she’s from this area and everything.”
“Not a bad idea. Chloe is very smart. Has a good head on her shoulders,” Maggie said before going off on a tangent. “I do think I have her mother’s number—Daphne Nivens. Daphne’s mom, Opal—that would be Chloe’s grandma, god rest her soul—and I used to play gin rummy together. Daphne still checks in on me every now and then, the dear. I hear all about Chloe and her soccer team—she’s goalie, you know—their family vacations to go skiing or whatever that newfangled thing is, you know, the skateboard on snow. Seems crazy to me, in the winter, why go somewhere even colder? Arizona, now that’s a winter vacation. Anyway, what we were talking about? Oh, right. Daphne’s phone number. You want me to find that for you?”
“Yes, that would be great,” I said, trying not to let on that her rambling had set off a flood of strange feelings inside me. A powerful emotional connection.
Some deep, hidden part of me remembered what it was like to be her friend.
When Maggie returned from the other room, she held out a pink Post-it note, along with a small business card. “I decided I should check my file folder in the kitchen, where I stash names and numbers. I confess, I’m a bit of a hoarder when it comes to paper—you never know when you might need to call someone. Though I’m nothing like those families on TV. Have you seen that show? Isn’t it something else? Those poor people! And that one lady with all those dogs! Now, where was I? Oh, right. So, I got to thinking that I probably wouldn’t have thrown away a detective’s card, and sure enough, there it was. I wish they had kept him on the case. He seemed like a good egg.”
I swallowed hard, barely daring to hope. Talking to this detective could be huge. There seemed reason to believe there was something suspicious about the fire. But why would anyone be targeting Sarah’s family?
Even if Maggie was wrong about what she saw, one fact remained. The fire was the unofficial start of the MILA project. Because without Sarah, Holland wouldn’t have had the basis for his experiments.
Lucas took the card in his hand and read the name out loud. “Edgar Blythe?”
Maggie nodded. “That’s him. A nice-looking man, blond hair, nice brown eyes, though he looked like he could use a good shave. I didn’t get the impression he was married—his dress shirt was too wrinkled.” Then she suddenly leaned toward Lucas, staring at his forehead with pursed lips. “Before you go, I should get you a new bandage for that cut of yours. It’s looking a little . . . gnarly.”
Lucas reached up and touched it, a look of embarrassment floating across his face. I was a little mortified too. I hadn’t even noticed how old and gray the Band-Aid had become over the last couple days.
“Oh, that’s nice of you. Thanks,” he said.
Maggie turned to me with a shaking finger. “You two better take care of each other, okay? If it’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that bad things can happen, even to the best of people.”
SEVEN
After a promising start, the next hour was a disappointment.
We called both the numbers that Maggie gave us from a pay phone outside the local library. The one on Edgar Blythe’s business card was disconnected, and Chloe’s mother’s cell delivered an automated message that said her mailbox was currently full. I suggested to Lucas that we pick up a burner phone, so that we could at least try Daphne again later, but instead he grabbed his laptop from the Caprice and motioned for me to follow him into the building.
<
br /> A white-and-blue sign above the sliding glass doors bragged: WHERE DETERMINATION MEETS KNOWLEDGE.
Hopefully that came with a money-back guarantee.
The sliding doors slid open with a whisk whisk of moving air. Inside, four middle-aged women juggled toddlers and cell phones while waiting in line to scan their books. A young dad brushed past us toward the exit carrying a beaming little boy who clutched a book about trains. His round baby eyes met mine, and he chortled, releasing the book with one hand to wave.
His innocent little face prompted a new bout of dread, which spilled across my neck and back like a dark, viscous sludge. Beneath the heavy cotton of my sweatshirt, my stomach throbbed.
Could he be in danger? Could this be the place?
I scanned my system for the tiniest hint that another step forward might ignite a storm inside me. But there was nothing, just the sound of my faux heartbeat thumping in my ears. My relief was short-lived when I noticed the security system looming ahead. Did it scan for weapons? If so, we were completely screwed.
Analyzing capabilities . . .
Limited to the detection of registered property leaving the premises without permission.
Lucas glanced at me and noticed my intense interest in the electronic arch we needed to walk through. Casually, he put his hand on the small of my back and escorted me to the welcome desk, where a librarian was perched on a stool, immersed in her work.
No alarms sounded. But I still felt vulnerable here, in Sarah’s town. Even though my appearance had changed, I recognized so many things through Sarah’s memories that I felt like everyone could see right through me. And I didn’t want to hurt anyone here.
“So I was thinking we could try Blythe’s email address, just in case it’s operational. If not, there’s a chance it’s being forwarded to a personal account, which we can try and track down, of course,” Lucas said, leading us around some shelving units toward two unoccupied desks in a back corner.
“Good idea,” I said. “Maybe in the meantime we could hack into the case files somehow? Like through the police network?”