The Deadly Sister (13 page)

The phone pinged. It was a message from Maya.

To: Abby Goodwin

From: Maya Goodwin

Really? They think brian did it? That sucks, actually. You wrote it like I should be all overjoyed. Honestly I cant believe
that he DID it. He didn’t love Jefferson, that’s for sure, but he wasnt about to kill him, either.

But at the same time I cant stay here much longer. Im so bored and my life is on hold and I cant contact anyone. V’s set me up with money and stuff, but im still dying here. How about I slowly come back, one person at a time. We can start with you. Coffee?

To: Maya Goodwin

From: Abby Goodwin

Call me. From a pay phone.

I sent the message and pulled out my own phone, waiting for the blank screen to light and tell me where my life was heading next.

Soon enough, a message came through…but not the one I’d expected.

Cheyenne arrived with a huge soda and a bag of donuts. She handed me the donuts, but I waved them away. “We have to go,” I said, staring at the message. “And no bailing out on this one.”

H
e’s
what
?” Cheyenne asked.

“He’s not in custody,” I said flatly.

“Of course he’s in custody. He basically drew himself killing Jefferson. His own
parents
think he killed him. It doesn’t take a brainiac to know he’s the one.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not making this up. He wants to see me once school’s out.” I showed her the text message.

“You’re not actually going to see him, are you?”

“Don’t for a second think that I
want
to. But I should at least find out what he knows.” Of course I wasn’t really expecting Brian to confess to me or anything—but if there was any chance of him giving me info, I had to try to get him to do it. I could also see what I could do about relieving the guilt about sounding the alarm on him.

“I’m not surprised at all,” Cheyenne said. “He’s got a puppy crush on you. And it’s only gotten stronger the more desperate he gets. Who else can he turn to, after all?” She was right. It was an unfairness of the world, that I could be the top of Brian’s friend list, when he would barely crack the top thirty of mine. Under ordinary circumstances. “Don’t you think it could be dangerous to see him?” she asked.

“Dangerous? No. He’s not some psychopath. He might
have killed his brother, but he had a reason to. He doesn’t have any reason to kill me. Or you.”

“I know he doesn’t have a reason to kill
me
,” Cheyenne said, “but I’m not so sure about you, Li’l Miss Amateur Detective.”

“Cheyenne! Oh my god! He
likes
me,” I said stubbornly.

“Off we go, then,” Cheyenne said, sighing. “But we’re picking up baseball bats from my garage first.”

“Really?” I said, rolling my eyes. Then I remembered Brian’s drawings. “Fine. We’ll pick up baseball bats.”

It was all I could do to make Cheyenne leave the bats in the car. What an image we would have made, two chicks stalking across the grass with weapons in hand, like from a gangster movie with really bad casting.

Brian asked me to meet him in a stubbly weedy area under a highway bridge, one of the county’s token attempts at a park. He was sitting cross-legged on top of a picnic table, staring at a heron stalking in the reeds at the water’s edge. An unbroken plume of smoke rose as he sucked his way through a pack of cigarettes.

“Do you see any guns on him? Magical crossbows?” Cheyenne whispered.

“Stop,” I said.

When Brian saw us he stubbed out his cigarette. He was wearing a heavy plaid shirt, even though it was a warm day. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in red.

“What is she doing here?” he asked, pointing his smoldering stub at Cheyenne.

“Good to see you, too, Brian,” she said cracklingly.

“I said to come alone, Abby,” he said sullenly. “I wasn’t kidding.”

“You can probably see why I might not want to go alone to secluded parks these days,” I said. “No offense.”

“Why don’t you guys have a seat?” he offered.

Cheyenne and I sat on the bench. Brian scooted to the end of the tabletop so he wouldn’t be breathing right on top of us. Cheyenne crossed her arms and sort of leaned away. She’d evidently decided her official role was to be silent chaperone. I was glad for it, that Brian and I could talk without feeling obligated to keep including her.

“What was it like, the police questioning?” I asked.

“Worse that it was for you, I bet,” he said. “They came by my house at five-thirty in the morning. Laid right into me.”

“What did Jamison say to you? Or was it Alcaraz?”

“Got their names memorized, eh? It was Jamison. At first he said that he just wanted to talk to me. Then he said the police had received some drawings of mine, of my brother. Any idea how they got those, Abby?”

I shook my head.

He shuddered. “My mom was there, and
she
knew about the drawings, too. But she said nothing I’d drawn had ever left the house. She claimed she found them cleaning up my room. It was all some really complicated power game—she
was probably the one to inform the police, right? Who else would have found them?”

He was probing, trying to see if I’d confess to turning in the drawings. Which meant he wasn’t sure that it was me. I dug in my heels. “Your own mother. Man.”

“I don’t know it was her. I don’t think she believes I did it. I think she’s just really messed up and really confused and looking to anyone to provide some answers. Anyway, Jamison started asking me the exact things you’d expect police to ask, like where I’d been the night my brother died.” His face had turned blotchy, and his eyes looked both shriveled and shiny, like beetle shells. “They’d never bothered to ask that before.”

“Oh,” I said. I hadn’t thought to ask, either. Duh. “What did you tell him?”

