Chapter Forty-One #2
She reached for a tissue and blew her nose in a loud snort. “I’ll never forget it.”
“Lizzie killed her father? Is that what you’re telling me? She suffocated him?” As a seventeen-year-old girl? The horror of it was too much to contemplate.
“What could I do?” She twisted the tissue in her lap. “You’re a mother. Surely you understand that I had to protect my daughter.”
I closed my eyes, fully absorbing just how monstrous Martha Martins’s actions had been. Sacrificing Ali’s mental well-being in order to save her daughter. Nausea swirled in my belly. “You protected Lizzie at Ali’s expense.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “I had to choose between Ali and Elizabeth. I chose my daughter.”
“That’s obscene.” Disbelief trembled through me. “You allowed Ali to be tormented by a horrible lie for his entire adult life, to let him believe he’d done something unspeakable. What kind of people are you?”
The reality that Lizzie had killed her own father, and that her family deliberately let Ali believe he was to blame, left me speechless with outrage. I couldn’t find the words.
“I thought my guilt would ease over the years, but it deepened.” Mrs. Martins reached for another tissue from the box on the side table. “I called Ali because I needed him to know the truth before I died.”
“And did you share what you’ve just told me?”
She nodded. “I told him everything. Lawrence didn’t die from the blow to his head. He died by suffocation. I was terrified for my daughter. That’s why I told police that my husband stumbled and fell.”
I wanted to throttle the woman for what she’d done to my husband, for how she’d made him suffer for decades in order to protect her daughter. And herself. “How could you let an innocent teenager think he killed a man?”
“What could I do? Elizabeth was crying hysterically. She said we were finally free of him. That he’d never boss either of us around. She was tired of him being so strict with her. Of him never letting her go out with her friends. What could I do?”
I gritted my teeth. “You could have done the right thing. Which is tell the truth.”
“My husband was . . . a challenging person. Lawrence was very uncompromising with Elizabeth. She couldn’t go out much at night like other teenagers, and she resented it. He believed a young lady shouldn’t date until she turned eighteen.”
How bad had it been? “Did your husband beat Lizzie?”
“He slapped her once after discovering she snuck out of the house to go to a party. That’s the only time Lawrence laid a hand on her. But Lizzie has always been high strung and very emotional.”
“Your lie infected Ali’s entire adulthood.” My voice trembled. “And you let a murderer walk free.”
“That’s why I told Ali the truth the day he came to see me.” She was twisting the tissues again. They came apart, little white bits littering her lap. “I needed to make things right.”
“You could never properly atone for what you did to him.”
“I know. But at least Ali knew the truth before he died. He was very relieved.”
Tears stung my eyes. “What did he say? How else did he react?”
“He was very relieved but also very upset. After he left, I called Lizzie to warn her that Ali knew the truth.”
Lizzie. A murderess. How many times had I been alone with her while she repeatedly lied straight to my face? “What did Lizzie say when you told her Ali knew she killed her father?”
“She told me not to worry. That she would take care of everything.”
“How—” I began but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
A nurse came in. “Time for your meds, Mrs. Martins.” She looked from me to the older woman. “Is everything all right?”
“No, it’s not,” I said bitterly. “But I’m done here.”
I strode out of the room without another glance. I couldn’t bear to look at the old woman. I was overwhelmed, still in disbelief.
“How did your visit go?” someone inquired when I reached the lobby.
I blinked through my haze to see that it was Bernice. “Fine,” I croaked, the stale nursing home scent filling my nostrils.
She met my gaze. “She’s been asking to see you, but her family wouldn’t allow it.”
I gaped at her. “You know who I am? Why did you let me in to see her?”
“Because I couldn’t let that nice old lady die without her final wish being fulfilled.”
Bile rose in my throat. I turned away, careening toward the automatic sliding doors that led to the parking lot. When I stepped out, a blast of brisk fresh air hit my bare face.
I couldn’t breathe. Leaning over, hands on my knees, I forced air into my lungs. Once I’d settled a little, I managed to make it back to my van. Still feeling sickened, I leaned my head against the headrest, forcing more deep breaths. How was any of this possible?
My phone buzzed. A photo from Claudia. I read her text.
Here’s a screen grab of the guy who was in your backyard.
I tapped the picture, impatiently waiting for it to enlarge. A familiar face popped up. My stomach turned over. It was Bill Warren. The man was always showing up where he didn’t belong. Had he broken in because he wanted Ali’s papers? It made sense. But how was all of this related?
My conversation with Mrs. Martins played over in my mind.
Flashes from the last few days ricocheted in my head.
Lizzie’s face contorted in an expression of false sympathy.
Ali on the surveillance tape confronting her.
Mrs. Martins crying. Ayla challenging her father at the hotel. Picking up her prescription.
Xanax.
Alprazolam.
Ali.
The accident.
Realization slammed into me. Nausea tunneled its way up into my throat. I gagged, but there was nothing there. My stomach was empty.
Shock twisted through my insides. How had I missed the truth? Now that I saw the connection, I couldn’t unsee it. I had to confront Lizzie. But first, I needed to make a call. I dialed the number, but it went to voicemail. I left an urgent message for Detective Fox.
Then I started my van and headed to the extended-stay hotel down the street.