by Tyson, Wendy
For the first ten years of marriage, they’d done it once every two weeks, like clockwork. Always on a Friday night. Always with the lights out.
And she spent years trying to ignore her disappointment over their sex life because any boredom in the bedroom must have been her fault. She was too demanding or unattractive or scatterbrained or uncreative for him. She had to accept her lot and move ahead with life.
So she did. She gave birth to two babies. She volunteered at the local women’s shelter. She made casseroles for shut-ins and taught piano lessons to runny-nosed grade-schoolers. She sang in the choir, lunched with the neighbors, and planted a magnificent rose garden. Like her mother before her, she made something out of nothing. And she kept the bits of what could have been under lock and key in the china closet.
Of course, when she found him with the neighbor’s married son, well, the poor dear didn’t have a chance. She could still picture Randolph running down the stairs, his pants around his ankles. The neighbor was nude. And the lights had been on. That was what had thrown her over the edge. The blazing lights.
And after everything, it was Allison who helped her find the will to live again. She owed that woman a great debt. And, by golly, she would find a way to repay her.
Midge turned off the dining room chandelier and headed toward the kitchen. Something was going on, Midge just knew it. Allison was sick or depressed or someone in her family had died. Allison never let them down...and now, two sessions in a row? She clicked on the phone and dialed Tori’s number. This time, Allison needed them. They’d march over there and show her how much they cared.
Vaughn sat in the BMW and waited. He disliked Desiree’s neighborhood. Big chandeliers with hanging crystals shining through oversized foyer windows. Three-car garages. Engraved nameplates over double-wide entries. What was all that about? Too many white folks trying to look richer than they were.
Outside, the wind was starting to pick up. He thought he’d make it to the gym, maybe visit with Mia later, catch a movie, have some dinner. Surveillance was his least favorite activity. And Desiree sure was boring.
The lights were on in Desiree’s home. He watched her daughters walk home from the bus stop and go inside. At one point, he could make out Desiree’s profile in a window.
His phone rang. Allison. “Yo,” he said.
“Anything?”
“Nada. And I called Jason, but haven’t heard back from him.”
“Can you try Sasha?”
“You already met her. Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to go?”
“I have something I have to do,” she said.
He enjoyed a moment of relief thinking she was back at her old game and had some work, real work, to handle. A politician with a speech to deliver or a book club to address. But when she said, “Maggie,” the relief turned to dread.
“Fine. I’ll talk to Sasha, Allison,” he said. “Of course I will. But it’s a bad idea to go see that kid. McBride warned you off, and that should be enough reason to keep your distance.”
Allison laughed. It wasn’t quite a sane laugh. In fact, it was a downright crazy laugh.
“Hank can go to hell,” Allison said. “Sunny called me while I was at Mia’s. Maggie was arrested. And now Hank is trying to have his daughter declared insane.”
Thirty—Three
“Out with it Maggie. All of it. I want the truth this time,” Allison said.
If Allison was expecting Maggie to look depressed or repentant, she was wrong. Without the Goth makeup and layers of black garb, she appeared scrubbed and healthy and very, very full of spit and fire. Maggie was being held at a juvenile lock-up, so their conversation had to take place under police observation. They sat on two tape-covered vinyl chairs across a battered table, its feet stuffed into sliced tennis balls to protect a scarred wooden floor. The smells of body odor and stale cigarette smoke overwhelmed the senses.
Maggie said, “How’s Brutus?”
“You tell me the truth, Maggie, and we talk about Brutus.”
Maggie scowled. For a moment, Allison thought she would refuse to cooperate but a second later, she said, “Fine. What do you want to know?”
Allison leaned in, keeping her voice a whisper. She said gently but urgently, “Were you involved with Arnie Feldman’s murder, Maggie?”
“No.”
“Udele’s?”
“Of course not!”
Allison tried to read her expression. Was she being honest? She thought of Violet, of the session with Violet right before she’d run away. Allison had had no real clue that Violet was up to something, just a vague sense of anxiety and “Sparky,” that unfamiliar name. And now with Maggie, how could she really know what the truth was? Wasn’t that what teens did: bend the truth to suit their needs, consequences be damned? Back then, she had ignored her instincts. Now, she decided, she would trust them.
And her instincts said Maggie was innocent. Troubled. Unruly. Oppositional and dramatic. But innocent.
Maggie said, “You believe me?”
“Yes.”
They regarded one another for a moment. Maggie smiled. “Is that it?”
“No.” Allison reviewed what she’d found out about her and Sarah.
“All true,” Maggie said. “I hate Sarah Moore.”
“But you knew she’d get you in trouble, Maggie.”
“I didn’t care. She was trying to steal Ethan. She made fun of me constantly at school. She pretended to be nice, got good grades. Teachers would never believe she’d do the things she did. I had to do something.”
“You could have told your parents. Maybe not your dad, but your mom?”
Maggie snorted.
“Your mom’s the one who gave me permission to speak with you today, you know.”
Maggie looked surprised. “That’s a first. Daddy will kill her.” Her eyes darkened. “Watch out, Allison. I wouldn’t trust her. Daddy may be up to something.”
