“Detective Kent Jackson.”
“Well, Detective, as you’re aware, Eva was struck by lightning last night. I’m afraid you’ll need to wait to question her any further.”
Detective Jackson smiled thinly, ignoring Liam and turning to me. Liam’s eyes flashed with anger. He was not a man people usually ignored.
“We’ve been able to track down your brother. He was en route to L.A. for work but he’s on his way back now.”
“What happened to my mom?” I tried to sit up straighter, wincing in pain. The hospital room tilted dizzyingly around me. Liam put his hand in mine, and I gripped it, anxious for something to hold on to.
Jackson’s eyes were like lumps of hot coal on mine.
“We had a call from a neighbor who heard shouts from your mom’s house. Officers on the scene found the front door open. There were signs of a struggle. Her body was on the floor in the living room. She’d been stabbed.”
He told me all of this as if he were reading a report on stocks and bonds, his voice cold and dispassionate.
I was glad I was in bed. My legs were rubbery. My arm buzzed. I felt like someone had scooped my insides out, leaving just a raw, pulsing hole. This must be a nightmare.
“Someone killed her,” I whispered.
The detective studied me, as if the shape of my face would reveal what my brain could not.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“We’re pursuing a number of leads.” He clicked his pen again. Click, click. “Now, I have a few questions for you.”
Liam puffed his chest up like an angry peacock and glared at the detective. “Absolutely not. We’ll call and make an appointment once Eva’s been released from the hospital.”
“It’s fine,” I murmured.
“No. You need to rest. You can’t even remember last night! You need time for your memories to piece together.”
I snatched my hand away. “I need to find out what happened to my mom!”
Liam looked surprised, then hurt. “Eva—”
“Please.…” I cut him off, my voice cracking.
Indecision played out across his face. Finally he relented, moving to sit on a chair against the wall. But his body remained coiled tight as he watched the detective.
Detective Jackson shifted his weight and addressed me. “Did your mom ever tell you she was in danger in any way?”
I shook my head, flinching as starbursts of pain exploded inside my skull. My heartbeat pounded in my damaged ear. “No, never.”
“When was the last time you spoke?”
“Sunday.”
“Yesterday?”
“Yes. We had dinner. We were celebrating.”
He nodded, appearing attentive, focused, with none of the indifference I remembered from the last time I spoke to the police. But his presence sucked the air from the room, making me feel claustrophobic and tense. I didn’t trust him.
“I saw she won the Seattle Medal of Courage last month.”
“Yes, that’s why we were celebrating.”
“She saved that little girl’s life. What was she, three? She’d fallen on the light rail tracks in Pioneer Square. Your mom climbed onto the tracks when the train was approaching and grabbed her.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against her?”
“A grudge?”
“Yes. Any enemies, bad blood, people who were angry with her? Family feuds, maybe?”
Why is he asking me that?
I swallowed hard. “No. I don’t think so.”
“It’s odd that someone would be murdered so soon after being in the public eye.” Click, click.
“Is it?”
“Don’t you think?” He let the question sit between us for a moment. “What time was your dinner?”
“Our reservation was for five p.m.”
“And what about after? Where did you go?”
I hesitated, trying to remember. “I got the ferry home to Whidbey Island. Why are you asking me these things?”
He ignored my question. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to shuttle back, to track the path of last night. Images flitted through my mind, clicking into place. “I was in the garage. I’d fired a set of bowls in the kiln.”
I looked at Liam for confirmation. He nodded, his face gray with worry.
“The timer went off.…” The sharp ring of earthenware hitting concrete rang out in my mind. My eyes flew open. “I took the pieces out of the kiln, but I tripped and dropped the tray and they smashed on the floor. I was cleaning it up when Liam came in. He told me he was going to make something to eat.”
I paused, reaching for the memory, but that was where it stopped. I tried to swallow past a dusty throat. “I can’t remember anything else.”
“So you remember other things, earlier in the day, for instance, just not past when the pottery broke?”
“No. Nothing,” I whispered.
Detective Jackson looked doubtful. My spit went thick in my mouth. He didn’t believe me.
“I want to remember!” I exclaimed, my voice too loud.
Liam looked alarmed by my outburst. What was wrong with me? But it was true. I wanted to remember, but the harder I tried to hold on to my memories, the further they sank beneath the waters of my subconscious.
“Eva, you shouldn’t be talking right now.” Liam came and stood by me. “Remember what the doctor said. You need to rest.”
Detective Jackson looked up from jotting notes and addressed Liam. “Do you know what time Eva came back from dinner, Mr. Sullivan?”
“Maybe eight or so.”
“And what time did she leave in the night?”
Liam’s jaw worked and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I sleep like the—” His eyes darted to mine, apologizing for being tactless. Once Liam was asleep, there was no waking him. He was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy, the good angel on my shoulder. He’d convinced me to exercise more, give up gluten, start an IRA, keep my calendar organized. He’d been a good influence on my more freewheeling ways.
“What’d you do after you ate?”
“Eva had a migraine, so I got her meds for her and she went to bed. I worked for a few hours and joined her. The next thing I knew, you guys were calling.”
