The Bad Sister

by Kevin O'Brien

  She nodded. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  “And Hannah, by the way, could you do me a favor?” Ellie couldn’t believe she was going to ask this of her. But she went ahead: “Could you not say anything to Rachel about our talk here? She—well, her parents have the wrong idea about me. Because I’m a reporter, they’d just as soon you weren’t confiding in me about anything—especially delicate family matters.”

  “I understand,” Hannah said.

  “Thanks,” Ellie said. “Keep me posted about your sister, okay?”

  Hannah nodded. Then she suddenly hugged her.

  Ellie felt her body become rigid. Her arms stayed at her sides. She hated that the talk with O’Hurley had made her so cautious and self-conscious—over nothing.

  But Hannah didn’t seem to notice. “Thanks, Ellie,” she said. Then she hurried out of the classroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Monday, 9:33 P.M.

  “Well, I know the text might not sound like her, honey,” Hannah’s mother said over the phone. “But with Eden, you think you know her, you expect her to behave a certain way, and then she pulls the rug out from under you and does something else entirely.”

  “There’s no predicting her,” Hannah’s father chimed in.

  Her parents had been washing the dinner dishes when Hannah had called. She’d started talking to her mother, but once Hannah had mentioned Eden was missing, they’d turned it into a conference call on the other end. She pictured her mom and dad sitting together at the breakfast table with the phone between them. They were deeply concerned. The only other time Eden had been AWOL this long had been her spontaneous trip to Oregon last year, when, for three days, nobody had known where she’d gone. Her parents seemed to take the text as a positive sign. Eden was finally showing a little consideration.

  Hannah sat at the mid-century modern bar that separated the kitchen area from the living room. Rachel was upstairs in her room, listening to Frank Sinatra and studying. Hannah had decided not to tell her parents her theory that Eden might have been abducted by someone copying the Immaculate Conception Killer’s actions fifty years ago. It suddenly seemed like a pretty far-fetched notion. She figured, if her mom and dad didn’t totally freak out about it, they’d think she was completely nuts. Neither reaction would be helpful right now.

  “Did anything happen prior to Eden going out on Friday night?” her mother asked.

  “I wasn’t here when she left. I was at a sorority thing. Rachel was out with her friend. So Eden was here by herself.”

  “Had you two been fighting or anything?” her dad asked. “I mean, any more than usual?”

  “Honey, no one’s blaming you,” her mother chimed in. “But this whole thing about you asking Eden to move out, do you think it might have had anything to do with her going off on her own? I know she’s never needed an excuse to disappear before, but maybe this time, there’s a reason.”

  Since arriving at Our Lady of the Cove, Hannah had talked to her parents twice and texted them several times. They’d also been following her on social media. She’d been dying to post something on Instagram about the fire on Wednesday night, but Eden had talked her out of it. Eden had pointed out that if their parents knew about the fire, they’d only end up panicking that a pyromaniac was loose on the campus. She was probably right, as much as Hannah hated to admit it. She and Eden had also agreed to keep mum about Rachel’s role in getting them their scholarships. Hannah figured if she said anything to her parents about it, she’d have to explain how they were all related to Rachel. And no one was ready for that.

  “Hannah?” her mother said. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking. I know I talked to Eden about moving out. But I’m pretty sure that isn’t why she took off. In fact, just the other day, I told Eden that I wanted her to stay.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” her mother said, sounding surprised.

  “It’s one for Ripley’s,” her father added. “So you two are getting along better? That’s great, honey. How about this Rachel? I know you like her. How are she and Eden getting along?”

  “They get along okay.” Like sisters, Hannah thought.

  “So, it’s been three days,” her mother sighed. “It’s concerning. If it were anyone else but Eden, I’d be really alarmed—”

  “She’s over eighteen,” Hannah’s father said. “That’s the first thing the police will tell us if we try to report this. And then there’s the text. If she said she wanted to explore Chicago for the weekend, well, that sounds like Eden to me. I don’t like her missing a whole day of classes. But then, I guess that’s pretty damn typical . . .”

  “It certainly won’t be the first time,” her mother remarked. “But three days and nights? And who are these strangers who took her in? I swear, that girl’s going to give me an ulcer.”

  “Han, you said you texted her earlier tonight?” her father asked.

  “Yes. I told her that, for all I know, someone could’ve stolen her phone. I mean, the password couldn’t be any easier. It’s her birthday—oh-seven-oh-one. I caught her punching in the numbers about a month ago. Seriously, all anyone has to do is look at her driver’s license and give it a try. Anyway, I told her that I needed to hear from her in person or I’d call the police.”

  “Well, we’ll try calling her, too,” her father said. “Let us know if you hear from her. And we’ll keep in touch. If we haven’t heard back from her by tomorrow night, I’ll contact the police there in Delmar—or maybe Chicago. We’ll take the next step—whatever that may be. In the meantime, honey, don’t worry about it. This is classic Eden behavior. She’ll probably show up on your doorstep tomorrow morning, wondering what all the fuss was about.”

  “You’re right,” Hannah murmured, frowning.

  “So, what else is going on there, honey?” her mother asked.

