47. Mallory
Chapter 47
Mallory
"You're adopted?" I ask, coming away from the pantry with an arm full of snacks. "That's neat. So was?—"
The words freeze in my throat, and a shiver skates down my spine.
In his email this morning, David Boylan said his cut had been small. He's amazed it was enough blood to have been found on a dusty road.
"Who else was adopted?" Liane asks.
"Oh, um," I stutter, thoughts slamming into one another. "Just this other guy I know."
"What other guy?" she asks. She sounds different now. On edge. Excited, almost, but that doesn't make sense.
I dump the boxes of crackers and cookies on the counter. Force myself to turn around.
Face her.
It's the same Liane, but different. Watchful. Like her image is no longer her first priority .
I force a smile. "Someone I know from Phoenix. I don't know why I said that." I tap my head with one finger. "Baby brain."
Liane nods slowly. Deliberately. "I've always wondered if I have a sibling out there in the world. What if I have numerous siblings? Wouldn't that be something?"
"It would be wild," I agree. My heart rate is soaring. What is the matter with me? People are adopted all the time. Liane and David both being adopted means nothing.
Except they appear to be around the same age. They aren't replicas of each other, but they aren't totally dissimilar.
David had many people to corroborate his whereabouts the day Simon died. According to him, he was at the Olive Festival hoping for prickly pear lemonade that was late.
"You know what I just had a crazy pregnancy craving for? Your prickly pear lemonade. Now that…" I shake my head like I just can't believe it. "That is some delicious lemonade. Maybe you can serve it at my sprinkle."
"I'd be happy to," Liane responds. The edge to her voice has receded. She sounds like her usual self.
"How long have you been serving it up at the Olive Festival?" I'm arranging snacks on the plate, keeping her in my line of sight. I'm being paranoid. It must be a mothering instinct.
Protect the cub .
"Why don't you ask me the question you're really thinking?"
"Hmm?" I ask, letting my eyebrows cinch in the middle. "What do you mean?" My voice is forced. Even I hear it. There goes my heart again. Hammering my breast bone.
"Mallory." Liane pushes off the island. Steps closer to me, then stops. "Ask me why David Boylan didn't get lemonade the day Simon died. It's written right over there, in your notes."
Alarm bells ring in my head, but I do my best to keep cool. "I hardly think that detail matters."
"You're lying." Liane's voice is calm. Cool. She doesn't take a step closer, because she doesn't need to. I'm boxed in.
"Lemonade doesn't seem like something to lie about," I say, putting on my best unaffected tone. I'm failing. It's impossible. Panic races through me, hot and cold at the same time.
"See the way you're standing right now?"
I glance down at my stomach, my hands stretching protectively over my belly. No matter how unflustered I'm trying to keep my voice, my defensive hands have told a different story.
Liane continues. "That tells me everything I need to know. You would do the same things I've done."
I stare at her, almost serene in that fancy tweed skirt and smart matching jacket.
Unperturbed, she says, "When it comes to protecting my family, there's nothing I won't do. No limit on the number of times I'll do it."
"You've said that to me before. On the day of the Olive Festival. You said I'll love this baby so much there's nothing I won't do for them."
"Brava," Liane trills. She has a lilt to her voice. As if she's victorious.
What has she won?
"You're very smart, Mallory. Not smarter than me, of course."
The mask Liane has worn every time I've seen her is slipping. The unhinged woman she is on the inside nudges the disguise, yearning to get through.
My phone lays on the far side of the island. I make a casual step right. Barely noticeable. "You must not be very smart if you're here, gloating."
She makes a high-pitched, pinched sound in her throat. "I couldn't help myself. Nobody has come so close to figuring me out. And not just one, but two! Two times I had to protect my family. Never thought somebody would connect them, but here we are."
That brings me up short. Rips my heart from my chest. "Maggie," I sob.
