Claire cast her eyes downward to her father. “One night.”
Marie now opened her eyes and took in each nuance of the wooden cross in front of her. That one night had turned into a lifetime. Of running, hiding, lying for a father they’d hardly known. It was the right thing to do, but how could Marie have fully realized the burden her sister would have to carry? How could she have known that that decision would ultimately break her?
But she was sure the killing had been over until he showed up at her convent door. The last one. Quiet, vicious, and still angry after twenty years. But now the last thread of this whole ordeal.
She just wanted to talk some more, figure out all the angles, make sure he hadn’t come to the convent to test her, to get her together with Ava and then kill them both. But when she’d arrived at his house he wasn’t home, and the relief and the blinding light from the neighbor’s bulb had flooded over her at the same time.
Now she wiped the tears from her face and dried her hands on a towel. If he was going to force her hand, the only choice she had was to strike back quickly in a way that would frighten him and make him run away. She smiled and looked at her weapon. A Polaroid camera. The next move was his.
CHAPTER 25
Three bottles of Middle Sister Pinot Noir between us had plowed me under. Actually, I’d had way more than half of it myself. I’d swallowed the last bit in my glass and rolled over on the floor, opening my eyes sometime later, woozy, half-sick. I needed to throw up, but getting to the bathroom across the hall required moving. I swore under my breath. I was never going to drink again. Not like this. Not red wine on an empty stomach.
My Chinese food sat on the end table, barely touched. I’d taken a bite of beef with broccoli earlier, but it had been heavy, greasy in my mouth. Just the sight of the containers and faint smell of the salty soy sauce wafting out of them now made my stomach lurch. I managed to pull the metal wastebasket to me before my stomach exploded. It was all red liquid. I was afraid my choking would wake Russell, but he wasn’t there. I was glad he’d missed one of my finer moments. It was then I felt cold against my nipple. I looked down. My breast had pushed against the metal can—not my breast in a bra and long-sleeved shirt, but my naked breast.
I flopped onto my back, realizing I had not just an exposed breast, but a completely naked body. What had happened? I remembered some of it through a sick haze. Joking around, laughing, maybe pushing the boundaries a bit with him. Rubbing his back when he’d been looking at those albums for hours. Encouraging him to lie on the floor with me and construct our chronological assessment of Ross’s life. He hadn’t resisted, that I remembered. Shit. I pulled the hair out of my face. Images of kissing him floated in front of me. We were lying down, the softness of lips against mine. Then there was laughing. And his hands on me. I couldn’t pretend it was all just a drunken I-don’t-remember-and-it’s-not-my-fault incident. Because I did remember. Most of it, anyway. I didn’t have a full grasp of the actual sex part, but everything leading up to it was crystallizing in my mind as the minutes passed. His arms around me, unbuttoning his shirt. Shit again.
I pulled myself up and staggered to the door. I needed Motrin and a tall glass of cold water. I walked past Russell curled up in my bed, lightly snoring. I pulled back the covers just a bit and peered at him. Naked. He’d twisted his body so I was looking at his rear end. I dropped the blanket. Maybe it didn’t completely, completely happen. Maybe he’d stopped it. God, I hoped so.
Returning to the bathroom, I leaned my forehead against the cold tile, watching Russell’s peaceful expression as he slept, resisting the urge to purge the contents of my stomach again. I opened the window to let air in. It calmed the pounding in my head and eased my stomach. I needed to get away from this mess I’d created. Run, that’s what I did best.
I wiped my mouth on a towel and turned on the shower. I had to pull myself together. Get cleaned up and dressed. I needed to see Marie. Marie was the only one who could answer some questions about the photographs of Pug Man. I had to get to her before she started morning prayers.
Still half-wet, I threw on black jeans and a turtleneck and grabbed my purse. Russell was still snoring in my bed, his head at an odd angle off the pillow. I considered waking him but changed my mind. I didn’t want to face a conversation about us rolling around the floor partially clothed. My nakedness, how he ended up here in my bed. I ran a hand across the back of his head, feeling his hair slide between my fingers. He moved with my touch. His eyes were closed, his lashes curling to his lids. I leaned down and pressed my lips against his. His mouth was warm and slack and smelled of Middle Sister Pinot Noir.
