“I’m not pretending anything, Pete. I have no idea what you’re going on about.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Pete, you’ve got the right script, but you’re reading the wrong lines. Why are you doing this to me?”
“You know, Ava! You even taunted me about it at the memorial. Bad enough to find out you were alive, bad enough to have to come back here and end up face-to-face with my worst fucking nightmare—”
“Hey!”
“—but you just had to get your little digs in.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—” But then she did.
Did you hear Shady Oaks finally had to shut down?
Shit.
I guess the drug thing—the latest drug thing—was a bridge too far.
“Are you a pharmacist now?” he mimicked. “You fucking well knew I wasn’t.”
Would the truth—that she had no inkling of his career path—help or hurt?
“You must have figured out why I left by now.”
She was still wrestling with her dilemma. Tell the truth? I didn’t notice when you left. I didn’t care when you left. I didn’t think of you while you were gone. And I barely remembered you when you came back.
She strove for a reasonable, measured tone. “You said you moved abroad after you got your degree.”
“Yes, from Inver.”
“An associate’s degree,” she realized aloud, because Inver was a community college. “Two years. And you’re two years older than me. You didn’t leave because you got your degree—that was just how the timing worked out. You left because you wanted an ocean between you and your murder. But I still don’t know why you killed Da—” He visibly twitched at that, and she rapidly rephrased. “—why you wanted to kill me.”
“You found my stash. You sent me an e-mail about it. You were going to report me.”
It was finally coming back to her, but in pieces. She might have remembered sooner, if Pete had been the slightest bit memorable and if she had been the slightest bit less self-absorbed. But he wasn’t, and she wasn’t. Back then she had been too wrapped up in her own grief and, after her parents died, her own need to get far away.
“I only sent it because I didn’t know what was going on. I found all this stuff from residents who died, and when I looked up the paperwork, you were on shift each time and … shit, I didn’t know. Shady Oaks was slacking off even then, and when I asked around, nobody seemed to know what you were doing, or even gave a shit.”
“Stop it. Don’t pretend you didn’t know I was doing something wrong.”
“Why would I? Come on—a seventeen-year-old volunteer sent one measly e-mail asking about a Tylenol-Three stash, which you explained. I mean, I know now you were lying, but I didn’t then. I believed you. I dropped the subject. I didn’t even save the e-mail! You couldn’t have thought you were in any danger.”
But he had. And he’d acted accordingly.
“It was a little more than Tylenol-Three. It was Xanax and Klonopin and Tranxene and benzos and oxy. And that doesn’t count the shit that was already in my system. That was just what I boosted from the Oaks that month.”
She rubbed her eyes. “And you fucked with my drug test.”
“I was sure that would jog your memory.”
“There wasn’t anything to jog!” Wait. Rephrase. “In your e-mail you said you were … God, what was it?”
“Reappropriating.”
“Yes! That. You said the patients didn’t need their meds anymore but you’d pass them down to ones who did need them. Like residents who didn’t have good insurance, or however you put it. And I believed you, Pete! Again: seventeen. Not a medical professional. Stuck in a job I couldn’t quit. Resentful and pissy, as only teenagers can be.” Well, teenagers and cats.
All of which was why Danielle had her very own Volunteer Aide Ava name tag: so they could share a job she’d come to hate. Back in the day, she assumed they’d gotten away with it because they were just that clever. She was now beginning to realize they got away with it because Shady Oaks was just that shitty.
“Not only was it just the one e-mail, you and I never even talked about it face-to-face,” she said slowly, as her rusty brain gave up memories she hadn’t sought in years. “I only knew you to say hi to, and I almost never saw you in person. And being constantly doped on all kinds of bad shit didn’t help matters, did it? So you panicked and killed the other teenage brunette who answered to Ava.” Wrong girl. Wrong job. Wrong life. Wrong choice. “But why now? Why drag all this up a decade later?”
“Unfinished business,” he said shortly. “I left and had no intention of returning. I made something of myself. It was all behind me.”
