You Can Never Tell

by Sarah Warburton

  We entered the parking garage, and I realized Jared was seriously going to escort me all the way to my car. I was almost out of time to convince him. I pulled my arm away. “I’ll go, I’m leaving. Just promise me if you see that woman, the one I showed you, you’ll call the police.”

  In the dim light of the garage, he studied my face like he was trying to gauge my truthfulness. Probably just the same way he looked at his kids when they promised they’d done their homework or swore they were meeting their friends at the library. I knew he had teenagers; I knew his wife was a nurse and his brother ran a bakery known for its incredible Portuguese custard cups. Jared was kind, soft-spoken, physically imposing yet slow to anger. But I had no idea who he thought I was.

  Finally, he sighed and stepped back. “Okay.”

  “Okay, you’ll be careful?” Maybe he just meant it would be okay if I left. I needed to be sure I’d warned someone, that I’d made some kind of difference.

  But he just nodded and turned away, leaving me alone. Acutely aware of the echoing garage around me, I strode to my car, each footstep slapping frustration and fear on the concrete.

  I hadn’t saved Aimee’s life. She hadn’t believed a word I’d said. If Lena killed her, it would be her own damn fault. I wanted Lena to stab Aimee right in her stomach. But I’d still feel terrible, the worst mix of guilt and fury.

  “What would your world look like without Aimee?” Dr. Lindsey had asked me. Well, I knew what it looked like. I’d been living it. Without her, my world was calmer and more predictable, with friends I could trust who trusted me back. It wasn’t glitzy, with techno beats and an alcohol haze. I’d thought living in that world had changed me, but coming face-to-face with Aimee had sent all my certainty topsy-turvy. She could look me right in the eyes and lie, knowing I knew she was lying, and leave me helpless and incoherent with rage.

  If anybody had ever deserved to be killed, Aimee did.

  It would serve her right.

  C2C TRANSCRIPT

  13

  Helen: So what would you do if the person you hated most in the world—

  Julia: My ex-boyfriend—

  Helen: Your ex-boyfriend was in danger. Would you care? Would you try to save him?

  Julia: Maybe I would be the danger.

  Helen: I just got chills. And that’s exactly what we’re talking about here. The other half of our serial killer couple is in the wind. There’s a concern that she’s in Texas, so they’ve put the only eyewitness to her husband’s murders into protective custody, and his wife—

  Julia: Our killer’s BFF—

  Helen: Is in hiding. And just a reminder, it’s because of the postcard that the police even knew Lena was alive in the first place. Or at least, that’s what this friend, Kacy Tremaine, said.

  Julia: So I know we went into this with Brady, but why do you think Lena sent that postcard? Allegedly sent.

  Helen: I know Kacy turned it in to the police; they tested it and did handwriting analysis and everything, but it wasn’t introduced at trial. And that makes you wonder.

  Julia: It’s kind of old-school, isn’t it, a postcard? I buy a few at every CrimeCon, but I never mail them. They just pile up in a drawer.

  Helen: I don’t think this one reads like a cry for help or a confession. It reads like some kind of inside joke. We asked about why Brady would reach out to Michael, but I think it’s equally interesting why Lena reached out to Kacy. Because she really could have just disappeared.

  Julia: Do you think she was hoping to get a new sidekick or a partner in crime, since her husband was out of commission?

  Helen: Maybe. Now we know about Kacy’s past with the allegations of art theft and embezzlement. Maybe Lena thought there was a chance to tempt Kacy to the dark side.

  Julia: Like if you, Helen, were a serial killer who’d been working with a partner, maybe you wouldn’t want to go it alone.

  Helen: And if I wanted to entice you to join me and be my very best butcher buddy for always, I know exactly who I’d kill for you.

  Julia: [laughing] Somewhere my ex is getting very nervous.

  Helen: Double-lock your doors, you cheater!

  Julia: So when this postcard first shows up, nobody except Kacy really knew what it meant, but later, it’s so obvious that Lena was referring to a woman from Kacy’s past.

  Helen: Lena’s “surprise” is Kacy’s worst enemy.