  “Besides Eden driving me crazy? Nothing much.”

  “No, something else is bothering you, I can tell,” her mother said. “Is everything okay with you and Rachel? She was all you could talk about for the first few days. But since the middle of last week, you haven’t so much as mentioned her in any of your texts or your posts. Did you two have a falling out? Did something happen?”

  Her mouth open, Hannah gaped at the phone in her grasp. Was her mother psychic or something? She straightened up on the barstool and cleared her throat. “No, everything’s fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Hannah hesitated. Her mom must have read something into her silence.

  “Oh God, it’s something bad, isn’t it?” her mother said finally. “It’s even worse than Eden disappearing, because you’re afraid to tell us.”

  Hannah said nothing. In high school, she used to think her parents were utterly clueless. And here they were, thousands of miles away, picking up vibes from the sound of her voice in a phone conversation.

  “Is it the reason Eden took off?” her mom asked. “Why she ran away?”

  “You just said, like, five minutes ago that Eden never needed a reason to disappear,” Hannah pointed out. “I’m practically positive this thing has nothing to do with her taking off like she did.”

  “Wait a minute,” her father cut in. “What are you talking about, honey? What exactly is this thing? What happened?”

  “I knew it,” her mother was saying—while her dad was talking.

  Hannah suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

  “What don’t you want to tell us?” her dad asked. “Listen, it’s bad enough your sister has vanished and we don’t know where she is. Don’t leave us hanging about this other thing.”

  “I can’t talk about it,” Hannah said, wincing.

  “Does it have anything to do with drugs?” her father pressed.

  “No.”

  “Thank God,” he said.

  “Well, are you or Eden in some kind of trouble?” her mother asked. “Did something happen with a guy?”

  “No, Mom—”

&nb
sp; “Are you going to make us keep guessing?” her father asked impatiently. “For God’s sake, Hannah, what is it? Does it have anything to do with school? Are they taking away your scholarship or something?”

  “The scholarship,” Hannah repeated and then gave a sad, little laugh. “Do you know who got us the scholarship? Rachel did. The Slate-Gannon Group is her father’s company. Rachel set up the whole thing so she could meet Eden and me.”

  “Because we were in the news?” her father asked.

  “No, not because we were in the news. It’s because of you, Dad.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hannah’s mother asked.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bonner adopted Rachel. They got her when she was an infant. Her real mother was a college student in Eugene. Rachel just found out about it last year. We’re all related. The college student was Aunt Molly. Rachel showed me the original birth certificate. Her mother was Aunt Molly, and it showed the father was you, Dad.”

  “Oh Jesus,” her father whispered.

  Hannah didn’t wait to hear her mother’s reaction. She decided to get it all out there. “Rachel told us on Wednesday. The three of us are half-sisters. And Rachel’s your niece, Mom. Anyway, I don’t think that’s why Eden took off the way she did. In fact, she’s been handling this whole thing better than me. She said the woman who raised her, Cassandra, had hired some detective to investigate you, Dad. He found out there was another illegitimate child out there. Eden didn’t have any of the details, but she’s known about this other kid. She didn’t find out who it was until Rachel told us last week.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” Hannah’s mother finally muttered.

  “Listen, I’m sorry,” her dad said. “But in the last two years, ever since we were in the news, how many fake illegitimate children have I had? How many forged birth certificates have we seen?”

  “Dad, Rachel’s parents are filthy rich and very influential. They’d like to keep a lid on the whole thing. They’d have absolutely nothing to gain—”

  “Yes, but someone else might. I’m not trying to weasel out of anything here. Everyone knows what happened with Molly and me. Hell, some of the news stories even got their digs in, implying there was an affair. But I’m pretty certain Molly would have told me if she’d had my baby. She couldn’t have kept that to herself for nine months.”

  “Goddamn it!” Hannah heard her mother cry. There was a bang, like she’d slammed a door or knocked something over. Hannah flinched.

  “Is Mom okay?” she asked shakily.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” her dad answered. “She’s gone upstairs. Listen, when was Rachel born? What’s her birthday?”

  “From what I remember reading, she’s twenty, and I think her birthday is around—”

  “December third.”

  Hannah turned and saw Rachel standing at the foot of the stairs. She was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants.

  Hannah took a hard swallow. “December third,” she said into the phone.

  “I’m sorry,” her dad said. “I know it sounds callous. But I’m going to insist she take a paternity test. I’m sure the Bonners are honest people. But for all we know, someone could be providing them with bad information, fake documents. I’ll get my doctor to FedEx Rachel a DNA kit. Once we get the test results back, we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

  “Okay,” Hannah whispered. Tears in her eyes, she glanced back at Rachel. She looked as if she were about to start crying, too.

  “I better go talk to your mom,” he said soberly. “Honey, I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this. And I’m sorry this kind of crap keeps coming up because of the way I was. I—I’ve changed. I hope you know that.”

  “I know,” she murmured.

  “We’ll talk with you tomorrow. And call us the minute you hear from Eden, okay?”

  “Okay. G’night, Dad.”

  “G’night, sweetie,” he said. Then he hung up.

