“Am I doing good, Daddy?” Stephanie asked, looking up from her work.
“Oh, you’re doing great, sweetie,” he said.
She went back to stirring the cream of chicken soup and sour cream concoction. With tears in his eyes, George leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
“Amelia, are you awake?” Karen whispered. Opening the door, she peeked into the dimly lit guest room.
Amelia was lying on one of the twin beds. The pale-green paisley quilts matched the material for the drapes, which were closed. The place looked like something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. The decor-with all the carefully chosen accents-had that pleasant, slightly generic ambiance. There were two framed Robert Capra posters on the walls-black-and-white Paris scenes.
Stirring, Amelia sat up and squinted at Karen. “Oh, hi.”
“Were you on your cell just now?” she asked. “I heard you whispering to someone.”
“I-um, must have been talking in my sleep,” she said, shrugging.
Karen closed the door behind her, then sat down on the bed across from Amelia. She reached for the lamp on the nightstand between them.
“No, don’t, please,” Amelia said.
So they sat in the darkness for a few moments. Karen heard muffled sobbing, and looked up toward a vent in the ceiling.
“That’s coming from Jody’s room,” Amelia explained.
Karen listened for another moment, and then sighed. “You’re not feeling in any way responsible for what happened at the cabin last night, are you?”
She quickly shook her head. “God, no.”
“Honey, it’ll help you to talk about it.”
Amelia glanced up toward the vent. Jody’s muted sobbing seemed to devastate her. She wiped a tear from her cheek.
“You’re not responsible for that,” Karen whispered.
“Yes, I am,” she murmured. Grabbing her pillow, she reclined on the bed and curled up on her side. “It’s just how it happened when Collin was killed. All day yesterday, I had these awful feelings that Mom, Dad, and Aunt Ina deserved to die.”
“Why did you feel that way?”
“I don’t know. It was something evil inside me. I thought about going to the Lake Wenatchee house and shooting them all. It’s horrid, I know. It doesn’t make any sense. I was so confused. I tried calling you, but you weren’t home. I couldn’t talk about it with Shane. We went to a party last night, and I just wanted to get drunk. I only had a couple of beers. But it was enough to make me a little crazy. I stole a half-full bottle of tequila, borrowed Shane’s car, and just started driving. That’s all I remember. I blacked out.”
“Oh, Lord,” Karen whispered, shaking her head.
“Next thing I knew, I woke up this morning in this empty parking lot in Easton. Do you know where Easton is?” Amelia sat up and stared at her. “It’s off I-90, halfway between here and Wenatchee. I must have stopped there to rest on my way back. At first I thought I’d had a nightmare. I kept praying it wasn’t real. But I knew it was. I didn’t need you to tell me they were dead. I knew how it happened, too, because I’m the one who killed them.”
“But you said you had a blackout,” Karen argued. “You can’t know for sure-”
“It wasn’t a dream, Karen. I remember my dad in the rocking chair by the fireplace.” Amelia started weeping inconsolably. “I–I shot him in the head. My mom, she must have woken up. God, I can still see her running out of their bedroom. I shot her too-I shot her in the face….” She curled up again, and sobbed into the pillow. “Aunt Ina…with her it seemed like later, but I’m not sure. I just remember her standing there in the living room, staring at my dad, and then at me. She said, ‘My God, honey, what have you done?’ And I didn’t say anything. I just shot her in the chest….”
Horrified, Karen gaped at her. “Amelia, you couldn’t have. You’re just not capable of that kind of coldhearted-”
“Then how come I know what happened?” she cut her off. “Nobody in this house knows yet except me. I must have been there, don’t you see? I’m the one who killed them all.”
“It’s not true, Amelia,” she said, rubbing her shoulder. “It didn’t happen like that. Listen to me. Are you listening? If you really did this, what kind of gun did you use?”
Amelia shrugged. “I’m not sure. My dad’s hunting rifle, I think. I remember it felt like someone hitting me in the shoulder with a baseball bat every time I fired it.”
