Chapter 85
With Emily out of sight—and, she hoped, calling her lawyer husband—her family still in the coffee shop, and Vivian helping a customer, Tessa knew the final confrontation was looming; she could almost hear the soundtrack intensify and knew she could not delay the climactic conflict much longer.
Two stragglers had arrived, and Tessa had been grateful for their conversation.
She had drawn it out, stalling, chatting, needing to give Emily all the time she could.
We live in Boston , Emily had said. Nearby .
Barbara had stopped pretending to browse the magazine rack, and was now standing, arms crossed, watching her.
“I hope you enjoy it.” Tessa handed over the last periwinkle book in the store. “Keep in touch, okay?”
As the customers left, Tessa caught Barbara’s eye. Cocked her head toward the office door, held up two fingers. She capped her pen, adjusted her blazer, and turned toward the back of the store. Anyone watching—besides Barbara—would think Tessa was headed for the bathroom.
Tessa went all the way to the back, and found what must be a shipping area; a long table with six chairs, a huge rolling cylinder of brown wrapping paper, and dispensers of clear tape.
The shipping nook was surrounded on three sides by rows of green metal bookshelves filled with shiny hardcovers.
She turned on the recorder of her cell phone, just in case.
Even if Emily came back alone, or not at all, that might be enough. She’d have to play it by ear.
The same way you write, Annabelle said.
Footsteps now. Tessa stepped into the hallway, putting herself in view. Barbara saw her, and held up the book, striding toward her.
Tessa nodded, held her ground. She didn’t want to spook her. This woman wasn’t going to hurt her, and Tessa had now, in a book inscription, agreed to her demand. Harper—Barbara—thought she had won.
As she approached, Tessa stepped back, gesturing her into the shipping area.
“I found this spot,” Tessa said. “It seems private enough.”
“Good for you,” Barbara said. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses. I may raise the price, given your success. Today must have been off the charts.”
Tessa thought of the recorder running in her jacket pocket. “You’ve never told me an actual price,” Tessa said. “I did see in my mother’s will, though, she had paid you fifty thousand dollars twice a year.”
“My, my,” Barbara said. “You have done your research. But she didn’t pay me . No one paid me. From what I understand, it went to a trust.”
“And then you took it from the trust.”
“Shall we talk about the future?” Barbara perched on one edge of the table, leaving Tessa halfway into the hallway.
Tessa darted a glance down the corridor.
“Expecting someone?” Barbara seemed wary.
“My family is out there,” Tessa said. “Just watching for them.”
“It was such a joy to get to know them,” Barbara said. “And so convenient of you to post your schedule on the fridge. Did Linny tell you she found your diary when she unpacked? I asked to see it, but she told me it was locked, and she was keeping it safe for you. I wonder what I’d find inside.”
“Do not talk about Linny. Do not even say her name.” Tessa felt her fingertips grow cold. “How dare you try to befriend my family? When all you want to do is ruin their lives.”
Barbara was looking at the inscription in her book, as if eyes on the prize. “At least Henry and Zachary loved the mac and cheese. Which I made specially, after a brief but revealing food allergy chat with Linnea. You can put bananas in it, did you know? And it’s impossible to tell.”
“You made her sick? She’s a child. ” Tessa imagined the mind that would concoct that, offer that, embrace that depth of evil. “She could have died.”
“It wouldn’t have killed her, dear. It was just my shot across your bow. To let you know that no one, not you, and not your family, was safe from me. And I wouldn’t have ‘ruined their lives,’ as you put it, unless you forced me to, Tessa. There are other things that make me happy.”
“Like money,” Tessa said. “But those people in bookstores, Indianapolis and Phoenix and Denver, who asked the personal questions—who were they? They couldn’t have all been you—I would have recognized you when you met me in Des Moines.”
“So na?ve.” Barbara closed the book. Cradled it like a baby.
“When you pay people, anything is possible. And all they had to do was ask one innocuous question at a bookstore. Or pull an alarm. Or inquire about your past on social media. In fact, I often did that myself. And—how’d you like the earrings? ”
“ You took my suitcase? You were on that plane?”
“The suitcase was risky, and not my original plan, but I took the opportunity. You were so intent on your phone call, you walked right by me.” She shook her head.
“One of my… helpers, shall we say, thought you’d caught him after he placed the locket.
But you were oblivious then, too. Yammering on the phone. ”
“Panera Guy,” Tessa muttered, remembering. Hurry up, Emily. Tessa glanced down the hall again, couldn’t help it.
“You and that locket. I adored your ludicrous search for Locket Mom,” Barbara went on. “ Locket Mom .” She raised an eyebrow. “As if such a person existed. Truly, Tessa, your imagination is boundless. But as long as you’re selling books, you can perpetuate whatever myths you want.”
Tessa took a step into risky waters. “What were all those questions about my hometown?”
“Pffff.” Barbara waved her off. “To show you we knew all about you. You and your hoity-toity mother, lording it up in McMansion, Massachusetts. Deigning to visit the plebes in Maine.”
Massachusetts, Tessa thought. Not Ohio. Barbara incredibly, amazingly, didn’t know about the bad thing.
Maybe her mother had successfully protected her, changing their names, moving. Maybe her desperate plans had worked. She wished she could thank her.
“Lording it,” Tessa repeated. “Hoity-toity. Nice.”
“So, shall we get to business? Before your beloved family interferes? Since you’re up to speed with the will, that makes it easier. Call that same lawyer. Tell him you’ll continue to contribute to the fund. Fifty thousand, twice a year. Or, hey, you can pay by the month.”
Tessa pretended to consider. She had that clear bit of evidence recorded now.
“Are you extorting Emily’s family, too?”
“Emily is dead,” Barbara said.
“Dead. I see.” Tessa had to stall, needed more on the recording. “But did you blackmail her, too?”
“It’s not Emily I care about. I never did.”
“You ‘never’ did? So you knew her? When? Where?”
“Forget about Emily.” Barbara stood, paced toward the back wall. “Like I said. Dead.”
Tessa waited. And then heard footsteps. Two sets. Three. She crossed her fingers. And almost held her breath.
Barbara whirled to face her. “Do I have your answer? Or do I go to the media? They’ll love this story, especially after today.
” She put up her fingers for air quotes.
“Massive cover-up as best-selling author hides fatal hit-and-run.” She shrugged, cat with canary.
“Those fans of yours will simply gobble that up.”
“Hi, Mom.” Emily’s voice came from behind her. “You’ve discarded the name ‘Owen’ too, apparently.”
“Guess what, Barbara.” Tessa pointed to Emily. “Not dead.”
“And this is my husband, Cameron Rousseau,” Emily was saying. “But more important, this is Boston Police Detective Jaylen McKee.”
“Guess what else,” Tessa said. “Emily saw the deer.”
Barbara clutched the book to her chest, and though she had bookshelves on three sides and a police detective on the fourth, her eyes darted around the room, as if seeking an escape route. Then her gaze landed on Emily.
“It was your father’s idea,” Barbara said. She looked at Tessa then, leering contempt. “Summer people. You think you can have it all.”
“Shall we take a seat?” McKee said. “Sounds like we have a lot to talk about.”
“No.” Barbara held up her periwinkle book. “I did nothing wrong. And I have proof.” Her face had hardened, her eyes narrowing. She opened to the page Tessa had inscribed, showed it. “This woman agreed! It’s here in writing. It’s all of her own volition.”
“Oh, come on,” Tessa said. “You know very well I write fiction.”