Allison had thought of that. She wouldn’t have put it past McBride to use Sunny to try to ensnare her somehow, especially now that Maggie had been officially charged. But Sunny had sounded desperate, and upset. Very upset. Allison’s gut told her the grief was genuine. But Maggie’s concern still touched her.
“I read the letters, Maggie. The ones you sent to Sarah Moore.”
Maggie shrugged. “That was stupid. I paid the price for it.”
“You’re paying the price now. Don’t you get that? Those letters tie you to the Feldman crime scene.”
“I didn’t kill anybody.”
“But you admitted to Satan worship in those letters.”
Maggie laughed. “Hardly.”
“‘God of death and dying,’ ‘Horned One’?”
“Ohmyfreakinggoddess!”
The guard stood up and looked menacingly at Maggie and Allison. “Shhhh,” Allison said. “They’ll make me leave.”
She glanced at the large clock on the wall, its face secured by a network of crisscrossed bars. “I only have another ten minutes as it is.”
Maggie lowered her voice. “The Horned One is Cernunnos, not Satan. A Celtic god. I told you, Wiccans don’t believe in doing evil.”
“But the letters mention sacrifices.”
“Personal sacrifices. Giving up chocolate, not swearing. I wanted Sarah to go away.”
“Then why make references to this Cernunnos? You had to have known he sounded like the devil.”
Maggie looked abashed. “Maybe I wanted to scare her. But only a little bit! I wouldn’t have hurt her. And I would never hurt an animal!”
“Then whose blood was on the letter, Maggie?”
“Mine.”
She thought about the Feldman crime scene. The chicken blood and dog feces. The handwriting that matched Maggie’s. “You never used animal blood?”
“
Ohmygoddess, Allison! I don’t even eat meat—you think I would kill an animal to write a stupid letter? Anyway, I only used the blood in the last two letters. The first two were written in ink.”
Allison looked at her. “How many letters did you send?”
“Four.”
But Desiree said there were three.
“Are you certain?”
“Of course I’m sure! I wrote them.”
So Desiree was lying. Or she didn’t know about the fourth letter. Allison thought about the crime scene, about the bits of Maggie’s handwriting found near Feldman’s body. How easy it would have been to use that fourth letter to plant Maggie at the scene of the murder. Too easy.
“Do you have a lawyer, Maggie?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Daddy hired some old guy with disgusting nostril hair. He wants to argue that I’m not responsible for my actions because I’m crazy. But I didn’t do it, Allison.” She stood up. “How can I be held responsible for a murder I didn’t do?”
The guard shot them another warning look.
“Sit down, Maggie,” Allison hissed. “They’re watching.”
“I don’t care,” Maggie said. But she sat down. “God, Allison. Don’t you get it? Daddy doesn’t care whether I’m innocent. All he cares about is trying to keep me out of the news.”
Allison had to agree.
Maggie chewed the end of a worn and jagged thumbnail. “So he hired some Dr. Loser to dissect my brain so Attorney Nose-Hair can get me locked up in a nut house. They can all kiss my—”
Allison stopped her with a raised finger.
“Focus, Maggie. There has to be something you can tell me that will help your case.”
“Nothing.”
“Think.”
“I have been thinking, Allison. I was with Ethan the night his father died. They don’t believe either one of us, so how do we prove that? And the day Udele disappeared, I was with you.”
“Not till the afternoon, Maggie. Where were you earlier?”
She sat silently for a minute. Behind her, a girl with dyed-orange hair and a nose stud let out a smoker’s cough. She swore in Spanish at another resident. “I was shopping,” Maggie said finally. But she avoided Allison’s gaze. Allison knew there must be more.
“Why didn’t you tell the police that?”
“Because. They wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”
“But there would be purchase records, surveillance cameras.”
“Not where I went.”
“Where did you go, Maggie?”
Maggie sat forward, pulled her legs up on the chair, and wrapped her arms around her legs. “New Hope.”
It certainly wasn’t immediately obvious to Allison why Maggie would want to go there. The small Bucks County town had a lot to offer in terms of restaurants and culture...but for a fifteen-year-old? And it was over an hour from Villanova. “Why in the world would you go to New Hope? And how did you get there?”
“I took the train as far as I could. Then I called a cab.” She chewed her thumbnail again. “I went to The Witches Brew. It’s a Wicca store. I knew they would use that against me, Allison, which is why I didn’t say anything.”
“But there would still be a trail. A train ticket, a receipt. Cell phone records. All proof that you weren’t home when Udele was killed.”
“I’ve got nothing. No receipts, no tickets. I didn’t buy anything.”
“But the phone company will have a record of your cell-phone call to the cab company.”
“I used a pay phone at the train station.”
Allison’s mind spun. This was still something. The cabbie might remember her. There should be records. “Why did you go, Maggie?”
“To look at the spell books. I jotted some notes. But they’re not dated. They don’t mean anything.”
“Spells for what?”
Maggie hesitated. “For home. To make things better. So I...so I didn’t have to work with you.” She looked ashamed. “I’m sorry. But seriously, Allison, you came into my house acting all stuck up and important. What else could I do?”