  Julia: Wouldn’t you want to kill her?

  CHAPTER

  24

  ON THE WAY back to the apartment, I passed a strip mall and glimpsed a salon. I didn’t have an appointment, but maybe they could lop off an inch and my story about getting a haircut wouldn’t be a lie. But when I pulled up in front, I could tell it was too busy. Each stylist was working on someone, and there were three more people waiting. But next to it was a drugstore. I could do this myself.

  I went in and bought a pair of scissors. Outside my dad’s car, so I wouldn’t make a mess, I gathered my hair into a ponytail and flattened the end with the fingers of one hand. The bundle of hair was almost too thick, but the scissors were sharp, and I chopped as if I were cutting Aimee’s throat. I brushed the cut end a few times to get any stray hairs and then let go. My hair fell loose around my face, and I exhaled. Aimee wasn’t my problem anymore. I’d warned her, for what that was worth.

  In the car’s side mirror, I checked my work. Not elegant, but shorter. Shorter was all I needed now. Elegant was overrated. I didn’t have to squeeze myself into a pencil skirt or take my blouses to the dry cleaners. I didn’t have to impress donors or patrons or even strangers at nightclubs. My Texas friends didn’t even know the me-from-before, and Grace didn’t care what I looked like. Maybe some part of me would always mourn that long-ago life, but I didn’t wish I was still living it now. I’d built something real and lasting, something to experience rather than exhibit.

  I dropped the scissors into my purse and pulled out my phone.

  Miss you, I texted Michael. Then I started the engine.

  The drive back seemed quicker, and I was almost home when the gas light came on. I didn’t want to leave this for my dad, so I pulled into a filling station. As I waited for the attendant to notice me, I caught sight of a white cargo van parked over by the side of the convenience store. For just a flash, I thought it might be Lena, but then a young guy in blue coveralls approached it, carrying a wrapped sandwich and a fountain drink, and my tension drained, leaving me cold. I was seeing her everywhere.

  The attendant tapped on the window, startling me.

  As the tank filled, I had a sudden vision. Back in Sugar Land, driving at night with Michael, and running out of gas. We’d pull over on the side of the road and call for a tow truck, but then a van would pull up. There’d be a couple inside, a man and woman, friendly, offering to help, the woman smiling at me. Michael and I would get into that van … and we’d be found hacked to pieces in the underbrush weeks later.

  My hands shook as I gave the attendant my credit card. Those abandoned cars, that couple murdered in Brazos Bend State Park; I hadn’t connected it before. What were the odds there’d be two sets of serial killers working the greater Houston area? Brady and Lena snatched people standing on the side of the road—homeless or lost or working. Other times they might have found people stranded. And sometimes Lena killed people right where they lived. No place was safe.

  And it didn’t matter if you were a stranger or a neighbor or even, possibly, a friend.

  * * *

  When I walked through the door of Molly’s apartment, I realized I’d completely forgotten my plan to pick up lunch, but it wouldn’t have been necessary anyway. The apartment smelled invitingly of toast. The warmth, the smell of food, and the roar of a football game on the television took me back to any number of Sunday afternoons growing up.

  Mom was on the futon sofa with Grace on her knees, while in the kitchenette, Dad added another slice to a towering stack of toast.

  “Is anyone joining us?” I
asked, locking the front door behind me and setting down my purse.

  He looked at me blankly, and I added, “That’s a lot of toast, Dad.”

  “Ah.” He grinned. “I’m making some omelets too, but they’re fast. Didn’t want to start until you got back.”

  “Your hair is cute.” Mom studied me. “Kind of choppy, like that actress from that movie.” She looked at Dad. “You know, the one with the elevator.”

  He turned back to the stove. “I can’t remember any of their names.”

  I went over to Mom, and the sight of Grace softened any remaining frustration and paranoia. I was safe here, part of something amazing, something Aimee could never tarnish. “How was Grace?”

  “Perfect angel. She woke up about an hour ago, had a new diaper, then a bottle, then another new diaper, and we’ve been talking ever since. I told her all about the garden club—”

  “What did she think about that?”