“Was that the first time you’ve ever used it-last night?”
“I guess so.”
“And you knew how to operate it right away? You knew how to load it and work the safety?” Karen didn’t wait for Amelia to answer. She switched on the nightstand lamp. “Are those the same clothes you had on last night? To hear you tell it, you shot them all at close range. Where’s the blood on your clothes, Amelia?”
“I must have washed it off,” she muttered, glancing down at herself.
“Where? When? During your blackout? Blood doesn’t wash off that easily.”
Amelia just shrugged and shook her head.
“Honey, you weren’t there,” Karen said. “I mean, just consider this. How much money did you have on you last night?”
“I don’t know, about twelve dollars. Why?”
“It’s-what-a hundred and fifty miles to Lake Wenatchee? That’s at least three hundred miles round-trip, even longer if you took I-90. You’d have had to stop for gas. Do you remember going to a gas station?”
Biting her lip, Amelia shook her head again.
“Of course not,” Karen said. She felt like she was starting to get through to her. “You didn’t have enough money for gas, and you couldn’t have used your credit card, because you told me during your session on Thursday that you maxed out your Visa. You were talking about how you had to control your spending. Check your purse. I’ll bet that twelve bucks is still there.” Karen reached for Amelia’s purse on the floor between them. “Can I look through this?
Amelia nodded. “Go ahead.”
Karen rummaged through the purse. She found a loose dollar bill, some change, and then in Amelia’s wallet, two fives and a single. “I have exactly twelve dollars and sixty-two cents here, Amelia. You didn’t buy any gas.”
“Maybe not,” Amelia said. “But-well, I’ve driven to Wenatchee and back on one tank of gas before.”
“Then call Shane. Find out when he last filled up the car. Have him look at the fuel gauge now. That’ll give us an idea how far you drove. You may have headed off to Wenatchee last night, but I’ll bet you never got there.” She tucked the money back in Amelia’s wallet, and dropped it in her purse. Then she fished out Amelia’s cell phone. “It’s bad enough this horrible thing even happened. Please, Amelia, don’t make it worse by blaming yourself for it. You couldn’t have done it. So here-call Shane. Ask him about the gas.”
Amelia hesitated, and then took the cell phone from her.
Karen heard something outside. She got up, parted the curtain and peeked out the window. A white sedan and a police car both pulled in to the McMillans’ driveway-one after the other. “It’s the police,” she murmured almost to herself.
“Oh, my God.” Amelia switched off the cell phone. A look of panic swept across her face. “They’ll want to talk to me. Karen, please help me. What am I going to say to them?”
Karen turned toward her. “You won’t have to say anything.” She grabbed her own purse on the bed and found the bottle of diazepam. “You’re in no condition. I want you to take another one of these pills. I’ll tell the police you’re sleeping and can’t be disturbed. And you will be asleep, honey, if you just lie back and relax and let the pill take effect. Go ahead and call Shane, just be quiet about it. I’ll get you some water.”
Karen slipped out of the guest room and found the bathroom next door. She could hear someone in the foyer upstairs. She quickly rinsed out the tumbler, then filled it with cold water. She paused in front of the mirror, then pulled it open to inspect the
medicine chest. There it was: a bottle of aspirin in cylindrical tablets, like the diazepam. They weren’t light blue, but in the dark bedroom, Amelia probably wouldn’t notice. Karen didn’t really want her taking another diazepam; she just needed Amelia to think she should be relaxed and sleepy.
As Karen stepped out of the bathroom, she heard them talking upstairs.
“I think she’s asleep right now,” George was saying. “Her therapist is looking after her downstairs in the guest room. Could you let her rest for a while longer, and question me first?”
Someone-whoever he was talking to-muttered a response.
“Thanks,” George said. “We can talk in here….”
Karen ducked back into the bedroom, then quietly closed the door.
