36. Caleb
Chapter 36
Caleb
I wrap my arm around Margo’s shoulders. She’s shaking like a leaf, but I don’t think she even realizes. Her expression doesn’t change from the worried scowl when we go outside, crossing the street to where the ambulances have parked.
Robert and Lenora rush toward us. They surprise me by not waiting until we’re separated. They throw their arms around both of us, so it’s like a weird, crying huddle.
I pat Robert’s back, but my gaze is on Margo.
There’s something in her expression that has me on edge.
The concern, more than anything, is the driving force pushing away my anger. She went into the diner when she knew Claire was dangerous. I could’ve handled it, but Margo played right into Claire’s hands. Of course Claire wanted the three of us in the same room, with herself in control.
The EMTs check out Margo and me as soon as Robert and Lenora release us. We sit on the back step. Margo’s hand is loose in mine.
She’s still not here.
“Caleb,” Mr. Black calls. He puts his hand on my shoulder once he gets to us. “Thank God you’re all right.”
“We made it out in one piece,” I say.
Margo shakes her head. “Did we?”
“I think Uncle David has Amber,” I tell him. “Can you tell Detective Masters?”
Mr. Black’s eyebrow raises. “What makes you think that?”
“Mom called this morning. Eli and I went over, and her apartment had been ransacked. She didn’t say as much, but…”
“Got it.” He crouches next to Margo. “You okay?”
“Fine, Mr. Black, thank you,” she says.
“That’s a good girl.”
She looks up at the EMT hovering nearby. “When can we go home?”
“I just need a statement,” Masters answers. He approaches with Eli’s dad close behind.
“A statement,” Margo repeats.
“Can this wait, Detective? They just went through a traumatic experience?—”
“Which means we should go over it while it’s fresh,” Masters finishes.
I really hate that man.
“Can we do it now?” I ask.
Masters scans my body, taking inventory of my bumps and bruises. “Okay. Come with me.”
We both stand, but he waves at Margo. “No, just one at a time. That’s how this works—I get you to tell me what happened, then Margo’s version. Then Claire’s.”
I grunt, slowly releasing her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
She doesn’t react. Her attention is fixed on her hands.
He leads me to his car. “Get in.”
“The back?”
He chuckles. “No, front’s fine.”
I slide into the passenger seat, and he cranks the heat.
“So. What happened?”
I recount the events. Claire showing up on my running route, telling me about an accident. She pulled out the gun when I questioned her about a wrong turn, and… everything went downhill.
“Did you think about getting the gun away from her?”
I shrug. “I don’t know anything about firearms, sir.”
“Sir.” He chuckles. “Haven’t heard that out of an Asher’s mouth in a while.”
Time for some honesty. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You went to Emery-Rose, right? Did you know my dad?” I have a feeling that’s the reason behind the weird anger he directed at me. Caleb Asher, son of the infamous Benjamin Asher. The expression, like father, like son exists for a reason, doesn’t it?
He sighs. “Yeah, I knew of him. I was friends with Keith.”
I sit up straight. “Keith Wolfe.”
“Fresh out of the academy, and my first case was your dad’s death. The lead detective followed the lines right to Keith.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry you saw your dad like that. I knew they were friends, even though Ben was always a bully in school.”
“A bully,” I repeat. “To you?”
“No. Not to me. Other guys in school. The random girl.” He shifts. “Keith was good. At least, I thought…”
“He’s innocent,” I blurt out.
When did I start believing that?
Probably around the same time you fell in love with Margo .
I shove that thought neatly to the back of my mind.
“Do you have evidence to back that up?”
“I don’t. But Claire admitted that Amber and my mom were scheming. And Hanna?—”
“Evans? Claire’s sister?”
“Right. She’s actually my mom’s daughter. I’m sure you can verify that through adoption records. And maybe a DNA test.” I’m making a plea. Practically begging the detective to listen to me. I’m holding his attention, but it might not last. “I don’t know what Margo’s mom and mine had planned, but I think they wanted to get back at my dad.”
His expression turns thoughtful. “The case was very cut-and-dry. Fingerprints on the knife he used…”
“A knife that anyone in the house had access to?” I twist toward him. “Tobias Hutchins, his lawyer, screwed him over.”
