You Can Never Tell

by Sarah Warburton

  26

  THE MUSEUM WAS strung with fairy lights in the trees and around the entrance, reflected in delicate patterns through all the windows, making it impossible to see through them.

  In my slouchy athletic pants, T-shirt, and cheap cardigan, I wasn’t dressed for a gala, or even dressed to cater a gala. These events were highly orchestrated down to the last detail. If this were a movie, I’d sneak into the kitchen, pick up a platter of canapés, and waltz into the crowd, perfectly in disguise. But I knew that everyone on the floor would be wearing a uniform, that in the kitchen each team would be so well organized that they wouldn’t hand a platter to some random person, and in the sea of hot boxes and prep tables I’d stick out just as much as I would in the midst of the glitterati.

  And if I stuck out, Lena would see me before I saw her.

  There would be security working the event. I bit my lip, the pain focusing my mind. Well, there would be security at the entrances, but this museum wasn’t the Met. I wouldn’t need an Ocean’s 8 maneuver to get in. I just needed to get a look at the people there, make sure Aimee was still alive, scan for Lena. Call the police. I’d slipped the scissors from my purse into my pocket as backup, and now I clenched the cold steel, my only weapon.

  As long as Lena knew I was here, she’d stay. Hopefully long enough to get caught.

  The scissors pressed painfully into my hand. I wasn’t strong enough to fight Lena. I’d survive only if she didn’t see me.

  The front steps of the museum were illuminated, although guests weren’t arriving yet. I darted into the shadows at the side of the building and went around back, where catering vans were parked by the loading dock. I recognized Tyler, the service captain standing with his clipboard, from countless other events, big, small, and esoteric. I’d seen him fire a cook on the spot for wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt. No way I was getting past him. But I couldn’t see another way in. There were three vans, all the standard white, with several people unloading plastic tubs, aluminum trays, and milk crates like a reverse game of Tetris. Inside the prep area, knives must be flying and proverbial plates must be spinning.

  I wrapped both arms around my knotted stomach, trying to calm down enough to assess the situation. After all, I used to be the one coordinating these events with Aimee.

  Together we had tasted rock shrimp on corn madeleines, lemon and rosemary macarons, flower petals and gold leaf suspended in champagne gelee. We’d designed menus and called donors and stretched our budget, calculating whether the expense would encourage donations and publicity. Aimee adored parties, not the food as much as the glamour and the attention. I was always on high alert, gauging our guests’ reactions, coordinating with Tyler or the service captain from whichever catering company was there. I knew exactly how many of the secret vegan options we had, and when some skinny socialite said, “Oh, that looks good; can I have that instead?” I was the one who added the cost of having her to my mental tally.

  “But she’s part of the publicity,” Aimee had pointed out. “A vapid, selfish part of the publicity, but still …”

  “It should be about the art. That should be what people care about.”

  I had forgotten how it felt to be that certain, that idealistic. Now as I looked at the museum, I felt that it contained in brittle glass, fragile paper, and inflexible stone the fears and desires of a hundred human souls, each so easily destroyed.

  Death was the opposite of art, and here I was, seeking it out.

  Terror made it so hard to think, but I had to. Grace’s life, Michael’s, my parents’—everyone depended on me. I had to make sure Lena was captured. If I waited by the vans, maybe when the last of the catering crew went in, I could enter through that back door. If I did, and I managed to get through the kitchen, I could use the service elevator to get to the upper floor. From there, I could see everything.

  My hand touched the scissors again, a comforting weight in my pocket. Comforting, until I thought about using them. Then rational thought faded and my body tensed, trying to override my plan and run, run, run.

  When I saw Lena, I’d find someone else’s phone to call the police. No heroics. Nothing like that. I’d get in and get out. Michael would be cleared, and the three of us would be back where we were supposed to be. I swear, I promised, I’ll never take a single normal day for granted again. Please, please …

  Moving like a marionette, I walked along the edge of the parking lot. One of the catering guys looked up, and I waved at him in a nice evening, nothing to see here kind of way. He nodded and dragged a loaded plastic bin off the van parked by the door. As he joined the ranks of cooks lugging equipment into the museum, the service captain checked his clipboard and followed them. They must have been cleaning out the final bits and pieces.