  “She agreed with me that the selection committee has gotten really political, but there’s no call for the drama about mixing wildflowers and cultivars in competition.”

  “You’ve got a smart girl there,” my dad called out. “She knows when to agree. And she’s pulling for the Giants over the Cowboys.”

  “They’re playing at the MetLife Stadium,” Mom said. “We went a few weeks ago, but that place is just too big for me.”

  Grace’s gaze had been fixed on my face since I’d come in, and the longer I stood and talked without picking her up, the more vigorously her arms and legs moved. She reached for me, grunting, and despite my mother’s clinging arms, I gathered her up and cuddled her close.

  The entire morning had been like a bad dream, returning to the museum to warn somebody who meant nothing to me. And what was I warning her about? Alondra hadn’t gotten back to me. I’d probably hallucinated any resemblance between Lena and that mysterious profile of a stranger’s face. The door was locked, we were in an anonymous sublet apartment, and Lena could be miles and miles away.

  “Smile for me,” Mom said, holding up her phone to snap a picture.

  I let the warm glow of this safe space spread through me, enveloping me and Grace. When my mom checked the screen and nodded in satisfaction, I said, “Send it to Michael.” We’d all be together soon.

  * * *

  After we’d eaten and the leftovers had been cleared away, Dad settled in next to Mom to watch the game.

  My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Elizabeth: Did you warn your friend?

  Former friend. I could feel my body getting hot, and I felt too petty to write the words. Instead I typed: She didn’t believe me. And she’d called security and had me thrown out. But that wasn’t something I wanted Elizabeth to know.

  I’d been a fool, extending myself out of some childish desire to be vindicated as a hero. Not that it had worked. Suddenly, I wanted to hear Elizabeth’s voice instead of hunching furtively over my phone.

  When I stood, my mom looked up. “Everything okay?”

  I nodded. “Need to make a quick call.” On the quilt in the middle of the floor, Grace arched her back, craning to see me. Dad was sitting on the edge of the coffee table so he would be lower, closer to Grace, without actually getting down on the floor.

  With a pang I remembered how he used to crawl on his hands and knees, chasing us through the house and roaring like a lion. Now my sisters and I were grown, with kids, jobs, busy lives of our own, but we were all still weighing my parents down. I wished I hadn’t put this burden on them.

  Mom stood up too. “I should probably check in with your sisters. The Giants have pretty much won this anyway.”

  She smoothed Dad’s hair down, but he batted her away, saying, “Don’t jinx it. Grace will be heartbroken.”

  While my mom took a seat at the tiny table in the kitchenette, I stepped out the front door. The street was lined with older homes. In one yard bounded by a chain-link fence, a black-and-white shepherd mix worried at a toy; in another, an older man wearing a barn jacket raked leaves.

  I sat on the concrete stoop, hoping that Molly was right and her upstairs landlord was out of town this weekend too. Even though the air was warmer than the Octobers of my youth, cold seeped into my jeans.

  Elizabeth answered right away. “Are you okay?”

  “She didn’t listen to me. If something happens to her …”

  “It won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure?

  Elizabeth was silent, and I waited, giving her the time to craft her response. Why couldn’t I be calm and measured like Elizabeth? Instead I kept making stupid mistakes, not seeing the danger when I’d lived next door to it, then rushing to warn a total bitch who hadn’t believed me anyway. I wanted to scream, right there on that quiet street. Why did Aimee make me so crazy?

  You know what, it was the principle. Bad people shouldn’t be able to lie and cheat and be rewarded. And if you tried to help a person, they shouldn’t be an ass about it.

  Then Elizabeth said, “I got a postcard today. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. The police said not to tell anyone, but I didn’t want you to worry that Lena was there when I think she might be down here.”

  “What postcard? What did it say?” My breath was shallow.

  “I’ll show you.”

  After a few excruciating seconds, I got two photos of a postcard. On one side, an old-fashioned Model T hearse, and on the other, written in Lena’s distinctive hand, See you soon. xoxo. And, I noticed grimly, there was no stamp and no postmark. Another hand delivery.

