As difficult as her mom could be at times, she’d always been there for Olivia. She’d sacrificed her own career so that her daughter could have every opportunity in life. And though keeping her mom on her antidepressants had always been a struggle, Olivia knew her mom loved her very much. And the feeling was mutual.
Besides, they really didn’t have anyone else. Just each other. So the depth of pain her mom must have been feeling earlier that evening . . . Olivia could only speculate. She’d seen her mom in some dark places, going days without showering, twenty-hour sleep marathons, and then the drinking. But they had always passed, always gone away and been replaced by happier, more hopeful periods. Why had this time been different?
“How’s she doing?” John smiled at her from the doorway.
“She hasn’t woken up yet,” Olivia said, surprised by the cragginess of her voice, “but they told me she should be okay.”
“Awesome,” John said. “That’s the second piece of good news we’ve gotten tonight.”
“Second?”
John smiled. “Margot’s awake.”
Olivia shot to her feet. “How is she? Is she okay? Oh my God, does she know who—”
“She doesn’t remember anything,” John said, shaking his head.
“Shit.”
“Sorry.”
Olivia looked down at her mom, tubes sticking out of her arm and her nose, her chest rising and falling at an unnatural pace. Her hands balled up into fists and she fought the urge to punch something.
“He did this to her,” Olivia said.
“Olivia,” John said softly. “Isn’t your mom . . .”
“Crazy?” Olivia said, raising her eyebrows. “Is that what you meant?”
“No.”
“The word is ‘bipolar.’ And yes, she is. But I meant he drove her to this. The pill bottles—those weren’t her usual prescriptions. She said the pharmacy called her to say she had a pickup. It had to be the killer.”
“Damn.”
“She’d put everything on the line for that play and that email would have been enough to send her over the edge. Charles Beard,” Olivia said, remembering the name on the email. “Christopher Beeman. Not a coincidence.”
A doctor breezed into the room, his white coat fluttering behind him like a cape. “Miss Hayes?”
“Yes,” Olivia answered. Oh no, what now?
He held something in his hand that he began to pass to her, then paused, eyeing John. “I’m sorry, but visitors aren’t allowed.”
“This is my brother,” Olivia lied, without missing a beat. “John.”
“Oh.” The doctor looked back and forth between Olivia and John, trying to find some resemblance between the strawberry blond, blue-eyed girl and John’s dark hair and hazel eyes. Eventually, he gave up. “We found this in your mother’s pocket,” he said, handing the piece of paper to Olivia. “It’s addressed to you.”
Olivia took the note with a trembling hand. “Thank you.”
The doctor gave a nod and withdrew from the room.
The note was written on a plain piece of computer paper, folded in quarters with the words “For Olivia Hayes Only” written on the front in her mom’s messy, frantic scrawl.
“Do you want me to go?” John asked.
“No.” Olivia turned the note over in her hands without opening it. She didn’t want to be alone when she read it. What was she going to find inside? A suicide note? An explanation as to why her mom felt her life was so not worth living that she’d abandon her daughter to the foster care system? Because that’s what it meant. Olivia had no one—no siblings, no grandparents, and no idea who her father even was, let alone where. Did she want to know her mom’s last thoughts?
Not really. But she needed to read it anyway.
Livvie,
You were right. I’m a fool. An old, washed-up fool who believed somehow this time would be different. But it’s not. I’m a fuck-up. A loser and a bad mother. And you’ll be better off without me.
But I’m not leaving you alone. You’ve got your father now and he’ll take care of you. He might not believe you, but I had a DNA test done to prove it. It’s in my dresser drawer.
He’ll take care of you, Livvie. I know he will. You have his eyes. I thought of him every time I looked at you.
I love you so much. You know that, right? But I’m so bad for you, Livvie. You’ll be happier when I’m gone.
If they try to take you away, show them this. I, June Hayes, relinquish custody of my daughter Olivia Hayes to her biological father, Fitzgerald O’Henry Conroy.
THIRTY-NINE
ED WATCHED MARGOT’S FACE INTENTLY AS KITTY FINISHED catching her up on everything that had happened in the last week: the copycat DGM, Rex’s death, a half dozen or so missing persons, and the bombshell revelation that Christopher Beeman was dead.
Her poker face was impressive. She took it calmly, dispassionately, the only glimmer of emotion coming when Kitty mentioned Olivia’s mom’s suicide attempt.
As Kitty fell silent, Margot stared at the blank wall on the far side of the room, and Ed knew that her brain was hard at work, analyzing and cataloging all the information she’d just downloaded.
“The footage from Rex’s birthday party,” she said at last, eyes still fixed on the wall. “What grade was he in?”
Kitty glanced at Ed for confirmation. “Sixth?” she said.
Detail-oriented she was not. “It was Rex’s thirteenth birthday,” Ed said. “Which would make it eighth grade.”
Margot nodded to herself. “And the photos of Amber were from a fat camp?” Again, no hint of emotion, but Ed couldn’t help wondering what Margot was feeling. Amber had tormented her ruthlessly about her weight in junior high, and the revelation that Amber had been a fat kid herself just a year or two earlier should have elicited a mix of anger and glee. Or at least it did in him.