“I’ve really got to go,” Amelia was whispering into her cell phone. “I’ll explain everything later, I promise. Love you, too. Bye.” She clicked off the line and gazed up at Karen, a tiny look of hope in her eyes. “He just picked up the car at your place. The gas is just under a quarter of a tank. He said it was about three-quarters full when we went to the party last night.”
Switching off the light, Karen sat down next to her. She handed her the aspirin and the tumbler of water. “That’s about right, isn’t it? Approximately a hundred and sixty miles to and from Easton, that’s around half a tank. You couldn’t have made it to Wenatchee and back without refueling.”
Amelia nodded. She swallowed the aspirin with some water, then handed the tumbler back to her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she winced. “It still doesn’t make sense. If I didn’t do it, how come I have these images in my head?”
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll find out. I promise.” Karen stroked her arm. “Just because you have certain images in your head, it doesn’t mean they’re true. We don’t even know how it happened yet, Amelia.”
Pulling away, Amelia laid back and wrapped her arms around her pillow. “Why don’t you talk to the police, Karen? Then we’ll know whether or not I’m wrong.”
Chapter Eight
Karen sat in the dark while Amelia tossed and turned in the bed across from her. The muffled sobs emitting through the vent from Jody’s room upstairs had ceased. Karen guessed the police had been grilling George McMillan for about an hour now, and they were probably getting warmed up for Amelia.
She heard someone coming down the stairs. Karen climbed off the bed just as a knock came on the door.
Amelia sat up, suddenly awake.
Karen opened the door to find Jessie, her face in the shadows. “They sent me down here to fetch Amelia,” she whispered. “They’d like a statement, which means they’ll be asking her all sorts of rude, tactless, personal questions for the next two hours.”
“Well, that’s just too much for her right now,” Karen said under her breath.
“It’s the treatment they’ve been giving her uncle.”
Karen glanced over her shoulder at Amelia, who stared back at them, visibly trembling. Karen couldn’t let the police interrogate her, not when Amelia was so distraught and disoriented. “Go back to sleep, honey,” she whispered to her. “And if you can’t nod off, just lie there quietly until they go.”
She stepped out of the guest room and gently closed the door.
“They want her uncle to go to Wenatchee tonight to identify the bodies,” Jessie whispered. “He might not be back until very late. I promised him we’d stick around and hold down the fort.”
“Yes, of course,” Karen said.
“I told you we wouldn’t be in the way, but you never listen to me.” Jessie tapped her shoulder. “And if we hadn’t come here, you wouldn’t have met George. Talk about a sweetheart. Oh, and the way he is with his little girl. He’s just the kind of man I’ve always wanted to see you with.”
Karen frowned at her. “For God’s sake, Jessie, his wife was just murdered last night.”
“Well, I know that,” she whispered. “Doesn’t mean you can’t call him in a couple of months and find out how he’s doing.” Jessie sighed. “I put the little one down for a nap. The poor lamb cried herself to sleep.”
They headed up the stairs. Karen could hear George talking as she approached the study.
She knocked, and then opened the door. A handsome, mustached, gray-haired man in his fifties was pacing in front of George, who sat in an easy chair. The man wore a blue suit that looked slept in, and he stopped to glance at her.
George got to his feet as Karen stepped inside the room. He was wearing glasses, the Clark Kent type, which made him look even more handsome-and gentle.
A young, beefy, uniformed cop was also in the room. He sat in a swivel chair by the computer desk. He also stood up long enough to lean over and switch off a small recording device on the coffee table. The three men seemed slightly cramped in the close quarters. There was a small window above the desk, and two walls of shelves packed with books and framed photos of the McMillan clan.
“Detective Goodwin,” George said. “This is Amelia’s therapist, Karen Carlisle.”
“Hello.” She shook the detective’s hand. “I understand you wanted to meet with Amelia. But I’m afraid I kind of threw a wrench in that. You won’t be able to get a statement from her this afternoon-or even tonight. She’s heavily sedated right now.”
The detective frowned. “But we need to talk to her.”
