Tell Me You're Sorry (36 page)

He obliged her. The place was so dark he could barely see her trotting up the stairs in the center aisle. The only lights he could go by were some illuminated exit signs. Alison disappeared in the shadows. He heard a click, then a humming sound. A light went on above—and it reflected on the big white screen. He could see Alison now, standing beside an overhead projector.

She put a photo on it. Ryan stared at the huge blowup of Lacee with his father. “I'm almost positive that's Jenny,” she said, her voice echoing in the big room.

She switched the pictures on the overhead. He was now looking at Halle Driscoll and Scott Hamner. “That's Jenny, too.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked.

“You and your friend,” Alison said. “You never met her. You were just going by these photographs—and getting distracted by how much she made herself look like these other women. But I've met the woman in these photos. These two are her. They're the same woman . . .”

On the projector, she switched to the photo of Dick Ingalls and his second wife at a marina. “This one's not as clear. The sunglasses are covering a lot, but I can see Jenny in the mouth and chin.”

“Damn, I wish we had a picture of this Jenny person,” Ryan said.

She shut off the overhead projector, and the classroom went black.

“We do,” he heard her say.

 

 

“Okay, Grandma, see where it says “Attachment?” Just double-click it. And when it asks if you want to download it, click on yes.”

Watching him on the phone with his grandmother, Alison smiled. With everything he'd just dumped on her, the smile was fleeting. Still, for a brief moment, she thought about how cute he was. He was sweet, too. Among the photos he carried around, there were pictures of his dead sister and brother. Her heart broke for him.

They stood on the corner in front of the school. She'd called a taxi a few minutes ago, but it seemed to be taking forever to arrive. She hated knowing that woman was alone in the house with Danny right now. Ryan had told her that Danny was probably safe—for the time being. It wasn't part of the killing pattern to murder one child at a time. The families were all together when they were killed. Still, Alison was anxious to get home and make sure her brother was all right.

“Is it downloading?” Ryan asked his grandmother, long-distance to Highland Park, Illinois. He covered the phone and turned to her. “My grandmother's computer is ancient. We may be here all day waiting for it to download.”

He'd e-mailed his grandmother the photo of Jenny that Alison had taken on the sly at the breakfast table this morning. He'd told her that some anonymous person had e-mailed him the photo.

Impatient, Alison took another look down the street, hoping she'd spot their cab.

“Okay, Grandma, so what do you think?” Ryan said into the phone. “Is it possible the woman in the picture is Lacee? I mean, the hair's different and all. But do you think it could be Lacee?”

Alison tried to read the expression on his face as he listened.

His mouth clenched a bit, and he sighed. “You sure?” He turned his face away. “No, like I told you, someone sent it to me, and I thought it might be a picture of Lacee's sister or something . . . No . . . I haven't talked with her since that time at the funeral, Grandma. Listen, I need to scram. You can just delete that photo, okay? Billy says hi . . . No, no, we have plenty of money . . . Okay . . . Yeah, I love you, too. Bye.”

He clicked off the line and turned toward her again.

“Well?” Alison said.

He nodded. “A ‘dead ringer,' she said.”

 

 

“Her car's still there,” Alison said as they rounded a curve in the street.

She'd asked the taxi driver to drop them off a block away from the house, and now they were on foot, sticking close to the woods along the side of the road. She needed to make sure her brother was safe, and she didn't want “Jenny” seeing them. Ryan kept saying the woman wouldn't harm Danny, not yet. She probably had every intention of driving him to the birthday party—and picking him up later. Alison figured Ryan was probably right. Just the same, she wasn't going to let her brother get into the red Hyundai with that bitch until she got a license plate number from it.

She figured once the house was empty, she and Ryan would check out the woman's stuff in the guest room. Obviously, this woman's real name wasn't Jenny Ballatore. It was probably a made-up name, or someone's identity she'd stolen. Last night, the woman had brought with her two suitcases and a big brown box. Among all that stuff, there had to be something that would give them a clue about her real identity.

Alison had told Ryan about how touchy “Jenny” had been about having her picture taken. Ryan said that according to his kid sister, Lacee had been extremely camera-shy. “Now we know why,” he'd added. “Another thing about Lacee, she didn't do much cooking. With her running the house, my brother and sister lived off Lean Cuisine, Stouffer's, and takeout.”

“That sounds about right,” Alison said. “Jenny made a big deal out of the fact that she fed us breakfast this morning—and all she did was make toast and open some cereal boxes.”

As they approached the driveway, Alison stopped and entered the Hyundai's license plate number into her iPhone notebook. Then she and Ryan swung around and cut through the neighbor's backyard to the side of the house. She'd seen Danny and his friend scale the stonework exterior to the balcony that jutted over the side of the hill. Their living and dining rooms each had a set of doors that opened up to that balcony. Thanks to their mother's green thumb, several still-thriving potted mini-trees and tall plants were on the veranda. Alison figured they'd provide some coverage while she was up there, spying on their houseguest.

“Give me a boost up,” she whispered to Ryan. She tried to reach for one of the stones that stuck out farther than the others.

“What are you doing?” he said, hesitating.

“I'm going to climb up to the balcony and take a look inside the house,” Alison explained in a hushed voice. “I want to see what she's doing when she thinks no one's around. For all I know, she could be poisoning our food or something. C'mon, please, give me a boost. Okay?”

Ryan seemed a bit reluctant as he squatted down and put his hands together.

Alison set her foot in his hands and he lifted her up. Her sandals were a little iffy on the stones. She thought about kicking them off to make the climb easier. But she was worried they might make too much noise when they hit the ground. Besides, as she grasped one stone after another to pull herself up, the rough edges scratched and hurt her hands. She found herself wincing with the pain every time she grasped another stone. She didn't want to do the same damage to her bare feet. She kept wondering how Danny and his friend had made it up here without killing themselves.