I pulled back and thought of Joanne. She’d be clinging to my sleeve, asking me for every detail of the night. We hadn’t talked in over a week, and I missed her company. Maybe I’d clean the house and have a dinner party, like a normal person. Invite her and Russell, catch up. Tell her I needed help to curb the drinking. But I knew if I did, I’d never have a peaceful sip of wine again. I laughed at my own stupid thoughts. I’d never had a dinner party in my life and I wasn’t a normal person.
The convent was dark when I arrived. I felt vomit rise in my throat a few times before I saw Marie’s face in the glass. She pulled open the door.
“What’s wrong, Ava?” She backed up to let me in. “You don’t look well.”
“Are you starting prayer soon?” I asked, moving past her into the foyer.
Marie’s eyes flitted between me and her watch. “I can let them know I have an emergency if it’s important.” I nodded. “Go to my cell. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Her cell, as they called the rooms in the convent, did remind me of something a prisoner would live in. Around six feet by nine, with a twin bed shoved into the corner, the room was barren. A night table, small dresser, that was it. The art that decorated the space was dismal. Painfully religious. Depressing. Marie had a clear space in front of her wooden cross on which to prostrate herself. What do you pray for, Marie? Though she’d always been in my life, I hardly knew the woman.
I stood and started walking circles. I couldn’t be sick here. The bathroom was down the hall, and illness might cause a huge commotion among the clergy. I couldn’t risk it. I cracked Marie’s window and breathed in the air, willing her to hurry. But she didn’t come. I needed a cracker. Something. Surely nuns kept snacks, but after pulling open all the drawers, I found nothing but rosary beads. I walked the perimeter of the room several times and then pulled open her closet door, casually glancing inside. Nun’s habits, a few slacks and sweaters. A winter coat. I moved a scarf on the top shelf and saw it. The side of a leather Polaroid camera case. Oh, Marie. I wrapped my hand around it to pull it down, surprised that it felt lighter than I remembered. I was just about to undo the clasp to see if it was empty when footsteps fell outside the door. It took two seconds and two steps to get back to the bed before the door opened.
“Ah. They gave me some time. That’s good,” she said, shutting the door behind her.
“Marie, I need your help. It’s important for both of us.”
“It sounds so serious. What happened?”
I pulled the photograph from my purse. “This man. I found this in Claire’s drawer. I know Grandpa Ross.” I pointed to him. “But this man?” My finger landed on Pug Man. “What’s his name? Do you know where he is?”
Marie snatched the photograph from my hand. “Claire left this in her desk? Really?”
I nodded. “I need to find him.”
“For what, exactly?”
“To talk to him,” I answered vaguely. “That’s all.”
Marie startled me by clapping her hand across my mouth. I felt the rough bandage on her finger against my lips. “You don’t know him, Ava. You don’t. Do you hear me?” My stomach lurched; her skin smelled of antiseptic and I thought I might vomit against her fingers. I tried to pull her hand off my mouth but she held firm. “First the photograph of the house where people were murdered, and now this
man. Why?” she hissed. “Why can’t you leave things be? Stop digging into the past.” I pulled at her pinky and bent it back until she released my face with a jerk.
I rubbed my jaw. “What is wrong with you, Marie?” I started to get up, but her hand went to my shoulder, holding me in place. “I was just asking a question, because there’s no one else left to ask.”
Her eyes kept me still. “Exactly. There is no one left to ask. Because they’re all dead. Does that mean anything to you? Have you seen him recently? Has he come to you?”
I couldn’t look at her face. I always had the feeling that Marie could read my thoughts. Know when I was lying. “No.” I couldn’t tell her he’d been following me that day. That he might have been in my house. “No. I don’t think so. The picture was just familiar.” I tried to get up but felt dizzy and dropped back down. “I know him from somewhere.”
