Chapter Thirty-Nine
A cold draft moved over the back of my neck like a ghost. Outside, the knocking came again. Harder. The police at the door.
Vivienne blinked at Mia. "What are you saying?"
"She was saying mean things." She pressed the heel of her hands to her eyes like she could stop the memory from unwinding inside her brain. "It was an accident. I didn't mean it. Mom, I promise. I didn't. We argued. I got so mad. I—I pushed her."
I gaped at Mia. My daughter. Present when Leah fell. Every rationalization I'd built—the scratches from thorns, the DNA from the nosebleed—collapsed like a house of cards. I couldn't breathe.
Everything I'd fought for, every sleepless night investigating, every confrontation, had been built on a lie.
My daughter had pushed Leah Cho off a cliff. And I hadn't known.
My mouth tasted like copper. "You pushed Leah?"
Vivienne made a sound, a half-sob, half-growl of agony. Her hands came up to her mouth, then dropped. She stared at Mia as if seeing her for the first time, and something in her face broke. Not grief this time. Something harder. Colder. "You killed my Leah? You?"
Mia shook her head hard, strands of hair sticking to her mouth. She looked gaunt suddenly, hollowed out. Her eyes were feverish. "I didn't mean to—she grabbed me and I… she just fell."
Another knock at the front door. Harder, insistent. "Police! Open the door!"
"It was an accident!" Mia said. "I didn't want to hurt her! Please believe me!"
Vivienne moved woodenly toward the front door. She swung it open and stepped aside.
My gaze darted to the camera sitting on the kitchen table, evidence in plain sight. Without thinking, I grabbed the Nikon and shoved it into my purse.
Detective King stepped inside. His immense shadow filled the doorway. Two uniformed officers came in behind him, followed by Detective Callahan. Their attention zeroed in on Mia.
King said, "We have an eyewitness account from Chloe Westinghouse stating you pushed your friend Leah from the bluff. Mia Kincaid, you're under arrest for the murder of Leah Cho."
Instinctively, I stepped in front of my daughter, placing myself between her and the people who would take her from me.
Daniel strode down the hallway into the kitchen. His face was ashen. He took in the cuffs, the uniforms, Vivienne's shattered face. The muscles in his jaw jumped. He put his hand around his wife's arm as if to steady her or himself.
Vivienne made that raw, tortured sound again, higher this time. A wounded animal.
King strode into the kitchen. His sharp gaze never left my daughter's face. "Move aside, please, Ms. Kincaid."
Reluctantly, I did. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done.
"Mom!" Her frantic eyes were glued to mine. Huge and terrified and pleading.
But I couldn't help her. I couldn't save her. My daughter. My child. The girl who still slept with the stuffed sloth she'd had since she was four years old.
Detective Callahan went to Mia, handcuffs already in hand. The corner of her mouth twitched with satisfaction. Not quite a smile, but close. "You have the right to remain silent." She read Mia her rights. I barely heard the words over the frantic buzzing in my brain.
Mia blanched. "It wasn't like that. It's not what you think, I didn’t mean it—"
"Don't," I said sharply. The word scraped my throat raw. "Do not say anything. Do you hear me? Not one word."
Detective Callahan held out the cuffs.
"Please don't do that," I begged. "You don't need to do that. She's a kid. She's not a threat."
Callahan did it anyway. "Hands."
Mia hesitated. Then she lifted her wrists. The metal cuffs clicked shut. They looked obscene on her slim wrists, too big, too heavy. Mia's shoulders curled inward as if she could make herself disappear.
Pure panic clawed at my insides. Instinctively, my hand found the ring at my throat. I clutched it so hard the chain dug into the back of my neck.
Marcus was gone. Now I was losing Mia, too.
King turned to me. His expression softened. The lines around his eyes deepened with genuine sympathy. "You can follow us to the station and have Mia's lawyer meet us there."
Mia no longer had a lawyer. What were we going to do?
As if reading my mind, King said, "We can assign a public lawyer for her."
A public lawyer. For my daughter. For murder.
"Let's go." King touched Mia's elbow. He was gentle, not rough, which made me hate him more. The uniformed officers flanked him as they passed me with Mia in tow, small and fragile and terrified. King steered Mia toward the foyer.
"Mom!" Mia twisted to find me. Her eyes were drowning. "Mommy, please! Don't let them take me away!"
The sound pierced me like a spear to the heart. My daughter calling for me to protect her when I stood powerless. My vision tunneled until all I could see was Mia's terrified face.
I took one step after her.
The nearest officer lifted a palm to stop me. "Ma'am," he warned.
I froze. My arms hung uselessly at my sides. Every cell in my body screamed to grab her, to run, to fight. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing.
"Let me tell her—" I didn't know what. That I was sorry? That I should have known? That I should have been a better mother, prevented all this somehow? I couldn't bear to lie to her with platitudes. We both knew nothing was okay. "I love you. Be strong. You are so strong. I love you so much."
Her hair fell into her face. "Please don't be mad."
Then they hustled her out the door.
Numbly, I followed into the hall, past Vivienne's framed family photos. Leah's fourth-grade picture smiled out at me with her porcupine bangs and gap-toothed grin.
I stood on the front porch and watched them take my daughter away. The lights flashed over the porch. The police cruiser pulled away from the curb. It rolled down the street, turned the corner, and was gone.
Daniel stood in the doorway behind me, his arm around his wife’s shoulder, keeping her physically upright. The porch light carved shadows under Vivienne's eyes. Grief had hollowed her out. Her face was a stranger's.
"I didn't know." It sounded like pleading. Like defense. I hated how small it was. "Viv, I swear, I didn't know."
"You brought her into my house. You let her stand in my kitchen. You both lied to me." She was shaking. Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides. "My daughter is dead."
"I know." I could feel my heartbeat in my mouth. My pain was nothing compared to Vivienne's. Despite everything, my daughter was alive. Vivienne's was not. "Viv, please. I'm sorry, so incredibly sorry."
Daniel stiffened. His once kind face had gone cold and hard. "You need to leave." He didn't raise his voice. The quiet finality in his tone made it worse. "Now."
The grief staggered me. I could barely stand under the weight of it. Accident or not, my daughter did this. My daughter had killed someone. Ended the life of their child.
I reached out my hand. "Viv—"
"Go!" Daniel's voice boomed. He tightened his protective hold on his wife, holding her upright as she collapsed into him, disintegrating right in front of me. "You've done enough damage here."
They turned away. Daniel ushered his wife inside. The door closed in my face.
Vivienne was lost to me. Not just tonight. Forever.
I stood alone on the porch in the dark. The street was empty now, no police lights, no sirens, just the sound of the wind tearing through the trees, the distant roar of the waves, and my own ragged breathing.
I turned and stumbled from their home, down the porch steps, and into the night, expelled from the last place where anyone had offered shelter.
There was nowhere left to go.