Jackson looked at me again, his expression guarded. I could see shades of something creeping into his face.
“How’d you hurt your hand?” he asked.
I looked down. A thick white bandage was taped to the inside of my left palm. Something flashed in my mind, not a memory exactly, but something more ethereal, a sensation.
In my mind I see a knife. I recognize it. It’s one of the old-fashioned wooden-handled boning knives my mom keeps in her kitchen. It’s covered in blood.
My skin prickled with sweat, first hot, then cold. I inhaled sharply.
“I cut it,” I said. “Yesterday, when I was picking up the pottery.”
Detective Jackson looked at me for a long moment. Liam stepped in front of me, blocking the detective’s gaze with his body.
“I think that’s enough now, Detective,” he said firmly. “Eva’s told you everything she knows. You can direct any other questions to my lawyer.”
Detective Jackson opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. Liam had that effect on people. They just did what he wanted. Call it charm, charisma, whatever, people rarely questioned him. And if they did, he persisted until he got what he wanted. Liam’s confidence, his certainty, were exactly why I fell in love with him.
Detective Jackson lifted his palms, like he was saying, You win. He pulled a card from his wallet, dropping it on my lap.
“Kat Hansen was murdered. I’m going to do whatever it takes to find out who’s responsible for that.”
He turned to go, then stopped and faced me. He held my gaze, direct, stony. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
five
eva
<
br /> ONCE THE DETECTIVE HAD LEFT, Liam turned to me. “All right, tell me what you really remember.”
He’d crossed his arms over his chest and was frowning. Hurt corkscrewed through me. Didn’t he believe me?
“I don’t remember anything,” I whispered.
“Babe, this is important!” Worry creased the skin between his eyebrows. “Your mom’s been murdered, and that detective is trying to question you.”
I put my hands over my face, tears pressing against my eyelids. “I don’t know! I don’t know what I remember! I can’t do this, that cop … It doesn’t matter what I say! He’s only going to believe what he wants to anyway!”
Liam sat next to me, his weight dipping the bed as he put his arms around me. I turned my face into his chest and leaned against him, needing his reassurance.
“Don’t worry. I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you. I’ll take care of this.”
He stood and started pacing, his mind whirling three steps ahead, mentally making lists of things to do. Nobody was as good in a crisis as Liam. When he set his mind to achieving something, he put all his energy into making it happen. He’d found me when I was at my lowest, picked me up, and fixed the broken pieces.
“I know a guy at the SPD,” he said. “I’ll call him and find out what exactly they know. And then we’ll call my lawyer. But first I need you to tell me what you really remember about last night. We’re on the same team here—I just want to make sure I know everything so I can help.”
I let my head drop back onto the pillow, wincing in pain. I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers gently kneading my aching skull. The IV tugged at the inside of my arm. I was profoundly tired. Like on a cellular level.
“I already told you,” I said wearily. “I don’t know.”
“Anything can help. Do you remember getting home or going to bed? Or cutting your hand?”
“I don’t remember anything!” I shouted.
We both froze. Liam’s mouth fell open in shock. I had never shouted at him, never lashed out, not even once. I could be sulky, maybe a little brooding, but never angry. Liam said it was the artist in me. In fact, it was one of the things he mentioned when he proposed. I love that we never fight. I want to spend the rest of my life knowing I make you happy.
Liam puffed his cheeks out and exhaled sharply. I knew exactly what he was thinking: What the hell is wrong with her? I was wondering the same thing.
“You believe me”—my voice hitched—“right?”
I needed Liam to believe me. I couldn’t lose him—he was the only stable thing in my life.
Liam rubbed a hand over his jaw, the stubble making a harsh rasping sound. “Look, everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”
It was only after he’d left that I realized he hadn’t answered my question.
* * *
I woke that afternoon to the sound of rain pattering against the dirty window next to my bed. Anemic light filtered through the blinds. Beyond that, the sky was sullen, a hard, uniform gray. The sleep had done wonders, and physically I already felt better. I could move my arm, my ear didn’t throb as much, and my headache had dimmed.
Outside, a small brown bird hopped onto the window ledge. It stared at me solemnly. I took a crumb from the uneaten sandwich that had been left for my lunch and unlatched the window. It only opened an inch, but I pushed the crumb through and watched as the bird grabbed it and flew away, leaving me vaguely lonely.
A shadow, sharp as a sword, appeared on the other side of the frosted-glass door. It hovered there, someone trying to peer inside. My palms went slick.
Somebody’s there.
I shrank against the bed, heart throbbing, feeling trapped and terrified. Images tumbled over me, twisting and shifting. I was running in the dark. Black and purple clouds. The air crackling. Rain hitting my scalp. The sound of shoes hitting wet pavement.
“Eva! What’s wrong?” Liam’s voice came from very far away. His arms circled my hunched body, warm and solid, and I realized I was rocking back and forth. My face was damp with tears.
“Someone’s there,” I whispered.
Liam’s footsteps faded as he walked down the hall, then a minute later returned. He shut the door with a soft click.
“It’s only a doctor.” He gently pressed me onto the bed. “Here, lie down.”
I struggled against him. “No! I need to go home!”