“Behind you? So I take it you found a good rehab facility in Scotland? What’d you do when you got to step nine? How did you make amends to the Monahans?”
“I didn’t need rehab,” was the short (and grotesquely inaccurate) reply. “And then Captain Bellyflopper made the news, and I realized my mistake.”
Damn you, Internet. And Tom had guessed right again. He’d speculated that Becka had appeared in Ava’s life because she saw the emergency-landing coverage. He was wrong about the person, but right about the impetus.
“So you came back for Danielle’s memorial. You knew about it because it’s your family business. And to test the waters, or whatever.”
“Why are you narrating?”
“It helps me think. So when we talked about Shady Oaks, you assumed I was taunting you. Which is why you sabotaged me. You—” She groaned as another realization hit her. “Computer science. That’s how you fucked up my drug test and got into the airline’s intranet. And you lifted my purse, didn’t you?” She remembered losing track of the thing for a few minutes and then Dennis came from the office and handed it to her. “The night of the memorial?”
“I made copies of everything in your wallet,” he confirmed. “You really shouldn’t keep your passwords on your person.”
“My person is none of your business. And you stole my lotion!” No question, the man was a fucking monster. “Don’t,” she added when he opened his mouth. “I don’t want to know what you put in it. And then you poisoned me.”
“What?”
“Knock it off. You know what you did,” she snapped. “I spent half the night throwing up. Giving me a skin condition was bad enough, but leave my food alone!”
“No, that wasn’t me. Probably something you ate.”
“Oh. Well, okay. But the rest of it: not okay, Pete! Why the hell would you do all that? Risk showing your hand like that?”
“To isolate you. To get you alone.”
She shook her head. “I was never alone, idiot. Even if it took me years to realize. You killed Danielle for nothing, do you understand? Not only was she not going to rat you out, I wasn’t, either. Like I said, I believed you.”
“I couldn’t chance it. Stealing drugs is a felony, even if you’re just robbing the dead and demented to feed your habit. It wouldn’t have just been the Department of Health, it would have been the cops and it would have followed me around for the rest of my life. It would have destroyed me.”
“So you destroyed Danielle instead. And ran.” She hesitated, but took the plunge anyway. “You’re pathetic. Oh, what? I’m supposed to be nice to you? I’m supposed to believe you’re not going to kill me if I flatter you and pretend you don’t disgust me? Please. I know you don’t want me to leave this room under my own power. Anyone who’s ever watched a murder mystery would know that.
“And the worst part, Pete, you fucking piece of shit? I was with Danielle that whole last day! You probably only missed me by an hour or so. And then you showed up and—” It was a day for dawning realizations, apparently. “Trying too hard,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. “That’s what the tech said at the crime scene.” She looked up. “You stabbed her and she bled out—I’ll bet you waited until her back was turned, because you’re a cowardly POS. And once
she was down, you got creative—but you overdid it. Just like you overdid it with her ashes. And my drug test. You wanted it to look like a random psycho vagrant. Not the local junkie who stole from the dead and then pissed himself when he thought a teenager was going to get him in trouble.”
“You should talk,” he snapped back.
“Hey: this junkie never robbed a dead nursing home resident, didn’t pull an over-the-top murder to cover my theft, and didn’t flee like a fucking coward only to skulk back and play petty tricks to lure me into an ‘alone with the psycho’ moment.”
“It wasn’t exactly fun times for me, either. I threw up in two Ziploc bags.”
“Jesus Christ. What’d you do with Dennis?”
“Why is everyone worried about Dennis?” Pete had the gall to sound wounded, which was as offensive as it was hilarious. “I have no idea where that idiot is.”
“You—you don’t?”
“I needed to get you alone. Why the hell would I want Dennis Monahan hanging around?”
“But you had his cell.”
“I found his cell. And the whole thing was taking too long, so I used it. I’ve got a life to get back to, y’know.”
Wow. He really thinks that. Unreal. And why hasn’t someone walked in or called in the last five minutes?
