“And yet you didn’t eat it.”
“I didn’t get a chance to. JT showed up and—”
“HOW. DID THE GLASS. GET IN THE SALAD?”
“Why don’tyoutellme!” I yell right back.
He opens his mouth to scream back, but Valencia puts up her hands and stands between us.
“Enough! Marcus, you know damn well that glass probably ended up in the can of pineapples.”
“Bullshit!” he says, throwing his arms up.
“I’m on his side, actually,” I say to Valencia. “Itisbullshit becausesomeoneput it there.” I don’t know which one of them did it, but I really don’t want to believe Valencia would hurt her own mother. Especially someone as kind as Gramma Sharon.
Marcus blinks and gives us an incredulous look. “You thinkIdid this?”
“You brought the salad out.”
“Youmadeit.”
“Stop it!” Valencia yells. “Marcus, do you honestly think our son is capable of doing such a thing?”
“Yes!”
When he says it, Valencia looks as if he slapped her. “I mean, maybe he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. It could be some... I don’t know, fugue state he goes into. Maybe that’s what happened with the gas, and the paint, and now the glass. I’ve had clients where that happens. It’s a trauma response.”
“I’m not crazy!” I say.
Valencia turns to me and puts her hands on my cheeks. “No one is saying you are. But, Marcus, if this were a trauma response, would you still hold it against him?”
“I didn’t do it!”
“Stop it, Nate!” Marcus yells. “It couldn’t have been anyone else because I would never hurt Sharon.”
“Neither would I!”
“Enough!” Valencia yells. “I don’t want to hear another goddamned word out of either of you. Nate, Marcus didn’t do this. What reason would he have?” I want to respond, but I can’t. Not without exposing myself. And across the kitchen, the look on Marcus’s face seems to dare me to tell the truth.
“And Marcus. Other attorneys in your firm have represented people who bit into wholeknivesin sandwiches. So maybe it’s not that far-fetched to think a few glass jars broke on a conveyor belt in a factory.” She reaches for the colander in the sink and rattles the glass around to show Marcus how much was in it. “Instead of arguing, you can call the company on Monday and give them the info on the can in that recycling bin and threaten to sue the shit out of them. Watch how quick their lawyers want to settle and thenyou’ll see this was all a horrible accident caused by neglect. And not your son.”
Marcus clearly isn’t sold on the idea but he doesn’t say anything else.
When neither of us speaks, Valencia claps her hands. “Great. Now both of you go somewhere else.”
I go up to my room. This was way too close. I had planned to take a small amount of salad and swallow it whole, worried it would taste gross. I could have died. And maybe Marcus would be okay with that.
Then he’d keep his life insuranceandsue the canned pineapple company for wrongful death.
I take out my phone and text Miles.
We need to go to Agent Grant. Give him everything we have and see what he wants to do next. Maybe he’s got more evidence we don’t have that can help fill in the blanks.
The answer is almost instantaneous.
Are you sure?
Am I?No. But do you have any other ideas?