“Proof, Caleb. If your goal is to exonerate Keith, I need more.”
I run my hand over my face. “I just… we know he’s innocent. He got caught up in a shitstorm.”
He exhales. “Okay. We’ll talk to Amber and Lydia, see if anything comes of it. They’re involved in this, one way or another.”
“Right.”
“So,” he prompts, “Claire drove you here. Then what?”
“She was ranting.” I close my eyes. “She duct taped my wrists, and all I could think about was how worried Margo was going to be when I didn’t come back.”
“Claire has been living with the Ashers,” Detective Masters says. “We did a background check on her. She has a full and colorful file, to say the least.”
“And my uncle is an abusive asshole,” I grumble. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. “What happens if he’s arrested for… literally anything?”
“Happens with what?”
“He presides over my inheritance,” I say. “But I’m pretty sure the clause in there says only if he remains in good standing with the law.”
Wait.
Maybe Dad knew what kind of devil his brother was. So why entrust the money to him?
I fling the door open. “Sorry, I’ve got to talk to Mr. Black.”
I rush toward where Mr. Black is waiting with Margo and blurt out, “You presided over my dad’s will.”
He squints at me. “Are you okay?”
“You presided over my dad’s will. You know what it says—your firm has the papers.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“I need to see it.”
Margo reaches out and hooks her index finger with mine.
She’s with me.
Mr. Black shrugs. “Okay. Let me just tell the detective that he can get Margo’s statement at the station tomorrow. I also informed the police that Amber’s whereabouts are unknown. They’re going to look for her. Wait right here, I’ll be back in a flash.”
Robert and Lenora press closer. They’d been silent up until now, blending into the background.
“Margo?” Lenora asks. “You okay, honey?”
She shrugs. “Just…”
She’s shutting down before our very eyes, but her finger is still gripping mine.
“Is it okay if Margo comes with me and Mr. Black?” I ask them. “I’ll have her home before eight.”
Margo sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t say anything.
Lenora strokes Margo’s hair. “Is that what you want?”
“I’d like to stay with Caleb,” she answers.
Mr. Black comes back. “We’re good to go.”
Margo rises, letting Robert and Lenora hug her again. She withdraws rather quickly, looping her arm through mine. She hugs my arm tightly, fingers digging into my biceps.
Worry tugs at me.
In the car, we both sit in the back seat. Eli’s dad gives me a look, but after a second of watching Margo in the rearview mirror, he nods.
I trace patterns on her leg.
“We’re going to the city?” she asks, lifting her head.
“Yes, my office is downtown,” he says. “I grabbed you a water bottle, Margo.”
I take the bottle he holds over his shoulder, and she takes a few sips.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I whisper.
She shifts, pulling the small journal out of her pocket. “Claire never did get her hands on this.”
She flips it open, seemingly searching for something.
And then she exhales, handing it over to me.
Amber was singing today. She never mentioned having a voice, but it’s surprisingly good. I stayed out of the kitchen and closed my eyes, trying to remember the last time the house was full of happiness.
Well before I destroyed it, that’s for sure.
I asked myself if she was singing to Ben, and it almost killed me not knowing. I crept through the house and finally gave in, peeking around the corner. I felt like Caleb on one of his spy missions.
It wasn’t Ben—it was Margo. Amber had her daughter on the counter while she worked bread dough beside her.
She was singing ‘Blackbird’ by The Beatles.
Telling her daughter to escape this house, maybe?
“Take your broken wings and learn to fly.” The line Margo was later repeating to herself in the yard.
She looked at me and asked why her wings were broken, and I hated to say it was because of us. What Amber and I were doing to our families.
What I had already done.
What did I say? Something like, “You’re a pretty little bird, Margo. Our wings let us fly, but they’re also fragile. Protect your wings.”
She seemed to like that.
I shake my head. “She was scheming.”
“Pretty little bird,” Margo says. “From Lydia. From my mother.”
“Claire read it. The whole thing, probably. Whatever happened between our parents… I don’t think it was your dad’s fault. Or yours.”
“You’re right.”
I meet her eyes. “I… am?”
She sighs, tipping her head back. “Yeah. Let me tell you what really happened.”