“So I called his little girlfriend,” Pete continued. “He doesn’t lock his phone, can you believe it?”
“You’re right. This is taking too long. So what now? I’m here. My bodyguard’s down for the count.”
“Your what?”
“Never mind. Just so we’re on the same page, you’re going to kill me because you’re a nasty, vindictive brat, and also because you don’t want anyone finding out you killed Danielle. Do I have that right?”
“That’s only two reasons,” he snapped. “There are loads more. I know what you’re doing, by the way. You’re not clever, and I’m not talking because you’re tricking me. I’m talking because you deserve to know why. You think I won’t get your phone later and wipe whatever recording you’re making?”
“What about Tom?”
“Fuck him.” But he sounded rattled. Ava wondered when Pete had tipped from vengeful sociopath to clinically insane nutjob. Because he was crazy, she was sure of it. Ten years of looking over his shoulder had taken a toll; even when he thought he was free, he wasn’t.
“Fine. Get on with it.”
He just looked at her, then at Tom. And she saw what the problem was. He’d tased Tom, who had collapsed facedown. Meaning he was lying on the electrodes embedded in his
(broad, yummy)
chest.
In other words, Pete couldn’t tase her from where he was. All he could do was zap Tom again. If that was even how Tasers worked—did the thing need to build up a charge? Could you pull the trigger again if the electrodes hadn’t retracted? Note to self: see G.B. about Taser lessons.
Did he have a gun? Or a knife? Would he try and strangle her with those scrawny, manicured paws? She almost hoped he would. She’d stick her thumbs in his eyes so deep, he’d spend the rest of the year looking for a service animal.
“Second thoughts?” she asked.
“No.” He dropped the Taser, which was great. But he pulled what looked like a .38 from somewhere, which was less great. Had it been tucked in the back of his jeans? Dolt.
“You’ve been watching too much TV. That’s an excellent way to get a bullet up the crack of your ass.”
“Shut up.”
“Aren’t you worried about someone dropping by to coffin shop? What are you going to do with the bodies?”
“Frame Dennis. And the only one who’s going to need to shop for a coffin is—nobody, actually. You’ve got nobody. It’s why you always hung out with the Monahans. No one will give a shit when you turn up dead.”
“I’d explain how you’re wrong, but you’d never get it. Also—whoa.”
“Whoa” because Tom’s hand had shot out, clamped around Pete’s ankle like a fleshy handcuff, and yanked. Pete vanished from her line of sight like he’d dropped through a trapdoor and hit the carpet so hard she saw dust puff up.
Her relief was so great, her knees almost gave way. “Figured you were awake.”
“Barely,” Tom muttered, then groaned as Pete kicked him in the forehead with the foot Tom didn’t have a death grip on.
“Don’t.” Ava had pulled her knife—she’d been waiting for her moment, and it was hard to picture a better one—and flipped the blade open.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” he snarled, trying to claw for the gun, which had fallen about two inches out of his reach.
“Finally, we agree. Also, you see I’m armed and will stab you, right? So maybe give up now before everything gets much worse for you?”
Pete finally managed to shake loose, then rolled to his feet, snatched up the Taser, and came for her. Tom’s muscles must still be jelly, because to say he was disoriented would be an understatement. She was amazed he’d kept his grip as long as he had and—oh, shit, here was Pete, four feet away and closing.
She could see that he’d ejected a cartridge from the Taser, leaving the electrodes in Tom but still able to zap her with the electric discharge. The arc was the brightest thing in the gloom of the funeral home.
“If you don’t step off, I will stab you.” She’d had to rush that last bit because she was out of time, sidestepped Pete’s lunge, and brought up the blade of her puny little three-incher right under the shelf of his jaw: schump!
And then, horrified, she let go. Because Pete was making a series of low squealing noises as he flailed for the knife sticking under his chin, as blood poured down, as he missed, grabbed again, missed. It took Ava a couple of seconds to realize that she’d managed to stick the blade in hard enough and far enough to puncture Pete’s tongue, and oh shit she was gonna barf.