“I was home playing a video game,” he said. “Luckily, I’d used a different save game slot. I showed him the time stamp. He asked me not to boot up the machine anymore, that it could be useful evidence.”

So Brian had an alibi. Sort of. I had no idea how a court would treat that kind of thing. My mind raced—had I been too hasty telling Maya she could come back? “So that,” I said, “means that you couldn’t have done it.”

“I’m not sure how convincing video game evidence is,” he said, with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, totally,” I said, trying to tease out more of the smile. “Unless, of course, you literally had a jury of your peers.”

“Do you know that whoever it was hit Jefferson at least nine times? Split his forehead so deep that the bone was showing? The police showed me pictures. They think it was a rock.”

“How’d they look? Did you get it right in your drawings?” Cheyenne asked.

He refused to look at her. “In any case, the case against me isn’t as convincing as, say, proof that someone had written a ton of love notes that had never been answered, had left a rose in Jefferson’s bed, then dug it out of the trash when he threw it out, painted the thorns gold, and placed it in his locker. That kind of thing would be much more convincing.”

“You don’t have proof that Maya did any of those things,” Cheyenne said. “So be careful what you’re saying, little man.”

“Are you so sure I’m talking about Maya?” he said, staring at me.

“We’re not sure
who
you’re talking about,” I said. “Tell us.”

“Jefferson might have dicked me around,” Brian said, “but he also talked to me, especially when no one else was around. And all I’m going to say is that he didn’t give a shit about
any
of the girls he was messing around with. Not a single one. Not Maya. Not Rose. Not either of you.”

“Either of us?” Cheyenne laughed. “Who do you think you’re kidding, little boy?”

“Seriously. You’ve got some serious confusion going on,”
I said. I could see what he was doing. He was miserable, suspected I’d betrayed him, and was trying to hurt Cheyenne and me by lumping us in with the rest of Jefferson’s girls. Making it out that I was chasing after Jefferson in death the same way all the other girls chased after him in life. “Making shit up isn’t going to get you anywhere,” I warned. “Do you realize how few allies you have right now? You want to burn through some more? Or do you want me to start bringing up the money you owe your brother?
Owed
your brother?”

He looked at me with hollow eyes, then sighed. “I take it back.”

“I know you’re desperate, but that was way too far,” I continued. I held my breath, scared he’d start spouting again.

I stood up to leave, and so did Cheyenne. We made it ten paces before he started freaking out. “I’m sorry,” Brian said again. “Don’t leave yet. I don’t know what I’m doing. This whole thing is making me so paranoid.”

“What you can do is think about the crap you just pulled and get your facts straight in your head,” Cheyenne said, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. “You little weirdo.”

“Leave him alone,” I said. I crossed back over to Brian, tousled his hair. “I’ll catch you soon, okay?”

He hid his head under his shirt, like a spooked bird. “I didn’t do it,” he said.

“Nobody’s saying you did,” I told him. Which I think we both knew was a lie.

“Wanting to kill him and killing him are two different things,” he said.

I nodded—and didn’t point out that while what he said was true, wanting to kill Jefferson was a big prerequisite to doing it.

I’d wondered if he was capable of it, and the answer was more and more clearly yes.

I realized: I’d wanted Maya’s name to be cleared, sure. But not like this.

W
hat the hell was that about?” Cheyenne said as we walked to the car. “He’s seriously unhinged. I can’t believe the police still let him walk around free. He’s completely nuts. Completely. Nuts.”

“He’s not a risk to anyone,” I said quietly.

“Sorry?”

“Why the police let him go. He’s not a risk to anyone. They’re obviously thinking he could have killed his brother, but that he couldn’t possibly kill anyone else. So they let him go free while they’re collecting more evidence. What good would it do anyone to lock him up?”

“Careful with your tender little judgment calls. Your life is at risk here.”

My life wasn’t at risk. Our encounter with Brian had left me profoundly sad. I rocked my head against the metal of the car door, took a deep breath. Brian was still at that picnic bench, his head down between his hands. Totally alone. Where would he go?

“Do you want a ride?” I called out to him.

“No way!” Cheyenne whispered urgently, trying to snag my shirt and pull me into the car. I let her try, felt her stretch my shirt while I waited for Brian to look up. I called out to him again. He did look at me briefly, then put his
head back down. “See?” Cheyenne said. “He doesn’t want anyone to take him anywhere. Get in.”

I did. We left Brian behind.

Once Cheyenne dropped me off, I jumped into my own car and pulled onto the interstate to go to Veronica’s. She was home—I knew she would be; even when life was normal, she rarely left, because she thought the cats got lonely without her—and sat me down, poured me a glass of sweet wine with the vague proclamation that it “was five o’clock somewhere.” I accepted it; maybe I was twenty-one somewhere, too.

“I think I told you that you weren’t supposed to be in touch with me or Maya,” Veronica said brightly. “I was pretty sure we’d definitely decided that.” There might have been some disapproval somewhere deep in her tone, but it was overridden by the fact that she was feeling lonely and chatty. She barely sounded pissed at all.

