“What about the library?” Gertrude asked.
“We didn’t tell the FBI about that,” Di said. “If they knew that any of us intended to kill, they’d have never agreed to immunity.”
“Then it’s over,” Gertrude said. “It’s all been for nothing.”
“We’ve done what we could.”
Gertrude stared at her, eyes throbbing like ancient stars before they explode. “Done what we could? They’ll never remember. They’ll never learn.”
“It’s our chance to start over.”
“Whose chance?” Gertrude’s voice was flat. She glanced down the street toward the boy on the red tricycle, then slammed the door.
Di’s heart was beating too fast, as though her body sensed some danger that hadn’t yet reached her brain. She turned from the door and watched the little boy pedal around and around, wondering whether she had done the right thing. She should have known Gertrude wouldn’t take the news well. Maybe she should have told the FBI about Gertrude and the plan to blow up the library, no matter what Larry had said. Her roommate was unpredictable. In Gertrude’s mind, there was no victory unless someone died.
Di glanced back at the weathered front door. It was too late now. She couldn’t change what was done.
She went down the stoop past the little boy on his tricycle. He squeezed the little bulb horn, honked twice, then waved.
Di waved back and kept walking.
Diana shook her head, trying to clear it, but she couldn’t erase the guilt.
Aubrey was as stiff as one of the statues, as she waited for her to continue.
“Gertrude was furious about the FBI deal,” Diana said. “I never should have left her in that state, but I walked away.”
“You did what you could, Mama.”
Did I? I walked away.
“I was only a short distance from the brownstone when I was shaken by a blast. It was like a sudden thunderclap. Then a tidal wave of air flattened me against the sidewalk, and everything went black.”
She blinked hard, clearing her vision. “I don’t know how long I was out. Seconds, maybe longer. When I came to, something in my brain clicked. I needed to save my friends. I pulled myself up and ran back to the building.”
She was breathing hard, running. Running with her feet mired in mud.
Aubrey touched her hand.
“That’s when I saw the little boy who’d been riding the tricycle. He was lying on the sidewalk. Bleeding. I went to him. There was another blast. Something hit my head. I couldn’t hear anything but ringing.”
She could hear it now—that high-pitched squeal that erased all other sounds.
“I don’t know how, but I picked up the little boy and carried him away.”
The hellish, copper-green hand seemed to be emerging from the pond, the light playing on each of the tormented souls.
My fault. It was my fault.
“I couldn’t save him,” Diana whispered. “Or the others.”
CHAPTER 42
Shadows from the sculptures and trees surrounded them. There was an unnatural lightness in the sky as the moon tried to push through the clouds.
“Do you believe Gertrude blew up the brownstone?” Aubrey asked.
Her mother didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the tortured bronze hand in the pond.
“It wasn’t your fault, Mama. You did the right thing. If you hadn’t gone to the FBI, Gertrude or the others in the brownstone might have done much more damage. They might have blown up the library. Think how many more people may have died.”
“Your father used to say that, but I could never forgive myself for my friends’ deaths or that innocent child’s.”
The story explained a great deal, but not everything. Not enough to persuade Aubrey that her mother wasn’t responsible for Jonathan’s death and the attempt on her father’s life.
“Mama,” she said as gently as she could, “you’ve been through a lot of very terrible things. I’m sorry you’ve had to keep this inside all these years. But it’s time to let the past go. Please, tell me, do you know who took Ethan?”
In the dim light, she could see disappointment in her mother’s face. “Oh, Aubrey, do you really believe I wouldn’t have gone straight to the police if I had some idea of who had him?”
Her mother sounded genuine, and her slumped body reflected grief, but Aubrey recognized she wanted so much to believe her mother that she could no longer read her accurately.
Aubrey sat up straighter. She had to distance herself and get to the truth. She had to find Ethan. “I think you know things you aren’t telling me. That you’re protecting someone or something.”
“And put Ethan’s life at risk?” her mother said. “Don’t you know me, Aubrey?”
No, Mama. I don’t. “Tell me everything that could have led to someone kidnapping Ethan.”
Her mother stared at her tight, interlocked fingers. “I don’t know who took him. I only know it’s someone from Stormdrain.”
“Why?” It had been the question Aubrey had been unable to answer.
“Someone may have seen your father and me as traitors or blamed us for the brownstone explosion and the deaths of Gertrude, Michael, and Gary.”
“Why would they blame you? Didn’t Dad tell your friends at the bar about the deal you made with the FBI to get immunity for everyone?”
Her mother shook her head. “They weren’t at the bar when he got there. Then, once the brownstone blew up, the FBI withdrew the deal. There was too much public outrage to let any of the other Stormdrain members go free.”
“So that’s why they all went into hiding.” Aubrey thought for a moment. “I can see someone from Stormdrain resenting you and Dad for getting off, but it’s just a theory. There’s no proof.”
“The greeting card is proof.”
“How?”
“Because whoever left it wrote my college nickname on the envelope and knew the little boy outside the brownstone rode a red tricycle.”
“Who knew about the tricycle?”
“The police and FBI. I told them what happened.”