“Inside,” she says, forcing her arm down as she steps back, making room for Malcolm and me.
Malcolm’s hand is warm and solid on my back, and I have no idea when he put it there, but I’m grateful for the encouragement to take that first step into the house of my father’swidow.
I don’t notice a single thing about the house Laura leads us through, or the room she shuts us in. All the questions I need to ask, all the explanations I need, get tangled up together, and nothing comes out, not even after she closes the door and turns to face me again.
Laura has gotten over her shock. She stares at me less like the ugliest part of her past has been exhumed and crawled its way onto her porch, and more like she’s resolved to contain and remove the nightmare as soon as possible.
“What do you want?” She doesn’t ask who I am, doesn’t waste time asking why I’m here. She gets right to the point, so I do exactly the same thing.
I lift my chin. “How do you know who I—”
I cut myself off because I already know the answer. There’s only one other person alive who could have told her that Derek Abbott was my father. “When did my mother tell you aboutme?”
There it is again: the nostril flare. That subtle betrayal to the otherwise perfectly composed face. I think she’s considering not telling me, but then we all hear footsteps from the floor above us. Grace clearly doesn’t know about me, and if the performanceat the front door is any indication, Laura is adamant that she never find out. Another nostril flare, and she starts talking.
“She didn’t tell me. I saw the way she was holding her stomach that night. Like recognized like.”
My heart freezes still when I ask my next question. “Did she kill him?”
Her eye twitches. “Yes.”
“You’re lying,” I say, my voice breaking as I lunge forward.
Malcolm catches my arm to hold me back. Laura doesn’t move.
“No,” I say, shaking Malcolm off. “You knew who I was the second you saw me. I could have been a boy, or she could have miscarried. You knew whoIwas.Me.” I stab a finger into my chest, right over the ring hidden beneath my sweater. “What’s my name?”
Another eye twitch. “I don’t know.”
I lock my jaw. “What’s my name?”
“I told you, I don’t—”
“Grace!” I call out. Not overly loud, but a warning. I take in a deeper breath. “Gr—”
“Katelyn!” The word is half strangled as it leaves her throat. “It’s Katelyn. And if you speak my daughter’s name again, I will call the police.”
My eyes bug out. I wasn’t sure, not until the moment my name left her lips. Gone is the locked jaw, the lifted chin. My heart isn’t frozen; it’s on fire. “Where’s my mom?” My question is pleading—shaking, even.
“I don’t know.” She whips away from me, moving to the door, presumably to listen and make sure Grace hasn’t heard anything. “I warned her a few times over the years, told her whenever they were getting close to finding her.”
“Why?” Malcolm asks, speaking for the first time as if he knew I couldn’t. “Why would you help your husband’s mistress, the woman you just told us killed him?”
Instead of answering, Laura moves to a cabinet set against one wall. Opening the upper door, she reaches deep inside and pulls out a locked wooden box. Producing a key from her pocket, she unlocks it and lifts the lid before taking out a cell phone. It’s small and simple, and the same brand as the disposable phone Mom left me with at the motel. “Here. I used this the last time I spoke with her, which was days ago. I don’t have her number. It’s always blocked, and she changes it constantly.”
“You’re the person she called that night,” I say as the connection slams into me. I turn to Malcolm. “Before we ran, my mom made a call. I don’t remember exactly what she said, but she was confirming that we needed to leave.”
Laura doesn’t deny it. “That’s all I have. You can take the phone and go, or you can wait for the police to get here.” She punctuates her threat by removing her own cell phone from her pocket, holding it as casually as someone would a weapon when up against an unarmed man.
And then her eye twitches.
I take the disposable phone and pass it to Malcolm without shifting my gaze from Laura. “Can you find her from this?” I ask him.
“Maybe. I need a computer.”
I raise my eyebrows at Laura, whose slight frown is now the only indication that she’s anything but calm.
“I don’t have one in here.” It’s clear she wants that to be the end of the discussion, but it’s just as clear that I’ve called her bluff. I know the wordaccessoryas well as she does, and I’m happy to repeat it to the police we both know she won’t call.