“Yeah,” Ed said.
Finally, Margot turned to Kitty. “Was Donté pissed off about you joining the ’Maine Men?”
Kitty flinched. Once again, Margot’s scientific mind had hit the nail on the head. “Yeah,” she said. “Mika too.”
“I see.” Margot pressed her palm to her temple, grimacing, and Logan launched to his feet, hovering over her protectively.
“Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly. “Maybe you should rest. We can come back later.”
Margot leaned into Logan, and Ed’s stomach knotted up. Why couldn’t that be him?
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just can’t believe Donté, Mika, Theo, and Peanut are the new DGM.”
“What?” Kitty cried.
“How could you possibly know that?” Logan asked.
“Mika went to St. Alban’s with Rex,” Margot began. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to trace that video back to her. You said yourself that she and Donté freaked out when you joined the ’Maine Men. I’d guess that Theo went to Camp Shred. Not at the same time as Amber, but soon after. I think we already knew they were two of DGM’s biggest fans.”
“I caught Theo logging in to the school email server in Coach’s office,” Kitty said, nodding as she suddenly put the pieces together. “He looked nervous as hell when I barged in on him.”
“He was probably setting up the fake email account,” Margot said.
“What about Peanut?” Kitty asked.
“Based on what I’ve seen of their interactions, she hates Amber Stevens as much as I do.” Margot blinked and her eyes softened. “As much as I did. And she would have been in a position to steal the opening-night video from Mr. Cunningham’s office and tape over it with Amber’s montage.”
Ed applauded enthusiastically. “Nicely played, Sherlock Holmes.”
“Donté . . .” Kitty slowly rose to her feet and began to pace in a tight circle. “He and Mika were so pissed at me. And they’ve both been distant lately.” Then she laughed, manic and uncontrolled. “Oh my God, Margot. You’re right! It’s because they were keeping this secret. From me of all people. Is
n’t that freaking hilarious?”
“Less hilarious,” Ed said, “if the cops figure out that they’re involved.”
Margot looked up at Logan and opened her mouth to say something, but Logan cut her off. “Don’t apologize.”
Margot blushed. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you. The less you knew about what was going on, the safer you were.”
“Now it’s my turn to keep you safe.”
Ed wanted to strangle him. “And how are you going to do that?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“For starters,” Logan said, squeezing Margot’s hand, “I’m not letting her out of my sight ever again.”
“I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Mejia will have something to say about that,” Ed replied.
“What’s your damage, dude?” Logan asked. “You’ve been on my case all freaking day.”
“I—”
“You have got to be kidding me!”
Kitty’s head whipped around to the doorway, now occupied by the scowling figure of Sergeant Callahan. He wasn’t in uniform, instead comically out of place in dress slacks, a striped button-down shirt, and a sports jacket.
“You guys again?” he said.
“Sergeant Callahan.” Ed raised his hand for a high five. “Long time, no arrest!”
Sergeant Callahan glared at him. “Don’t tempt me.”
Ed grinned. “That is a nice business-casual look you’ve got going on.”
“It was date night with Mrs. Callahan,” he said, then added under his breath, “who is going to kill me.” Then he turned to Kitty. “You want to explain to me what you’re doing here?”
“We were here helping a friend,” Logan answered, “when we heard Margot was awake.”
“Well, now I’m going to need you all to vacate,” Sergeant Callahan said sternly. “I have some important questions to ask Margot.”
“Will do, sir,” Ed said. He grabbed Kitty and yanked her toward the door.
“Sergeant Callahan,” Kitty said, shaking Ed off. She looked to Margot, who nodded her head quickly, decisively. She seemed to know exactly what Kitty was thinking: spill everything to Sergeant Callahan once and for all before someone else gets killed.
Sergeant Callahan sighed impatiently. “Yes?”
“We need to talk to you about the murders.”
“For chrissakes!” Sergeant Callahan planted his hands on his hips. “What did I tell you guys about interfering? I’ve got three unsolved murders, five missing persons, and as we speak the FBI has taken over my office at the station. So the last thing I need is you guys coming to me with crazy theories.”
“But we know who the killer is!” Kitty cried.
“Kitty,” Ed said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not sure we should be bothering the nice police officer with this.”
Sergeant Callahan arched an eyebrow. “Really? What’s his name? A description of what he looks like? Home address? Maybe the kind of car he drives? Do you have any of that information?”
“Er, no,” Kitty said. “But we know—” She paused. Something on his wrist glittered in the harsh overhead lights, drawing her eye. It appeared to be a very expensive watch. Like the one Amber Stevens might have given to Ronny DeStefano.
If I was the killer, you’d be the next victim on my list.
“Yes?” Sergeant Callahan said. “I’m waiting. What is it you know?”
“Nothing,” Kitty said, forcing a smile. “You know, you’re right. We’re way out of our league here.” She grabbed Ed by the arm and hustled him toward the door. “I’m sorry we wasted your time.”
“It’s okay,” he said, clearly taken aback by the radical shift in the conversation. “I suggest you kids go home, go to sleep, and keep your noses out of this before you wind up in custody on federal charges. Do you understand me?”