  Working on another surprise. My own arrogance twisted in my stomach. I’d assumed Lena would go after Aimee because I hated her. I never imagined she’d go after my friends. “When did this come?”

  “This morning. It’s from the funeral museum downtown,” Elizabeth said. “When I went to check the mail, it was sitting in the middle of the doormat. I took the pictures and called the police. The neighborhood constable’s parked outside now.”

  “They should put you somewhere safe. You should leave—”

  “I’m not the only one. Alondra told me that at least two other people have received postcards. She won’t tell me who. She says she shouldn’t have told me at all.”

  Then the real truth hit me. “Lena’s in Texas. So I just …” I had just made a fool of myself for no reason. The people I needed to protect were over a thousand miles away.

  “You just did the right thing.”

  “But Lena’s nowhere near here. You’re in more danger than Aimee is.” Immediately I wished I could take it back. Lena had been a little jealous of my other friendships. Michael was in protective custody, but Elizabeth … “Seriously, maybe you should stay someplace else for a few days.”

  “If everyone who had anything to do with Brady or Lena moved into a hotel, the whole neighborhood would be empty.” Elizabeth’s tone was light, but I could hear how serious she was. More than serious. Brave.

  Then she added, “But I’ll think about it. We’re not taking any risks. Don’t worry about us, Kacy. You stay safe.”

  Across the street where the man was raking leaves, a white-haired woman in a shawl-collared sweater came to the door. He looked up and gestured—a few more minutes. Maybe I had been hallucinating danger here as a reaction to all the months I’d been living in blissful ignorance under surveillance by killers. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” I said.

  “You promise me the same thing.”

  “Deal.” We hung up.

  My breath was coming quickly again, and the cool calm I usually absorbed from Elizabeth was gone. A mail truck came down the street, and when the driver reached through her window to stuff mail into a neighbor’s box, the black-and-white shepherd became frantic, barking and leaping inside its fence.

  Why wasn’t Lena just disappearing? She shouldn’t be sending postcards; she should just have driven over the border and lived her life. When she and Brady killed together, it was violent and bloody and gruesome. But on her own …<
br />
  No one would ever know a murder had happened. Maybe a year would go by, maybe two. One day Elizabeth would put Theo down for a nap, go into her kitchen for a mug of tea, and something would hit her on the back of the head. She’d bleed out on the creamy tile floor of her kitchen, her blond hair matted and stained, unable to rise when she heard Theo crying. “Did you hear?” the neighbors would say. “What a tragic accident.” And the Bluebonnets would drop off meals and Wyatt would raise Theo alone or maybe move back to Canada and Elizabeth would be gone. I’d always know she was a terrible footnote in Lena’s story, and that she might have been safe if she hadn’t been friends with me.

  Aimee wasn’t in danger. Elizabeth was, and so were those mysterious “others” who had received postcards. Maybe Rahmia or Rachael or Inés or even Alondra. Just like Sandy, they might be gone in an instant, and I was helpless to protect them.

  And the person I most longed for was also in Texas, and also in danger. Voice messages weren’t enough, texts weren’t enough, even a phone call wasn’t enough. What I needed was Michael’s embrace, pulling me close, a wordless promise that we would be okay even if the world burned down around us. Holding on to each other was all we’d ever had, from the moment we’d met to our first tiny apartment and the long drive across the country.

  But the call went straight to voice mail. So did my next call to Alondra. No contact with him, no answers from her.

  I wrapped my arms around my stomach, a meager substitute for what I really wanted. Michael had been strong for me when I hadn’t been able to stand up for myself, but I could now. I had stood up to Aimee. Maybe I hadn’t persuaded her, but I’d been strong enough to try. And if Lena wasn’t here, if Aimee wasn’t at risk, that meant the police were right to protect Michael. He was the only eyewitness against Brady. It was my turn to give him strength, but I was too many miles away.

  Here on the front stoop, I could admit how scared I was, how much I wanted to cry, how hard it was to act normal when terror fluttered around my lungs with razor-edged wings.