Karen shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry. She’s asleep. It’s my fault. She was hysterical earlier, and I had to give her some tranquilizers to calm her down-the maximum dosage.”
“The poor thing, it would have broken your heart to see her,” Jessie chimed in from the doorway. “All the crying and carrying on, she was just beside herself. Thank God Dr. Carlisle was here.”
Karen shot her a look over her shoulder. She knew Jessie was trying to help. But did she have to pour it on so thick-especially with the doctor bit? Jessie quietly retreated toward the kitchen.
Turning, Karen locked eyes with George. He hadn’t witnessed Amelia in hysterics. He hadn’t seen his niece crying and carrying on to a level that required her to be sedated. Yet he seemed to know she was protecting Amelia right now. Karen could see he understood.
His gaze shifted to the detective. “Haven’t you gotten enough for the time being? Do you really need to question Amelia now?”
The gray-haired detective rubbed his chin and stared at Karen. “How long have you been treating Amelia?”
“Since the beginning of the summer,” she replied.
“In any of her therapy sessions, do you recall her mentioning anything about her father that would shed more light on what happened at the Lake Wenatchee house last night?”
She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything significant-at least, nothing that would help your investigation.”
“Sure you’re not holding out on me?” he pressed. “This isn’t one of those doctor-patient confidentiality things you’re pulling on me, is it?”
“No, sir. If you were infringing on that, I’d tell you.”
Frowning, he let out a little huff. “I still want to talk to her.”
Karen shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m sorry.”
“Listen,” George interjected. “If you’re after more information about her dad’s state of mind, you won’t get much. Amelia has been away at school these last two months. I don’t think she knows about her dad and Ina.” He turned to Karen. “My wife and Amelia’s dad, they had an affair in August. It was very short-lived. Has Amelia mentioned anything to you?”
Karen bit her lip. “No. This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
He turned to the detective. “See what I mean? You won’t get much from Amelia. So leave the poor girl alone-at least for tonight.”
“Fine,” Goodwin grumbled. Then he glanced at Karen. “But I’d like her in my office at the West Seattle precinct tomorrow morning at nine o’clock-sharp.”
Karen nodded. “I’ll drive her myself. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. If that’s all, can I go now?”
He sighed. “Fine.”
But Karen couldn’t leave it at that. She was thinking about Amelia’s fantastic confession to last night’s shootings. She hesitated in the doorway. “May I ask you a question, detective?”
“Go ahead,” he muttered.
“I had to tell Amelia about what happened last night-based on an early report from Mr. McMillan. I really didn’t have a very clear idea.” She stole a glance at George, hoping this wouldn’t bother him too much. “I told Amelia it appeared her father had shot her mother and aunt-and then himself. Amelia asked me what kind of gun he’d used-and where the police had found the bodies. She-um, she wanted details I couldn’t give.”
The detective stared back at her, unyielding.
“Mark had a hunting rifle, he used that,” George answered-almost bitterly, as if he were just so sick and depleted from discussing it. Still, there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. “My sister-in-law, she was shot in the face. They found her in the upstairs hallway. Ina-my wife-she-um, she was shot in the chest. She was in the living room with Mark. And Mark, he sat down in his rocking chair by the fireplace and shot himself in the head.” Over the rims of his glasses, George looked at the older cop. “Did I get everything right, Detective?”
The plainclothesman said nothing.
Neither did Karen. She was thinking about Amelia’s version of how it had happened last night. Amelia’s story wasn’t part of a nightmare or some delusion. The details she’d recalled were horribly real.
In the darkened guest room, Amelia lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. She listened to the voices upstairs in Uncle George’s study, distant undecipherable murmuring. But she recognized Karen’s voice. Maybe Karen could keep the police from talking to her for a while. But eventually they’d figure out who had killed her parents and her aunt. Karen couldn’t keep that from happening.
In fact, Karen couldn’t do much to help her at all.
Amelia wondered if she was even that good a therapist. Probably not.
“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t even think it.”
One Last Scream Page 11