"I didn't know her name. Not until last week when I looked you up on the Internet. But yes, Maggie ." She waves her manicured hand, diamond ring glinting in the overhead kitchen light. "It was one of those summer heat waves, and I couldn't take it anymore. I drove my son to Phoenix to go to the water park. Let's just say he made some unfortunate choices in how he treated your sister, and?—"
"What do you mean by that?" I demand, hot anger coursing through me. "What did he do to her?" My stomach turns over, my imagination galloping out ahead of Liane's confession.
"This isn't about what he did, Mallory. I won't discuss my son with you."
A haughty lift of her chin. She looks like she's losing steam, her euphoria over her crimes waning a tiny bit. I have to keep her talking. As agonizing as it is, I need to hear it all.
"So you hurt her?" I ask, my lips curling over my teeth. Rage like I've never felt singes my veins.
Liane shrugs. "She was looking for you to tell you, and well, I couldn't have that."
My fingers itch to wrap around her throat, to do to Liane what she did to Maggie. "You strangled her?"
"Mallory, I did what I needed to do to protect my baby." She shakes her head, speaking to me as if I'm being insolent and she's delivering reason. "And then I helped you up off the ground when you found her. I didn't know that child was you, of course. I went back when I saw a crowd gathering. Had to make sure there was a reason for my DNA being there if they came across it."
I sway. From shock, I think.
"Learned my lesson from Simon. I cut my hand on that stupid road, and it was simply dumb luck that David Boylan turned out to be my twin brother." She laughs, but the sound is empty. "That's how I knew it was meant to be."
Through the front window, behind Liane's back, rises the faintest trail of dust.
"You're sick," I say, anything to keep her talking.
"I've never been more sane. But you? It's very sad. You went a little"—her head tilts furiously side to side, her eyes widening manically—"cuckoo." She warbles the word .
Outside is the roar of an engine .
Liane hears it, knows it's Hugo. "Time to die." She lunges for me, wraps her hands around my neck. A homicidal maniac stares into my eyes, using a singsong voice. "No sprinkle for you."
My pulse pounds, my blood boils.
Air. I need it.
I claw at her hands, dig into her skin.
How can this be? How did I not see this coming?
My baby, my baby. My perfect little Peanut. She needs oxygen. I'm her mother. My only job was to protect her, and I failed.
Somewhere in the house, there's a door coming off its hinges. A bang. The sound of something metallic.
My hands fly out, punching at Liane. This cannot be it. I punch everywhere I reach. Her head. Her stomach.
A blade pierces Liane's arm. I watch it come through her skin, slide out, the sound unforgettable.
Liane screams and lets me go. I drop to my knees, crawl away. My throat burns.
"Call the police," Hugo commands, nudging his phone to me with his foot. I scramble for it, my hands shaking so badly it takes me two attempts to pick it up.
"Don't bother," Liane laughs, her back against the fridge. Blood pours from the wound on her arm, darkening her tweed. "My husband is the mayor, remember? And your dad wouldn't let him run his money through Summerhill. So it was buh-bye to Simon." Hugo presses his sword tip against her throat, and blood trickles, blossoming through her silk blouse. "I had to protect my family," she cries, as if it's a perfectly reasonable excuse. "Couldn't let him live with what he knew about the mayor. Or the man who worked for us. Can't leave any strings untied!" Her voice rises higher, more crazed. Like she's been waiting all these years to brag about her magnificent plan.
I look down at the phone to dial for help, and see it's recording.
Hugo. So damn smart.
Suddenly there are shouts. People bursting through the open front door. Sonya, then Carmen. Penn.
For the first time, Liane looks afraid.
"Hugo, what's going on?" Sonya demands, coming closer. With wide eyes she glances from Hugo to Liane.
"She killed him," Hugo says, voice vibrating with rage. "Dad. She killed Dad."
Sonya gasps. Her face twists in horror, hand covering a single sob that escapes her mouth. Carmen comes up behind Sonya, wraps her arms around her.
Penn rounds the far side of the island, offers his arm and helps me stand. Swallowing my own saliva feels like a thousand thorns in my throat, but the adrenaline carries me through, keeps me upright. That, and Penn's steadying arm.
"Killed…Maggie," I croak, chest heaving. The truth sharpens the pain anew, makes it burn in my chest.