“Can Logan stay?” Margot asked. “He was there that night, you know. In the theater.”
“Mr. Blaine has already answered my questions,” Sergeant Callahan said with a softer tone than he’d used since his arrival. “And I do think we should be alone.”
“It’s okay,” Logan said, standing up. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “I won’t go far.”
Kitty felt Ed’s arm tense up.
“Promise?” Margot asked.
Logan smiled. “From now on, I’ll always be right by your side.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Logan asked, hurrying down the hall after them.
Kitty paused in front of the elevator and released her grip on Ed’s arm. “He’s not going to listen to us.”
“He might have,” Logan said, “if you showed him the photo and the note. They need to know about Sunday.”
Kitty shook her head. “Sergeant Callahan isn’t going to do anything about Sunday.”
“Why not?” Ed asked tentatively.
“Because he’s wearing Amber’s dad’s Rolex.”
“The sergeant is the killer?” Logan asked, clearly confused.
“Oh, come on,” Ed said. “You can’t really believe Sergeant Callahan is behind all this. That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Kitty’s mind raced. “Amber was right at the station today. We’ve done more productive research than the entire police department. Why? Because someone on the inside is thwarting the investigation.” Without even realizing it, she’d begun to pace. “If he’s not the killer, then he’s protecting someone. Either way, he’s involved.”
“Who are we going to tell?” Logan asked. “Should we go to his boss?”
“No!” Ed cried.
Kitty arched an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“I just meant that his captain isn’t going to listen to us,” Ed said. He cleared his throat. “And if Sergeant Callahan finds out we’re on to him, it would be a disaster.”
Kitty nodded. “Good point.” Every once in a while, it was good to have Ed around.
“We can’t do nothing!” Logan cried.
Kitty stopped abruptly and glanced down the hallway toward Margot’s room. Going up against Sergeant Callahan was dangerous, but for once they had the upper hand. If they struck now, they could catch him in the act. But they were going to need reinforcements.
“What?” Logan asked, sensing her excitement. “What are you planning?”
Kitty slowly turned back to them. “Time to call in the cavalry.”
FORTY
KITTY SAT IN HER CAR OUTSIDE DONTÉ’S HOUSE, A TEXT TYPED into her phone but not sent. She reread it for the billionth time: I’m out front. Need to talk to you. Really important.
It was dry, to the point, and revealed none of the emotions currently spinning around inside her like an emo whirlpool. Even with the bombshell she was about to drop on Donté, she wasn’t sure if she’d blown her chance with him. His texts that afternoon had escalated from worried to concerned to frantic, but her only response had been “I’m fine” followed by radio silence as she switched off her phone. How did he interpret that? As a rejection? Did he think she’d gone completely cold?
Probably. It’s what Kitty would have thought if the roles were reversed. Still, she hoped that he’d at least be curious enough to hear her out.
She hit Send, then shivered. A thick layer of fog had rolled down from the bay, and the whole neighborhood felt damp and cold.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d have to wait: Donté wasn’t much of a late-night person, but at midnight on a Friday, he should still be awake.
She was right. As she stared at the screen, she saw the telltale dots indicating that Donté was typing a response. She held her breath as her phone vibrated.
Be right down.
Thirty seconds later she saw the front porch bathed in warm yellow light as Donté stepped outside. He wore a pair of blue-and-green plaid flannel pajama pants, a black T-shirt, and slippers. He must have been getting ready for bed, and as she watched, he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, exposing a rock-hard eight-pack that disappeared into his PJ bott
oms.
Kitty’s stomach did a backflip as she remembered those abs pressed up against her own. Focus, she said to herself. You’re here on business. She took a deep breath, and let it out in three short bursts, then swung the door open and stepped out of the car.
As soon as Donté saw her, he jumped off the porch and raced down the driveway. She didn’t even get a word out before he wrapped his arms tightly around her.
“Baby,” he said, his breath tickling her ear. “I’m so sorry. I was a total asshole and I don’t know if you can forgive me but—”
Kitty giggled. She couldn’t help herself. The happiness inside bubbled over, and she felt herself shaking with the futile effort to keep from laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Donté asked. He sounded hurt.
She broke away and looked up at him. “I’ll forgive you if you’ll forgive me.”
Donté shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Neither did you.”
He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair, his eyes tracing the lines of her face. “Not true. There’s been something going on, something big, and I let it get in the way of us. I wanted to tell you, but it might put you in danger, so I had to keep it a secret.”
Kitty nodded. “I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
A wicked smile broke the corners of Kitty’s mouth. “I know that you’re a part of the new DGM,” she said softly.
Donté’s eyes grew so wide Kitty thought they might pop out of his head. “How—?”
“Because I’ve been keeping the same secret from you.” She waited and let the meaning of her words sink in. She could actually see the moment when Donté realized what she was saying. His jaw fell open and his shoulders sagged.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“DGM?”
Kitty laughed again. “Yes.”
Donté ran a hand over his closely shaved head. “But . . . but you’re the student body vice president. You joined the freaking ’Maine Men!”
Get Dirty (Don't Get Mad Book 2) Page 21