  At the far end of the parking lot, three empty vans afforded me some slight cover. The gala would start in the next hour or two, the front of the museum would be lit and crowded, but back here there was a soft darkness, diluted by the lights at the edge of the parking lot and the light coming from the back loading door. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, trying to ease the knot of terror. Back here, I couldn’t go look for Lena, but I was safely hidden. I’d just wait for the right moment.

  Only three guys were left, messing around with the van. They were almost finished, and when they were, I’d sprint to the door. I shifted from one foot to the other. It was colder up here than it would have been in Texas, but I hadn’t thought to bring more than a light cardigan. One of the guys pulled something out of a pocket and offered it to the other one.

  They were going to smoke before going in. I almost groaned aloud. They leaned against the back wall of the museum. If I could see them, they could see me, so I drew back a few more steps, concentrating on the distant sound of their muffled laughter. It was warmer between the two vans, as though their engines had just been turned off or they’d been transporting hot boxes and the residual heat still glowed.

  I was almost holding my breath, straining to hear the sound of the door shutting, my signal that the coast would be clear, when a hand clamped over my mouth and a familiar voice whispered in my ear, “Took you long enough.”

  I struggled, twisting in the iron crook of that arm, until I could see Lena. Her wavy hair spiraled out from the knot she’d made of it, but it was dyed a dark black, which threw her pale skin into relief. The pressure of her hand kept me from opening my mouth enough to try to scream. She was strong, strong enough to break my neck.

  She threw me sideways, slamming my head into the side of the van. The pain stole my breath and my vision. I closed my eyes and tried to shout, but her hand was back, sealing my mouth as she loomed over me, pressing me against the van. I could scarcely breathe.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she hissed at me. “What’s the matter with you? It’s me.” She wore tailored black trousers and a button-down white shirt slightly too large, bagging under the arms and sitting too wide on her shoulders. Unlike me, she was dressed to cater.

  Somewhere in my terror, what she’d said sunk in. She wasn’t planning to kill me. Which meant if I could buy some time, I could get away and call the police. I could get out of this.

  I stopped struggling.

  She squinted at me, the expression so familiar, the exact way she’d looked back when she’d said, “You’re on the benefit planning committee?” like she was trying to evaluate me from the inside, to see if what she thought about me matched who I actually was. I slipped a hand into my pocket and grasped the handle of the scissors.

  I opened my eyes wide, trying to project innocence, and she frowned. Why did I have to be such a crap liar? Why couldn’t I be more like Aimee, with a poker face that exuded warmth when all I had inside was ice?

  I couldn’t just pretend. I was going to have to feel it. And at the thought of the Lena with whom I’d made bread, these same strong hands that held me captive once pounding the dough, another friend who’d just been an illusion, I let my eyes tear up.

  Slow
ly, she took her hand off my mouth. “Just be cool. Don’t freak out.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t want you to be involved.” Her clamp on my arm was so tight I could feel my blood throb underneath her grip.

  “You killed people.”

  “Not anybody you knew.”

  I didn’t have to pretend. I could feel my brows draw together, my face contort. How could anyone be like this, so cruel and yet so normal? A killer should be crazed, evil, hate life. But Lena loved the sunshine and good food and laughter.

  And she was still standing too close for me to run and get away.

  “Why are you here?” I demanded.

  “You even have to ask? Brady screwed up; he ruined everything. And I know that made things harder for y’all. So I thought I’d make it right and do you a favor before I took off.”

  “I don’t want you to kill Aimee.”

  “Why the fuck not? The bitch ruined your life.”