A sound tears from Hugo's throat, a roar and a growl and a snarl all at once. He wants blood. He wants retribution. He wants revenge.
"Hugo," Sonya says softly, shrugging off Carmen. She lays a gentle hand on the arm Hugo's using to keep his sword trained on Liane. "Don't do it. Think of your father. What would he do in this moment?"
"I know what he would do," Hugo grits out, gaze never wavering from the woman trapped against the fridge.
Sirens in the distance. Many of them.
"But I'm not him. And I know what I've been waiting a long time to do."
"Would you really kill your mayoress?" Liane's eyes grow wide. A monster, presenting as a doe.
"Fucking ribbon her already," Penn mutters.
Hugo presses harder, more blood flows. "When you murdered my father, you created the day you would die by his son's hand."
Everything about this situation is scary and painful, but when I hear those words, I'm transported to the day Hugo told me he daydreamed about saying that very sentence to his father's killer. The look of pain in his eyes.
"You're lucky I didn't find out about you before I met Mallory. Because my sword would've already pierced your heart." Hugo presses the flat side of the sword under her chin, forcing it to lift. Her wild eyes are on him, and he looks at her with unparalleled intensity. "When you took my dad, you left me scarred. So here is a matching set for you." With barely a flick of his wrist, he slices each of her cheeks from the corner of her lips to the tops of her ears. "You are a clown, and now you will look like one."
Red bubbles at the cuts, slides down.
Sirens blare. Uniformed officers rush inside. Hugo lowers his weapon, steps to my side.
Penn releases me, and Hugo is there, pulling me and Peanut into his body. I don't know how, but Hugo no longer holds his sword. Penn must've taken it.
"Mallory, Mallory," Hugo chants into my hair. The emotion pours off him, his voice thick with it. With urgency he kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. "That was the worst image I've ever seen. I was terrified. It took everything I had not to gut her while her hands were on your throat."
I nod, shock wearing off. I try to talk, but I can't find my voice. My vocal cords throb.
The police are hauling Liane up, cuffing her, making sense of what happened. Sonya does the talking, until Hugo says, "I recorded everything she said." He finds Detective Towles among the uniformed men.
The detective shakes his head at Hugo. "I told you to wait for me. You hung up."
"I saw her car parked out front. I couldn't wait for you. She had Mallory and my baby."
My baby .
I wish I could use my voice, tell Hugo how grateful I am, how much I love him. My eyes are working just fine, and the tears are flowing.
Detective Towles hauls a bleeding Liane away. She has gone utterly silent. Hugo slicing her face seems to have stolen her ability to speak.
"Hugo," one of the police officers says. "This is an active crime scene. We need everybody out, and we're going to need to take statements."
Hugo's shaking his head. "I want Mallory and my baby checked out by her doctor. Everything else can wait."
Hugo declines the offer from the officer to drive us into town to see the doctor. "I'm not letting you out of my sight," he murmurs, pulling me in close. His tone is gruff from rescinding fear, weak with relief.
As if I'm made of glass, he helps me into his car.
An officer approaches, and Hugo rolls down his window. "Bring her by the station once she gets the all-clear from her doctor."
"Will do," Hugo responds, hitting a button to close the window, shutting us out from the world beyond.
He shifts into Drive, taking me away from the swirling lights of the police cars.
"I'm dying to hold you," he says as we crest the small hill. "But first things first. I need to get you to Dr. Connolly. You and the baby."
"My baby," I clarify, using my voice though it hurts.
"Your baby," Hugo says, jaw tight.
My head shakes, hair swirling. "Your baby...too." It's the voice of someone recently deprived of oxygen, the sound of it bringing back what it felt like to have my airway cut off.
Hugo glances at me. "I know what I said back there. I heard it. I didn't mean to presume, I was beside myself."
He still doesn't get it, and I can't speak the words I want to say. So I point at my belly, then at him, and I nod.
He points back at his chest, a grin better than a sunrise splitting his face. "My baby?"
I nod again, vigorously this time. "Yours," I manage.
"My baby," he says again, eyes flickering over me. "My girls."