Liam’s eyebrows shot to his hairline as he sidestepped my flailing limbs. My heart and head were pounding in tandem. I felt like I was floating out of my body, looking at myself and wondering who the hell had replaced me.
I swung my legs around to the floor, tentatively putting weight on my feet.
“Didn’t you hear the doctor?” Liam’s clenched jaw gave away the worry he meant to mask. “You need to rest, let your brain recover. You’re hooked to an IV, for God’s sake!”
Our eyes locked, mine pulsing, a staccato flicker in my peripheral vision. Fear poured ice through my veins. I ripped the tape from my arm and the IV out in one smooth motion.
Liam gasped. “Eva! What are you—why’d you do that?”
We stared at the blood pumping from the inside of my arm. I hadn’t thought it would bleed so much.
Liam grabbed a handful of cotton balls from a canister and pressed them to my arm. “That IV was in a vein! What is wrong with you?”
The blood was already clotting, oozing instead of pumping. “Where are my clothes?”
“Don’t you remember? They had to cut your shirt off. There was no sign of your coat.”
I groaned, frustrated I’d forgotten.
“Eva …” Liam’s gaze was on the lightning marks that peeked out of the gauze bandaging on my arm. “Does it hurt?”
The marks looked like cracks embossed onto my skin, a mosaic of broken shards that climbed up my arm.
“No,” I lied. I tapped the gauze back down. It hurt like hell, but I’d rather eat my arm than stay in the hospital another minute. I had to get out of there. A deep sense of urgency pressed down on me. “I’m fine. Can we go home?”
I hobbled to the cupboard on the far side of the room. My body throbbed. My equilibrium was totally off. Inside I found a plastic bag with my things. My leggings and shoes were fine, my cell phone unharmed. But my socks were singed, my shirt and green corduroy jacket missing.
I slid my leggings on, then rolled up the hem of my hospital gown, pulling the ends together and tying them in a knot at my waist, nineties-style.
Liam sighed. “You look ridiculous.”
I ignored him and walked unsteadily to the open door.
“Eva, stop!” Liam’s fair eyebrows scrunched into balls. “What is going on? This isn’t like you!”
I knew I was behaving out of character, but I couldn’t seem to find the words to explain how terrified I felt. An overwhelming sense that I wasn’t safe here crashed over me.
Suddenly I was sobbing in giant, messy gulps, spluttering and gasping for air. I knew that something very bad had happened, worse than before. Something, or someone, threatened me still, but I couldn’t remember what.
“Please! Someone … I was running.…” I wasn’t making sense, the words coming out wrong. I couldn’t convey what I was thinking because I couldn’t rely on my brain to tell me the truth.
“Shhh …” Liam pulled me against him, so tight I could barely breathe. “It’s okay. Remember, the doctor said this could happen. You just need to rest. Let’s get you home. I’ll get your meds later.”
Downstairs, the chill of fall slid in through reception’s rotating doors; then suddenly we were outside and I tasted it on the breeze, saw it in the harsh slant of the shadows cast between clouds bloated with rain. The wind whispered ominously in the treetops as we crossed to the parking garage. The remnants of a storm were everywhere: broken boughs, torn leaves, standing water, pieces of garbage strewn over the road.
Liam kept his arm around me as he led me to the car. I caught sight of my reflection in
the window as he unlocked the door. My short hair was more disheveled than usual, tufts sticking up in every direction. My eyes were charcoal-hued, circled by dark moons and sunken in my small, pale face. A massive bandage covered the lump on my temple.
I swiped at the water on the window, smearing my reflection into a swirl of distorted colors, someone completely unrecognizable from the person who’d stood there only seconds before.
* * *
The Mukilteo ferry terminal glowed in the fading light as we pulled up. Workers in high-vis vests shouted and waved their arms as we drove onto the boat. Soon it was chugging into the choppy waters of Puget Sound. The trip was only twenty minutes, so we didn’t bother going upstairs. Instead, I left Liam checking his phone while I went to the back of the car deck.
I stared at the steel-gray waters churning behind the ferry. Tears filled my eyes as reality smacked me in the face. This time yesterday I was about to get this ferry into Seattle to see my mom.
The mist swirled up and combined with the moisture on my cheeks. My relationship with my mother had become prickly these last few years. Distant. I’d never forgiven her for her cruel words, the arguments we’d had.
And now she was dead.
My cell phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw it flashing Andrew.
“Eva!” my brother exclaimed. “What’s going on? I’m at the hospital. Where are you?”
Andrew was the kind of person who waited a half hour after eating before going swimming; who stopped at a stop sign even in the middle of the night. If the sign said don’t walk on the grass, he didn’t walk on the grass. There was no way he’d understand my need to run, to hide, to get away from this.
“I left,” I said.
“You left?” He sounded incredulous. I could hear footsteps striking pavement, the brisk, efficient walk of a lawyer. “You can’t just leave the hospital. It’s against the rules!”
“I had to get out of there!”
“Eva, come back to the hospital. This isn’t like you.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on!”
“Neither do I, but the detective will figure out what happened to Mom.” I heard just the hint of a tremor in my brother’s voice.
Behind Every Lie Page 3