  “Yes, but …” What could I say that was true, that Lena would believe? “But if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have moved, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “Is that a vote for her or against her?” The smile, the laughter in Lena’s voice, was so infectious I would have laughed, if this had been just another evening by the pool. And then I saw the black cloth bag at her feet. Those people she and Brady had killed, they’d been tortured and dismembered. And any illusions I’d had about how much she’d been involved were dispelled by what must be a bag of tools at her feet.

  If I couldn’t break free, at least I had to lure her away from the museum, away from Aimee and closer to help. “They’ve got security all over here. You’re not safe. Let’s just go.”

  “I’m not going to let her get away with what she did.”

  “Forget her. She’s not worth it. And there’s so much security.”

  Lena smiled, her lips stretching wide in a grin that didn’t touch her eyes. Her voice was soft. “You said that already. What are you trying to do, Kacy? Are you trying to play me?”

  “No, I—”

  Her other hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, hard, forcing my fingers to open, releasing the scissors. “You’re not worried about me at all,” she hissed. “Are you trying to save this bitch? Why do you still give a shit about her?”

  “I don’t. But you’re going to get caught.” I was almost shouting, and Lena’s gaze went past me, evaluating who might have heard.

  Her hand closed harder around my arm, and I cried out as her other hand reached into a pocket on her pants. She had a weapon, I knew she had a weapon. I froze again, my whole body stiff.

  She bent her head close to mine, whispering with fierce intensity. “I don’t get caught. I’ve never been caught. If Brady had been able to control himself for a few goddamn days—”

  “You really were going to your aunt’s house?” I croaked. I could hear the noise of the street, but I couldn’t see more than a sliver of the parking lot. If only one of the catering crew would come out now, they would see us, they would call for help.

  “Of course I was. I was there when I heard the news that my dumbfuck husband had blown everything. I’m so sorry he dragged Michael into this. I didn’t mean for you to get involved.”

  I could almost believe she was sorry, that she’d tried to shield me from her own heinous crimes. She’d been watching us on those cameras, she’d been destroying innocent people, and I couldn’t hold my tongue, not even with my life at stake. “Why? Why did you do it?”

  “I’m trying to make it up to you. Just quit freaking out.” She gave me a little shake, almost playful.

  “What are you talking about? You killed people.”

  “Oh, that.” And I could have sworn I saw something moving in her eyes, something dark and hungry, but what she said was, “It was Brady. He was obsessed. God, I love that asshole.”

  She was lying, I knew it. “But he’s not here now.”

  “No,” she said slowly, “he’s not, is he?” I tried to withdraw my arm gently, but her grip tightened. “I can’t fool you, Kacy, can I? But it’s true, I did try to protect you.”

  “Let me protect you. Just go. They won’t find you.” I’d sprint to the street and call the police.

  “I can’t.” She looked almost sad. “This is who I am, and you know I always finish my jobs.”

  Then she raised her hand, and I felt a sharp sting, an injection in my shoulder. As my vision narrowed to a pinprick, she whispered, “Sorry, sweetie. I just need a head start.”

  C2C TRANSCRIPT

  14

  Helen: Okay, so there’s a lot to unpack here at the end.

  Julia: Like, fifty suitcases’ worth.

  Helen: But we’re going to keep it tight on logistics. First, that woman on the security footage? Lena’s aunt. She muddied up the timeline, lied her ass off about seeing Lena, and generally caused havoc.

  Julia: I would do that for you, totally.

  Helen: You cause havoc recreationally.

  Julia: Truth.

  Helen: But the FBI is not taken in by all these Texas shenanigans. They’re following up with Lena’s extended family in Louisiana and Arkansas and they’re keeping tabs on Kacy and her family too.

  Julia: As victims, witnesses, or suspects?

  Helen: My guess is yes to all three. Secondly, Lena has been monitoring Kacy’s phone. She knows where this “safe house” is, she knows Kacy’s been to the museum once already, and when everything’s just the way Lena wants it, she knows Kacy’s taken the bait.