  Hannah clicked off the line. She turned toward Rachel again. She figured Rachel would be angry that she’d told her parents the big secret. “I’m really sorry,” Hannah said. “I didn’t want to tell them. They just knew something was wrong . . .”

  “I could hear him—our father—on the other end of the line,” Rachel said, coming to lean on the bar. She took a cocktail napkin from the end of the counter and wiped her eyes. “If one more O’Rourke says they’re sorry, I’ll scream. It’s not your fault, Hannah. Shit, it’s nobody’s fault. But he’s my birth father. He knew I was here. And he didn’t even want to talk to me. Neither did my aunt.”

  “I’m—” Hannah stifled the apology. “Ever since we became infamous, my parents have had all these phony claims from people saying they’re my dad’s long-lost illegitimate kids. I have no idea why. It’s not like we have any money. I guess people are just crazy. Did you hear what he said about a paternity test?”

  Rachel nodded. “I guess I can’t blame him. Ever since I told my parents that you guys know, they’ve been acting totally psycho. I shouldn’t have jumped on your case the other night for talking to Ellie Goodwin. You had to confide in someone.”

  Walking around to the other side of the bar, she bent down and pulled out a Seagram’s bottle. She set it on the bar counter. “I feel like getting drunk, sis. Do you feel like getting drunk?”

  Wiping her eyes, Hannah took a deep breath. “Hell, yes,” she said.

  Rachel set two crystal Old-fashioned glasses on the bar and started pouring. “When he calls tomorrow,” she said, “tell our father that I’ll take his stupid paternity test.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Monday, 10:16 P.M.

  Diana Mackie shoved her books and her laptop into her Art Institute of Chicago tote bag with Georges Seurat’s A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte depicted on it. The college’s library was practically empty tonight, but then it was only the beginning of the school year. By mid-terms, the joint would be jumping. Diana was there because her roommate, Tara, had the TV on all the time, even when she was studying or falling asleep. So, for Diana, it was either study at the library or flunk all her classes.

  She noticed a few crumbs in the Nestlé Crunch wrapper on the desk in her cubicle. Though she desperately wanted to lose weight, Diana also felt the need to reward herself for getting her homework done, and Nestlé Crunch was her guilty pleasure of choice. She licked her index finger, picked up the chocolate crumbs with her moist fingertip, and then savored the last remnants of her “study snack.”

  Stashing the candy wrapper in the tote, Diana grabbed her cardigan and left the cubicle. As she headed down the stairs to the first floor, she thought about J.T., who hadn’t called or texted since their date on Saturday. Was he waiting another day so he could do that three-day-waiting thing some guys did before calling again after the first date? Or was it supposed to be a three-day-wait before asking a girl out once meeting her? Whatever, she hadn’t heard a peep from him. Maybe she should have gone swimming naked with him—though she wasn’t ready to show him her body. Maybe she should have let him put his hand under her sweater. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

  Ellie had texted earlier today, apologizing for cutting short yesterday’s coffee date. They planned to meet again on Wednesday—for dinner and another post-date analysis. It would be more like a post-date postmortem by then. What did it say about her that she cared more about the date analysis with Ellie than a second date with J.T.? What did it say about J.T.?

  Diana had become good friends with several girls at Our Lady of the Cove last year. But she still felt Ellie Goodwin knew her better than anybody else. Ellie was a great listener. It really was a lost art. No wonder she’d won so many awards as a journalist. She was smart, pretty, and funny. But she didn’t seem to have any friends her own age—and absolutely no potential boyfriends, not even a crush. Diana had gotten her to admit that. Ellie hadn’t had a single date since breaking up with her husband eighteen months
ago. Diana considered Ellie her lifeline, but she sometimes wondered if it was the other way around.

  Stepping outside, Diana felt a chill in the night air. The library was the hub of the campus, where the old and new sections met. Just across the quad was the student union, the Campus Grounds, and the Grub Hub. The mini-market was the only one still open. She caught a glimpse of some kids heading in there.

  By the library entrance, Diana stopped to put on her sweater. She thought about going to the store for another snack, but decided against it. No, she’d just take the bridge across the ravine to the girls’ dorm, O’Donnell Hall. She’d make it back in time to catch The Tonight Show. By the commercial before the last guest, she’d be washed up and ready for bed—and Tara would be asleep. Then Diana would switch off the TV, curl up in bed, and get back to Rebecca.

  She slung the strap to her tote bag over her shoulder and started for the bridge.

  “Diana?” someone called.

  She stopped.

  For a second, Diana thought it was J.T. But she didn’t recognize the man who stepped up from the stairs by the bridge. He had shaggy, sand-colored hair, a handlebar mustache, and thick glasses. “Ellie said you’d be at the library,” he said, approaching her.

  She might have backed away from this stranger, but he had mentioned Ellie. With a bewildered smile, Diana stared at him.

  He took a quick glance around them. “I’ve got some bad news,” he whispered.

  Diana glanced around, too. There was no one else nearby. Her eyes narrowed at the man. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend of Ellie’s. She’s been asking for you. She’s been shot.”

  “What?” Diana automatically dug into her tote and pulled out her phone.

  “No, you don’t want to do that, Diana,” he said, taking the phone from her.