She continued driving, feeling like a fugitive herself. If her mother was charged with murder, Aubrey might very well be arrested as an accessory by not turning her in. It was a disturbing and unfamiliar sensation. She had always been the good girl, the one who never bucked authority.
Except for the time she had insisted on marching at the Miami Circle. She had just turned twelve and was self-conscious about the new braces on her teeth. At school, she had learned about a real estate developer who had uncovered an archaeological site that was close to two thousand years old. A perfect thirty-eight-foot circle made by the Tequesta Indians. The developer wanted to relocate it so he could build a high-end condo. Aubrey had been furious about destroying the past and had begged her mother to take her to the protest march to “Save the Circle.”
Mama had said absolutely not. Demonstrations were dangerous—people got hurt, and good rarely came of them. Aubrey had dug in her heels until Mama reluctantly agreed. They had marched together with dozens of others at the torn-up construction site, chanting, “Save the Circle!”
Aubrey had felt exhilarated and couldn’t understand why her mother seemed so angry and upset, especially since they had been victorious. A couple of days after the march, Mama gave Aubrey an easel with canvases and oil paints, and books filled with still-life paintings. Mama never said so, but Aubrey understood that painting would make her mother happy; marching would not.
Now, she wondered if there was some special reason Mama wanted her to meet back there after all these years.
Traffic slowed as Aubrey continued up Brickell Avenue. In the distance, she could see flashing red-and-blue lights. The Circle was on the Miami River, a few blocks north of Jonathan’s building, so she would have to pass the crime scene. As she got nearer, she could see the crowd that had amassed near the news vans and emergency vehicles, probably gawking at Jonathan’s broken body.
She glanced up at the looming building. She wondered what Jonathan’s last thoughts had been as he flew through the air. Whether he had seen the person who pushed him. If he had been pushed.
Part of her wanted to pull over and say good-bye to this man who had loved her mother. Whom she was certain her mother had loved. But Smolleck was probably there. If he saw Aubrey, he would very likely send someone to follow her when she left, and she didn’t want to risk that.
She continued on toward the Circle, praying that when she saw her mother face-to-face, the doubts that were continuing to multiply in her head would miraculously evaporate.
CHAPTER 31
Her mother stood facing the narrow river at the edge of the Miami Circle. She wore a white blouse and jeans, and her dark hair flapped in the breeze. The torn-up construction site of Aubrey’s childhood was now a small park at the base of a brand-new condominium tower.
She turned when Aubrey was a few feet away, as though sensing her presence. Despite the dark glasses, Aubrey could read the agony in her down-turned mouth and collapsed cheeks.
This was her mother, yet she no longer knew this woman.
Without speaking, they went over to one of the benches carved from rock that surrounded the ancient circle, which had been buried beneath plants and mulch.
“Jonathan’s dead.” Mama’s voice was flat.
Aubrey took in a sharp breath. Did she know this, or was she seeking confirmation from her? Innocent, she told herself. Her mother was innocent. “Yes, he’s dead.”
Her mother nodded. Tears ran down her cheeks from behind her sunglasses. “I loved him very much.” She reached into her bag and took out a tissue. “What do the police think happened?”
Why was she framing the question this way, as though she knew what had happened? Innocent. Her mother was innocent. “Smolleck said he may have jumped or been pushed. I don’t know anything more.”
“He didn’t jump,” her mother said. “Jonathan had everything to live for.”
“Yes, he did.” This was the man her mother had loved. Aubrey still believed that. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
Her mother reached over and ran her hand over Aubrey’s cheek, touching her as lightly as a silk scarf. “I’m sorry, too.”
Aubrey tensed. “About what?”
“Who knows how much of this was my fault? Ethan. Jonathan.”
Aubrey felt sick. “Why do you think any of this is your fault?”
Her mother stared down at the shrubs that covered the circle.
“Where were you, Mama? You told me you were going to his apartment.”
Her mother took her sunglasses off and wiped her eyes with the tissue. “I did go, but then I left. I needed some time alone, so I decided to walk home.”
“Did you and Jonathan have an argument?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“Because that’s the most logical explanation for you to have left and walked home.”
“I told you I wanted to be alone.”
“What did you argue about?”
“Are you listening to me? I told you I wanted to be alone.”
Her mother sounded unhinged. Aubrey softened her voice. “Why did you turn your phone off?”
Mama looked confused. “It’s not off. The battery’s dead. I borrowed someone’s phone to call you.”
Should she ask to see her phone? But if it had been turned off, Aubrey would know she was lying.
Then she would have to accept that her mother was a murderer.
“Aubrey.” Her mother’s voice jolted her. “Look at me.”
She met her mother’s intense gaze. There was a resolve that hadn’t been there a moment before.
“I didn’t push Jonathan off that balcony.”
Aubrey felt light-headed, but it was because she had stopped breathing. She wanted so much to believe her. She filled her lungs with river air, which carried the faint scent of gasoline. “Smolleck thinks you did.”
“Why would he think that?”
“I told him about the note. He knows about the ultimatum to kill Jonathan and save Ethan.”