Nope. Just the dry heaves as she watched Pete sink to his knees, still pawing for the blade.
“Ava, my God, are you all right?” Tom had managed to climb to his feet and was swaying slightly.
“Comparatively speaking, yeah.” To Pete: “What, my best friend was slaughtered and you didn’t think I’d learn self-defense or carry a weapon? How could you be so diabolical and so dumb at the same time?”
Tom staggered, then steadied himself. “Well, that was illuminating.”
“Are you okay? You were down for so long…”
“Because you put yourself at risk to buy time, so I waited for whatever opening you were going to give me. Christ, Ava, you are a lunatic. A formidable one, but nevertheless.”
She slung an arm around his waist. “What was it like?”
“Like a full-body muscle cramp magnified by a factor of five.” He looked down at Pete, who’d fallen silent save for the occasional wet gargle. A growing red stain was spreading beneath his head. “What about him?”
“Fuck him.”
And that was that.
Forty-Six
Two days later, they were having dinner in Ava’s minisuite at the Radisson Blu. They’d both been interviewed multiple times by the authorities, and Tom admitted he found it interesting to be on the other side of the desk, so to speak, as opposed to his usual role.
“That wears off,” Ava said dryly.
The Monahans had been amazed to finally discover who killed their Danielle, none more so than Dennis, who was alive and well and had checked himself into Twin Town, a mens’ live-in treatment center for alcohol abuse. He’d left a message for his mother, who preferred denial to acknowledgment and thus had said nothing. He then abandoned his phone, knowing he wouldn’t be able to use it in rehab, and went to see what parts of himself could be salvaged and what needed to be remade.
“Idiot! You had everyone worried sick! Except possibly your mom!”
“I was worried sick.” She’d been able to see him during visitors’ hours, though she wasn’t a family member. Apparently when you had to tell an old friend that you killed his sister’s killer, e
xceptions are made. “I had to get the hell gone. I should’ve realized Mom would be too embarrassed to tell anybody where I went. I’m sorry you were worried, but I had to come. Who gets piss drunk the night of their twin’s memorial, sobers up, sneaks back in during the wee hours and trashes a funeral home, and then drinks more?”
“It’s a trick question, right?”
The police (and Tom) pieced together the sequence of events: Dennis had taken a cab (somehow), upended tables and broken dishes, failed to notice Pete’s presence, then staggered back to his cab and, ultimately, the hotel, where he regained consciousness hours later with only the vaguest memories of what he had done. Pete, meanwhile, had finished the job, taking special pleasure in not only using Danielle’s ashes but also knowing Dennis would get the blame.
The past two days had dragged and flown, something she hadn’t thought possible. Jan had been dismayed to hear Ava was involved in another murder, this one by her own hand (“Self-defense? But you’re okay? Yes? Promise? All right, that’s great. Jesus, what is it with you?”) and had referred her case for final review, one of the last steps before she was cleared to fly again.
“Ava? Are you in there?” Tom teased.
She gave herself a mental shake. “Yeah, sure. Are you still okay with spending the night?” Possibly a dumb question. He’d brought a small suitcase, a sizable toiletries bag, and a suit bag. And showed up at 4:00 P.M. for their 8:00 P.M. meal. He does know it’s just one night, right?
“I am delighted.”
“Good.” She was just grazing by now, nibbling at the last few fries simply because they were in front of her, so she put the plates back on the cart and, with Tom’s assistance, pushed the thing out into the hall without accidentally locking herself out of her room.*
Once back inside, she went to him and looped her arms around his neck. “I hate that you were there,” she said, rubbing her nose back and forth just under his collarbone, which prompted the most adorable noises (ticklish!). “But I’m also really glad you were there.”
“My exact sentiments.” He cupped the back of her head, ran his fingers through her curls, tipped her head back for a long kiss.
Truth, Lies, and Second Dates Page 20