Allison smiled, despite everything. “It’s okay. I think the feeling was mutual. But you turned out to not be so bad, you know.”
Maggie rolled her eyes again, dramatically. “You either, Allison.” Maggie held Allison’s gaze for a minute and then said, more seriously, “But what about New Hope?”
Allison nodded. There had to be an alibi in there somewhere. If not the cabbie, the staff at the Witches Brew would remember Maggie. Hopefully.
“Was Udele home when you left?”
“Yes. She made me breakfast, as usual. Sugarless, tasteless, low-fat food. Daddy’s orders for his chubby daughter. The first thing I did when I got to New Hope was have a chocolate croissant and a café mocha.”
“How long were you gone?”
“Four hours. Maybe less.”
“You left when you would have normally gone to school?”
Maggie nodded.
“That means you got home well before you came to see me. So, who saw you come home?”
“No one.”
“No one? Not even your mom? I thought she was usually home during the day.”
Maggie’s mouth twisted into a grin, but it was a smile that left Allison cold. “My mother was home, but she was busy. I saw her. And I’m pretty sure she didn’t see me.”
Allison tried to hide her impatience. It was Maggie’s butt on the line, yet she was playing games. “What was she doing that she wouldn’t see you?”
“Not what, Allison. Who.”
Startled, Allison could only say, “What?”
Sunny was having an affair? She would expect that from her husband. But Sunny? The woman didn’t seem the type. But then again, she’d seen enough nasty divorces to know there really wasn’t a type.
“Who was she with, Maggie? Did you know him?”
“Not him. Her. My mom’s a rug-muncher, Allison. I’ve seen her with women before. Just one of the things she doesn’t want Daddy to know.”
Allison looked at Maggie, trying to discern if this admission was true—and, if so, whether it upset her. If it did, she wasn’t letting on. To be fifteen and have seen so much, know so many sordid secrets. Poor Maggie. No wonder the kid was so mixed up.
Allison remembered the dark woman who was with Sunny and Catherine the day Udele’s body was found. Maybe that was her lover. They certainly seemed familiar with each other. And the woman did seem protective of Sunny, territorial even. Allison realized the news didn’t completely surprise her.
“Did you recognize the woman your mom was with?”
“Oh, I recognized her alright. Which is why I stayed out of sight.”
“And?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” Maggie said. “You asked me why I didn’t tell my folks about Sarah instead of going after her myself.”
“Yes, so?”
“I knew it was pointless.”
“I’m not following you, Maggie,” Allison said, before sudden comprehension forced a shiver down the length of her spine.
“My mom was with Sarah’s mom,” Maggie whispered, confirming Allison’s fears. “Mrs. Moore.”
Allison tried to call Vaughn. Six rings, then his voice mail. She texted him. No response. Where is he?
She put the car into drive and pulled out of the juvie parking lot. Too many coincidences. Sarah and Maggie, Kyle Moore at the restaurant...now Desiree Moore and Sunny McBride? Desiree had been in Udele’s presence on the day she disappeared. That might mean Kyle had access, too. She needed to find out whether Arnie Feldman had ever represented Kyle Moore. And if Moore had been Arnie’s client and there had been a disagreement between them, that could constitute a motive...Tenuous, at best, Allison had to admit. But something.
At least “
Horned One” was not a reference to the devil. Hallelujah!
But even if Vaughn could prove that Arnie Feldman had something on Moore, how could she convince the police? They had their girl. Why look further? It would only make them look incompetent. Hank McBride, too afraid of bad publicity, wasn’t fighting Maggie’s arrest. So it would be up to them to glue the pieces together. She believed the Moores were somehow involved. But she needed to find the proverbial smoking gun.
But how?
She tried Vaughn again. No answer. Maybe she’d head back to the office. Catch up on some paperwork, take time to think. There was a pattern here. If she could just connect the dots, the real killer would be revealed. But before she went to First Impressions, she’d call Sunny. Maybe Sunny could shed some light on this mess. And if Sunny was involved? Allison didn’t even want to consider how a mother could do that to her own child. She hoped to hell that wasn’t the case.
Thirty—Four
Vaughn didn’t go right to Sasha’s. Instead, he stopped at home first to visit his brother. Jamie had been keeping up with his online research, and Vaughn wanted to see what news he had today.
“Chicken soup,” Mrs. T yelled from Jamie’s room. “And biscuits. Fix yourself a big bowl. There’s plenty to go around.”
Vaughn dumped his phone on the entry table and then followed his nose to the kitchen. There, he dipped a spoon in the soup, blew on it and sipped at the broth. Perfect.
Vaughn grabbed a few biscuits and walked into Jamie’s room. Mrs. T was sitting on the loveseat, reading from a novel.
“Want me to stop there, Jamie?” Mrs. T was saying. Vaughn couldn’t see Jamie’s response on the monitor, but Mrs. T closed a book and stood up. “He’s all yours, Christopher.”
When Mrs. T was out of earshot, Vaughn filled Jamie in on the recent events between bites.
“Allison is with Maggie now,” he said. “And for the last few hours, I’ve been watching the Moore house. Nothing.”