“Goodness. You really are ill.” She moved her wastepaper basket over to me. “Don’t throw up on my floor.”
I shook my head. “I want to go now,” I whispered.
“Listen to me, Ava.” She took my chin, as if I were a child, so she could look directly in my eyes. “Things are getting complicated. You need to listen to me. Understand?” I nodded. She shook my chin a little with her hand. “No, listen. Do as I say. Think inside the box for once in your life. Now, I need to do something but I’ll be right back.” She went to the small desk in the corner and picked up her cell phone and a letter opener. I could only see a glimpse of it before it disappeared in the folds of her skirt. Long, silver. Sharp.
At that moment I felt panicky; things were out of control. I wanted to go home, see if Russell was up. Lie in my bed, drink water, figure this out on my own. “Marie?”
She turned back to me. “When you saw that picture, what was the first thing you thought?”
I searched for the words. “I didn’t think, so much as feel.”
“What did you feel, then?”
“Petrified. Confused. But mostly angry.” She moved slowly toward me. “I remember things, Marie. Though it’s hard to know what’s true and what’s not. It’s all cloudy. But enough to know that I wasn’t abandoned in a church as a baby. And maybe this man—”
She put her hand up. “Shut up, Ava.” I saw her expression and closed my mouth, the syllables dying in my throat. She was hovering over me. “Never mention that again. To me, to him, or anyone else.”
My head dropped between my knees. “Okay.” I needed her to move out of my way. Then I was going to leave. I felt sweat dotting my hairline and the back of my neck. I wanted to hurl on her shoes. “Is he causing you some sort of problem now? Is that it? What’s going on?”
“More than you know. I’ll be back. You stay here.” She was out the door.
I rubbed my face where she’d grabbed me. My eyes darted around the room, back and forth, always landing for a few seconds on the closet door. The camera. How long had Marie had it? If it was in the case, I wanted it. I tried to stand up, but the room tilted to the side and then began to seesaw around me. I fell back down, feeling the swaying beneath my lids.
I had no desire to stay here, to lie in this bed, with four pairs of Jesus’s eyes upon me.
But I had no choice, I couldn’t lift my head. And Marie had locked the door behind her. And so I really was in a prison.
CHAPTER 26
The sun streaming through the blinds woke him up. He tried to lift his head off the pillow, but it was heavy and his neck hurt like it had been stabbed with a knife. He rubbed it, looked around the room, and then eased himself back down. Ava. He lifted the covers and saw he was naked. He remembered Ava nude on the floor in the office. He hadn’t seen a girl drink that much since college. And she was barely ninety pounds. But she’d come alive. Laughing. Unbuttoning his shirt. With no clothes on. Long dark hair, longer legs straddling him. Between the two of them they couldn’t manage a zipper. He remembered only fragments after that. But he couldn’t forget the expression in her green eyes. She’d been scared, vulnerable, needy. Shit. He’d never been sure what he wanted from her, but he never wanted this. Guilt and disappointment washed over him. I had sex with her and I can’t even remember it.
He pushed the blankets off of him and stood up. His legs were heavy, and it took a while for the blood to start flowing. The bedroom was a mess, but Ava wasn’t in it. “Ava?” A still-wet towel lay on the floor in the doorway to the bathroom. He leaned in to look. Nothing. Not even the steam remained. “She drinks a gallon of wine, gets up two hours later, and goes out?” His neck ached when he turned his head. “Where are you?” he whispered.
He stepped over the obstacles and went into the office across the hall. The closet door was open, papers spilled across the floor. Albums were everywhere. They hadn’t done very good detective work last night. After the first three glasses of wine, he was just looking at the same blurry images. And listening to Ava talk. Then moving to the floor. He closed his eyes and saw her under him, her thin arms around his neck. What the heck? It was the in-between stuff that was fuzzy. Taking off her clothes—he drew a blank. Her body he remembered. The softness of her skin, her legs, her lips. Then nothing. His pants and shirt were balled up in the middle of the office floor. Hers were there too.