“Yeah,” I said, “and it was probably a good idea. But now I’m worried that Maya’s going to come back, anyway.” I explained how focus had shifted onto Brian, that he seemed all but guilty, and that the only thing still making Maya look culpable was her very absence. That I’d told her as much, but now I’d learned that Brian had a sort-of alibi, so I wasn’t at all sure I’d done the right thing.

“When you two were younger,” she said, “during that year when my daughter was with your father, we went to the circus, and Maya fell in love with a stuffed toucan someone
was selling from a cart. Just madly in love with it. Do you remember that?”

I did, but I didn’t say anything. Why was she getting into this now?

“And we’d already spent so much money that day that your father and I said she couldn’t have it. She was spitting mad, said we were monsters. She concentrated on your father, but reserved some choice words for me, too. Where an eleven-year-old learned to say stuff like that, I’ll never know. When we got home, she found the toy online and showed us the page. It was a few dollars cheaper, maybe. But we still said no. Then, the next day your father found his credit card upside down in his wallet and confronted Maya. She kept saying she hadn’t used it, but it was pretty clear she had when a toucan arrived in the mail. We asked you what you knew, and you said you’d been with Maya all day and she hadn’t stolen the card. You thought you were being clever, but your wording was so slippery, making it clear only that
she
hadn’t used the card. So I called you on it. And you fessed up right away. You’d bought the toy for her. Because you couldn’t stand to see her without it. Even though you were older, and must have known that you were probably going to get caught, and that as the older sister, you should have known better and would take more blame. You knew all that, and you still did it. You couldn’t stand to see her upset.”

I nodded. I knew this story. But Veronica got one part wrong: I’d wanted that toucan, too. When Maya had started
neglecting it, I’d transferred it to my room. “Is this supposed to prove some important lesson?”

“Honey,” Veronica said, “you’re throwing up defenses. Don’t. It was just a revealing moment to me, said so much about the nature of your sisterhood. It’s come into my mind for a reason—I think the same thing might be happening now. You don’t want Maya to have to spend any more time on her own, don’t want to see your parents continuing to panic. But your goodwill can actually damage her in the long run. You can get her in deeper trouble by being too good to her right now.”

“I thought we were wrong to keep her away when it was safe to come home. But it’s not as airtight a case against Brian as I thought.” I pulled out my phone and stared at it glumly. “I need her to call me, already.”

Veronica shook her head, stared out her window. The pond outside was heavy with bright green algae. Her wine, held aloft in painted nails, was a vivid splash of red against it.

“You think she did it, don’t you?” I whispered.

Veronica let out a long shudder. “I’m almost certain she did.”

“What’s changed?”

“Nothing. I’ve just had time to think. Everything comes together so neatly against her.”

“It’s almost,” I said, “as if I’m the only one left in the world who doesn’t think she did it.”

“Wait. I thought you said everyone suspected Brian now?”

“Most everyone does, yeah. But anyone who really knows Maya thinks she did it. And that’s what worries me the most. That inevitably the police will realize what’s right in front of them and turn their focus back toward her.”

“I guess—I don’t know if I should be telling you this—but I had a visitor yesterday who made me face my own doubts. A lovely sort of man-woman.”

Veronica’s way of saying it made me smile despite myself. Made Blake into some ancient mythological creature. But the smile vanished as I realized the significance of what she was saying. “Blake came here? What for?”

“Oh, you’ve met her? She wanted to find Maya. Apparently Maya owes her money. Drug money.”

“God. What did you say?”

“Nothing. Why should I know about anything like that? I told her Maya was missing. She didn’t believe me at all. Said she’d be back, next time with a friend. I said I’d call the police if she ever returned. She laughed. I guess she realized my calling the police to my home was pretty unlikely, what with me hiding Maya away somewhere.”

“Did she say how much money she thought it was? Or why Maya would have it?”

“She thought Maya offed Jefferson. And that she’d done it to keep his money. He had a lot of cash, apparently, and it’s all unaccounted for.”

“And you think Maya has it?”

“I don’t see how, since you brought her here and she wasn’t hiding any money on her. But I guess she could have
given it to someone else to hold, or hidden it away somewhere. I don’t know, frankly. I simply don’t know.”

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, dread icing my throat. blocked number. I wanted nothing more than to send the call to voice mail. But if I did, I might not hear from Maya again for days. And I needed her close to me. I needed to know precisely what she was up to.

“Hello?” I said. But it wasn’t Maya. It was an old man’s voice. “Hello? Is this Abigail Goodwin?”

“Yes. Who’s this?” I asked, crossing to the other side of the living room and pressing a finger to my free ear.

“My name’s Ernest Novotny. I own the gas station across from the school? You see me every day or so?”

“Okay. Yeah, Ernie. Wouldn’t have ever expected you to call me.”

“I was wondering if you’d have time to come by and talk. This afternoon, if possible.”

“Sure, I guess. What’s this about?”

“I’d rather not say over the phone. I’m here until six. Can you get here before then?”

“Yeah. I’ll swing by right away.”

“Good. That would be best. Thanks.”

I closed my phone.

“Let me guess,” Veronica said. “That wasn’t Maya.”