Chapter 23 Ophelia #2
I’ve known Ethan for a long time. Almost half of my life. It’s on very rare occasions that I’ve seen him be unsure. He’s cocky, arrogant, a man who knows he has the world at his fingertips. A boy who grew up with a literal silver spoon in his mouth.
A boy with a domineering father who beat him. Who probably beat his mother.
Who lived in fear of that man for all his life.
He draws back and I look at him.
“He’s gone. Silas finally did it.”
“It wasn’t Silas, Ethan. It couldn’t—”
“Of course you’ll protect him.” He turns away, looks around the house. “Even when he does something as terrible as this, you’ll protect him.” He shifts his gaze back to me.
I sigh.
“Oh.” He digs into his back pocket and takes out my cell phone. “Thought you’d want it back.”
I take it, glance at it before slipping it into the pocket of my coat, which is hanging from the rack.
When I look back to Ethan, I notice his gaze is on the burnt sheets of paper I’d left on the table. I turn them upside down.
“Do you want coffee?” I offer, not sure what else to say or do, not liking that he’s in the house and we’re alone, but also, his dad was murdered. I can’t turn my back on him.
He looks at me and nods. “That’d be nice.”
“How is your mom?”
“Dunno. Haven’t seen her.”
“Did you talk to her?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t want to yet.”
He takes a seat on one of the stools at the counter. I pour him a mug of the coffee Silas had made for us.
“Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”
“Yeah, I could eat something, if you don’t mind.”’
“No, that’s fine.” My mind is on Silas as I take eggs and more bacon out of the fridge, take the pan I just scraped Silas’s burnt breakfast off and set it on the burner.
I switch it on to heat up the pan and scramble four eggs in a bowl with a little milk and salt.
Ethan hates pepper, anything with any hint of heat.
The eggs sizzle when I pour them into the pan, and I lay two slices of bacon next to them. We don’t talk, and I concentrate on moving the food around so as not to burn it again. When it’s ready, I plate the food, bacon and eggs for him and just eggs for myself.
I wonder if Silas has even had any coffee or if they’ll give him something to eat.
He didn’t eat last night either. By the time we got back, the chicken had been sitting out for too long and we threw it away.
Now, as I set Ethan’s plate in front of him and hold out his coffee, I think of Silas at the station.
What must he be thinking? How could they think he had anything to do with Sly’s murder?
“Thanks,” Ethan says, and I notice the ring on his pinkie finger. One very much like the fox Sly wore.
He sees me looking at it but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he sips his coffee, then puts the mug down and digs into his breakfast like a starved man.
“Cleaning crew found him, you know? Shot between the eyes. He was on the floor by the windows. Cops think he’d been made to kneel.
” He crams a huge forkful of eggs into his mouth and talks around it.
“Almost execution style except for the bullet being between the eyes rather than the back of his head. He’d pissed himself probably before he was killed. Fear.”
“Jesus. Ethan, I don’t want to hear.”
“Do you have some juice?”
“Sure.” I put my mug down and open the refrigerator to take out the pitcher of orange juice Silas had squeezed earlier. I pour Ethan a glass and hand it to him. He gulps it down.
“Are you okay, Ethan?” He seems off. First, when he rang the bell, he was different than usual, but it fit, considering. Now he’s jittery, almost manic.
“Fine. I’m fine. My dad was just murdered.” He gives me an odd look. “Silas was on the security footage, you know?”
“Yeah, he would be. He had a meeting with your father.”
“Is that what he told you?”
“He wouldn’t kill him, Ethan. He had no motive.”
He snorts. “How about a lifetime of shit for motive? How about his mother being treated like a second-class citizen for pretty much all her life and Silas having to stand by and watch as she scrubbed the toilets of the man who fucked her, left her pregnant and ruined her life? Revenge, Phee. That’s his motive. Don’t be fucking stupid.”
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask. No one knows this house.
“Wells gave me the address.”
“The detective?”
He nods. How did the detective know anyway? Silas was using his old phone again, so I guess they tracked him.
“Maybe you should go see your mom, Ethan. I’m sure she wants to see you.”
“I need to stay here. Identify the body and all. Don’t want her to see him like that. What are you going to do now? I mean, now that Silas is caught?”
“He’s not caught. He didn’t do this. I think you should go, Ethan.”
He looks at me like he’s surprised by this, shifts his attention to the ring on his pinkie finger. I don’t look at the ruby eyes.
“I need to get ready to go downtown,” I say, wanting him to take the hint and leave.
“I’ll take you.”
“No, that’s fine. Listen, I’m sorry for your loss, but there’s nothing I can do for you.”
His eyes harden and he clenches and unclenches his hands on his lap, making me remember what he did the night of the gala. How he wielded that belt with a zeal I know I saw even though he says he was forced to do it.
“Phee,” he starts, standing.
I grip my coffee mug, tell myself he’s not going to hurt me. He has no reason to. But then the front door opens, and I look down the hall to see Hamish standing there. His forehead is furrowed. He eyes Ethan’s back and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Ethan turns around.
“Mrs. Cruz,” Hamish says, stalking into the kitchen.
“Hamish. Hi.”
He looks at Ethan and doesn’t mask his surprise at seeing him. Doesn’t hide the fact that he wants him gone.
“Ethan was just leaving,” I say, and look at Ethan.
Ethan glances at me, then back at Hamish, who just raises his eyebrows.
“Right. Phee, I can call you if I need you, right?” Ethan asks, head cast down again, eyes child-like.
“I’m not sure that’s—”
“Look, what I did, those things, they were my father. You know how he was. How he really was. I never meant to hurt you.”
“You need to go. Now,” Hamish says.
“Phee?”
“Fine, Ethan. Just go.”
He nods, doesn’t acknowledge Hamish as he walks past him, just butting his shoulder against Hamish’s in a way that could be accidental before he disappears down the hall and, a moment later, out of the house.