He dressed quickly and headed for the kitchen, thinking she was making the thick-as-sludge coffee she’d made the last time they’d gone out. He actually wanted a cup—but the kitchen was dark and empty. He moved some dishes out of the way and turned on the sink, splashing water onto his face. His stomach was heavy, his head swimming.
Ten minutes later he was sitting on her living-room couch, sipping a glass of cool water, wishing he’d not taken part in that third bottle of wine the night before. Red wine had never treated him well. He needed to give himself a minute to let his body settle, figure things out. Wait for Ava. She wouldn’t have gone far, not without waking him, he reasoned. But as the minutes ticked by it was clear she’d maybe had a longer journey on her agenda this morning.
Her behavior was all over the place, drawing him in, distracting him, then pushing him away. Telling him only what she wanted him to know—that’s what it felt like. He’d interrogated enough people to know that she was holding back three times what she revealed. And the more he saw her, the more he wanted to know what she was hiding, to draw her out. To figure out what was going on inside her head. It was consuming him. But she was a stinking mess. Her house was just a metaphor for her life.
He glanced around. The tidying she’d done before had long been untidied. Glasses, wine bottles. Clothes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and felt a jolt of pain shoot through his neck. “Mysterious,” he said under his breath. “And the mystery right now is, where are you, Ava?”
It was in that second that he remembered his appointment with Juliette and the wedding planner. “God, no.” He looked at his watch. It was ten thirty-five. “Oh no. No. No.” He raced up the stairs and grabbed his shoes from under the desk. He stopped in his tracks and picked up the container of beef with broccoli and put a forkful in his mouth. The food made his stomach rumble. He took another bite and then noticed Ava’s cell phone lying on the floor near the wastebasket. He picked it up. So she gets up, showers, and leaves without her phone. He clicked it on. Three texts and one voicemail. The texts were from Joanne. He was torn. Should he violate her privacy and listen to the voicemail? It was from a 215 Philadelphia number, left yesterday afternoon. His finger pressed “Listen” before he could think about it anymore. A male voice came on, thick with an eastern European accent.
“Ava, of course I remember Ross. Anything for his granddaughter. After three is good. Any day. I’ll buy you a drink. Bring the picture, my memory is not so good anymore. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Russell stared at the number. Bring the picture? What picture? To where? He found a pen on the desk and jotted the number onto the back of his hand.
He stared around the room. There was probably so much he’d missed in the
se boxes, important things, small things that were big, that would help piece things together, things about Ross, but he’d been too sloshed to really make headway. He had an inkling that Ava was playing with him a little bit, teasing out their investigation—to spend time with him? Or because she suspected he was on a path that would reveal something she didn’t want to know about the family that raised her?
“I am going to figure this out despite you, Ava.” He hesitated at the front door. “Do I leave it locked or unlocked? This is so typical of her.” He left it unlocked and ran to the car in his stocking feet, shoes in one hand, the carton of Chinese food in the other.
CHAPTER 27
He parked his car on Hopkins Avenue and waited. Marie needed to come out soon. He was going to confront her about coming to the house with her camera, get her in his car, and drive. He’d put the child locks on in the back seat so she couldn’t jump out. He had assembled rope, duct tape. He’d never kidnapped anyone before. She was more than twenty years younger, but he was counting on his maleness to make up for the difference in age. He turned up the heat to warm his hands. The cold air was creeping into the car, making him impatient.
He’d spent the night on his couch, tossing and turning. Marie’s face had circled his brain until it hurt. Shadows jumped around him, causing him to roll on the creaky sofa until light came in through the front window. He realized the entire time he’d been trying to scare Marie into helping him kill Ava—telling her she might be next; it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d been the one doing the killing. The nun? Killing Bill, then Loyal, and then her own father? It made no sense. But the camera didn’t lie. And she had the camera.
He finally pushed himself up, showered, and shaved, taking freshly pressed trousers and a shirt from the bureau. We might be poor but we’re not slobs. He thought of his father’s words every time he dressed. This day, he’d decided, was to be the beginning of the end of the past.
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