  Julia: Because there’s no point in preparing a surprise party if the guest of honor doesn’t show up.

  Helen: Happy birthday, baby.

  CHAPTER

  27

  I CAME TO ON the ground in the shadow of something large, my cheek pressed into the rough asphalt, the stench of oil and trash in my nostrils. I sat up, my head swimming, trying to make sense of what I saw. A wooden fence, a dark alley, a bit of the parking lot, and a dumpster. I’d been lying almost underneath it.

  “Help!” My voice cracked. I staggered to my feet, my hand on the filthy metal for support, my stomach queasy. I crept around the dumpster and scanned the parking lot. Despite the nearly subaudible hum of the surrounding city, everything was quiet. I didn’t see Lena anywhere.

  The catering vans were gone, the museum dark. The gala must be over. I raised a hand to my aching head. I had to call the police. I reached in my pocket. Empty. No car keys. No scissors. No phone.

  I scanned the asphalt. Nothing. Lena must have taken everything.

  A car was approaching on the main street, and I ran toward it, waving my hands. I could have sworn it sped up. The darkness thickened around me. Lena could be anywhere, in any doorway, watching me. But she wouldn’t watch for long. That wasn’t her style. Maybe she pictured me as a wounded animal she needed to stalk.

  But that wasn’t what she’d said. Lena had threatened Aimee, but she’d talked to me like we were friends.

  I looked over my shoulder at the front entrance to the museum. Of course. The security guard. He’d have a walkie-talkie and a phone. He’d call the police. My next breath drew bile into my throat.

  Lena knew I was here, and she could figure out where my family was. My parents. Grace. They were at the police station now, but they couldn’t live there forever. When they left, Lena would hunt them down.

  Although she hadn’t hurt me yet, every little remark she’d made about babies and Stepford wives ignited a panic that burned through the foggy pain in my head.

  I sprinted across the parking lot, along the side of the museum, and up the concrete steps of the entrance. The main glass doors were locked, as I knew they would be, and no one was visible. I banged on the doors with my open palms, shouting, shrieking. When I heard a car behind me, I turned and screamed at it too, waving my arms frantically.

  Why didn’t pay phones exist anymore?

  I heard another vehicle on the road and turned to see a garbage truck. I rac
ed to intercept it, hurling myself into the street in front of it. The driver slammed on his brakes, and I threw my hands up and closed my eyes as it stopped right in front of me.

  The sanitation worker on the back of the truck hopped off and loped toward me, his yellow vest reflecting the streetlights. “What the fuck?”

  “Call the police. I need you to call the police.” I reached out to him, and he slowed, as if worried I might be dangerous.

  The driver opened his door. “I could have killed you, lady.”

  From a safe distance, the worker squinted at me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  I held up my open hands. “It’s an emergency. Please, can I use your phone?”

  He might have wanted to refuse, but I was already closing the distance between us, reaching out. Surely he could read the desperation on my face. Every second we wasted here was another second Lena could be on her way to Grace.

  As the driver switched on his emergency flashers, the other worker dug in his pocket and offered me his phone.

  “Thank you, thank you.” I fumbled to dial 911.

  The dispatcher asked, “What’s the nature of your emergency?”

  “Lena Voss, the fugitive, the killer. She was at the Umana museum.”

  “What’s the address?”

  I gave it and my name, tripping over my words.

  “Spell that for me.” Could I see movement inside the building? Maybe Lena was still here, still hunting.

  “Are you injured?”

  “No, I mean, it doesn’t matter. If you call the Sugar Land Police Department in Texas or the FBI or my lawyer—”

  “Description of the suspect?”

  “She’s been on the nightly news.” I was almost screaming. “Dark curly hair, midthirties, tall.”

  “Where is she now?” The dispatcher’s calm sounded patronizing. I wasn’t some child who’d seen a bogeyman.

  “I don’t know,” I snapped. “She knocked me out. My parents are at the police station in Montclair.”

  “Are you in need of medical assistance?”