Just inches beneath the balcony, she made the mistake of glancing down at Ryan. He stood at least twenty feet below her, staring up. He looked terrified for her.

Alison froze. She started to tremble. Her grip on the jagged stone above her head seemed so fragile. Her shoulders ached and her limbs suddenly felt heavy and useless. She wasn't sure she could pull herself up any farther.

It occurred to her that just ninety minutes ago, she was bored to tears in her driver's ed class. Then Ryan had approached her. After realizing he was on the level with his story about families getting killed, and how their fathers had known each other, she'd gone into some kind of automatic pilot response. She suddenly needed to find out who Jenny really was. She needed to make sure Danny was okay. Everything up until now had been a knee-jerk response to what Ryan had told her.

But now, as she clung precariously to a piece of rough stone on the side of the house, it dawned on her that her mother had been murdered. And the woman her father had brought home to stay with them might have killed her—and set up that fake suicide. She may very well have murdered all those other people, too. And some of them were just children.

Alison glanced up at the scarab bracelet around her wrist, a gift from the murderess. With all the strength she could muster, she pushed herself up and swung that hand onto the edge of the balcony floor. The boards let out a creak as she tried to pull herself up.

Then she heard it. Above her, the screen door whooshed open.

Alison hung on to the balcony floor and tried not to move a muscle. She still had her foot on one of the stones—so at least her arms weren't holding all her weight. She glanced down at Ryan. He was still looking up. But he must have heard the noise, too, because he had his back plastered against the stone wall.

The floorboards squeaked again as “Jenny” stepped out onto the balcony. “I thought I heard something,” she said—obviously to someone on her cell phone. “Just a sec . . .”

Alison could see her shadow through the narrow gaps between the balcony planks. A few specks of dirt got in her eyes as she looked up, and she tried to blink them away.

“It couldn't have been anything,” the woman announced, at last. “No, the little shit's still upstairs in his room getting ready for a birthday party. I'm driving him there. So—like I was saying, I want to wrap it up here by tomorrow night or the next morning. It depends on how soon you can get her here. You'll have the time difference working for you, a couple of extra hours. I can't do a damn thing until you deliver the real Jenny. Do I need to remind you? They all have to go at the same time . . .”

The floorboards squeaked again, and Alison turned her face away to keep from getting dust in her eyes.

“Two or three in the morning on Saturday?” the woman was saying. “Okay, that I can live with . . . What about the cat?” She paused. “Oh, for Christ's sake, bring it with you. I'll decide when you get here. Just don't get too attached to it . . .”

Alison listened to the sliding glass door squeak as the woman shut it. She waited another few moments, and then hoisted herself up to the balcony. The railing creaked, but she kept pulling herself up. She ducked behind one of her mother's potted trees and watched “Jenny” approach the sliding door again.

She must have heard the creaking, because she glanced outside once more.

Trying to catch her breath, Alison stayed hidden behind the small tree. The open curtain inside covered the part of the window where she stood.

“Jenny” finally turned away from the sliding glass door and went to the breakfront in the dining room. Alison watched as she opened the cabinets and drawers. She inspected the crystal, china, and silverware. She opened the glass doors and checked out the various figurines on display, turning them over to look at the markings on the bottom. It was strange, but she seemed to know just where to look for everything that might have some monetary value. It was almost as if she'd been in the house before. And maybe she had been.

Maybe she was the one who had left the Diet Coke cartons on the kitchen counter the afternoon Alison had found her mother dead.

She couldn't believe her father had been duped by this bitch. Then again, she'd been fooled by her, too. She wondered who the real owner of the scarab bracelet was.

Danny stepped into the dining room—with his blond hair combed, and in a clean blue Izod shirt. He was carrying the birthday present their dad had bought with him last week. Alison had wrapped it for him. Her brother didn't seem to think it was strange that their houseguest had in her hand a Limoges teapot from the cabinet. “Jenny” casually returned it to the shelf and closed the breakfront's glass door.

Alison could hear murmuring, but couldn't make out what they were saying. It seemed like they were getting ready to leave. She leaned over the balcony railing and signaled to Ryan, pointing to the front of the house. He gave her the OK sign, and then crept along the stone wall toward the street.

After a minute, she heard the front door open and shut. A few moments later, the car engine started.

“Jenny” hadn't completely shut the sliding glass door. Alison let herself into the living room, and hurried to the front of the house.

Outside, tires screeched.

Alison froze. It sounded like a car had stopped suddenly.

Opening the door a crack, she peered outside. She didn't see the Hyundai rental in the driveway or on the road. Ryan emerged from some bushes between the garage and the front door.

“What was that noise?” Alison asked. “Did she see you?”

He shook his head. “It was weird. She and your brother took off. Then from around that curve,” he said, pointing, “came this white Taurus headed in the same direction. They must have seen me, because they slammed on the brakes.”

“And then what?”

He shrugged. “Then they kept going—after her. Maybe it was her accomplice or something. Anyway, I hope I didn't blow our cover.”

Alison opened the door wider. “C'mon, we better hurry. If they spotted you, we don't have much time before she comes back.”

Alison locked the door after him. Then she led him downstairs to the guest room.

The large brown box “Jenny” had brought with her was shoved into the corner of the room, beside Danny's relief map of the United States. Alison made a beeline toward the box.

“Damn,” Ryan muttered.

“What?” she asked. Leaning over the box, she glanced back at him.

He stood by the nightstand. “I was hoping she'd have a sound machine. My brother, Keith, said Lacee had a sound machine with jungle noises.”

“Check out her clothes in the closet,” Alison said. “Look through the pockets. See if there are any clothes with labels from boutiques in a certain city. At least maybe we'll find out where she's from.”