“Anyone else?”
“Gertrude saw the boy riding his tricycle.” Her mother frowned. “Maybe someone else was in the brownstone and saw the child from a window.”
Mama was doing something liars frequently did—making up things as they went along—but Aubrey couldn’t tell whether her mother was trying to come up with a cover story or if she was genuinely searching for an explanation. She decided to see where this was going.
“Everyone in the brownstone died in the explosion,” Aubrey said, “except Linda Wilsen, and the FBI confirmed she died in 1980.”
“Linda’s dead?”
“According to Smolleck,” Aubrey said. “Who else knew about the tricycle?”
Mama rubbed the finger where she once wore her wedding ring. “I told your father about the little boy.”
“Dad knew?” That meant her father was the only one alive from Stormdrain who knew everything. Aubrey felt sick. Mama had been leading her on. In a distorted way, her mother may have started seeing her onetime co-conspirator as an enemy. “Is that why you tried to kill him?”
Her mother’s eyes grew large. “What are you talking about? Did something happen to your father?”
Was this an act, too?
Her mother grabbed Aubrey’s wrist. “What happened to your father?”
Aubrey was torn, uncertain whether she was dealing with a pathological liar or a victim of a terrible scam. “He was hit by a car,” she said, watching her mother’s reaction. “He may not survive.”
Her mother brought her hands to her face. “How did it happen?”
“Hit-and-run.”
“Did they see the driver?”
“Yes. She looked like you, Mama.”
“Like me?” She blinked, and Aubrey could see the confusion turn to recognition. “I see.” Her mother ran her tongue over her lips. “That’s why you’ve been so distant. You think I’ve done all these horrible things.”
Aubrey glanced at the statue of the mother with her two dead children. The inscription talked about shattered dreams and ideals. “I don’t want to believe it.”
“Tell me all the evidence they have against me.”
If only Mama could persuade her she was telling the truth. “Someone who looked like you was seen at Jonathan’s building shortly before he died,” Aubrey said. “She drove away in his car after he fell from the balcony. The car that hit Dad was the same make and model. The driver also looked like you.”
Her mother frowned. “Someone is posing as me, making it look like I’ve gone crazy.”
Aubrey studied her mother as a thin ray of moonlight broke through the clouds. Crow’s-feet around her dark eyes. A few silver hairs at her temples. Lips that she sometimes pressed against Aubrey’s forehead for no special reason.
“Who hates you that much?” Aubrey asked.
Her mother got a faraway look. “Gertrude did.”
“But she died in the explosion. They found a piece of her finger, hair, clothes, her glasses.” Aubrey stopped. No vital organs. Nothing that meant she was unquestionably dead. “What if Gertrude escaped from the brownstone? What if she’s still alive?”
“Gertrude. Alive.” The words came out softly, as though her mother were testing them out.
“Did Gertrude know Jonathan at Columbia?” Aubrey asked. “Did she have a reason to kill him and try to kill Dad?”
“She had once been in love with both of them.”
The pieces were starting to fall into place. “But they loved you more?”
“I believe they did,” her mother said.
Was that enough to connect the ghost of Gertrude to Jonathan’s murder, the attempt on Dad’s life, and Ethan’s disappearance?
Aubrey considered the theory she had shared with Smolleck. She had been certain Star was involved, but she had thought Linda Wilsen was posing as Star, seeking to take revenge against Aubrey’s parents for her ruined body. But Gertrude may have had an even stronger motive to destroy Aubrey’s mother and father.
Was Star Matin really Gertrude Morgenstern?
Had Gertrude reinvented herself as a southern belle through surgery and a new veneer, or was Aubrey trying too hard to make the pieces fit?
She looked up at the black space between several shifting clouds. In the darkness, she could see a tiny glimmer. Star had arranged for the babysitter, disappeared around the time of Jonathan’s murder, and had an unsubstantiated alibi when Aubrey’s dad was hit by a car. All that was missing was motive, unless Star was Gertrude, then everything made sense. But other than a theory, there was no way to tie them together.
The star grew brighter.
And then it hit her. Of course Star was Gertrude.
Impostors often left a telltale sign of their true identities. On some level they either wanted to be caught or at least have someone acknowledge the cleverness of their deception. Star Matin was no exception. Her name was the giveaway.
Aubrey felt a powerful wave of relief. Mama was not a murderer. She had been telling the truth.
Then her heart dropped.
Because she knew where Ethan was and what Star was capable of doing to him.
CHAPTER 43
As they hurried to the car, Aubrey explained to her mother what she had only just put together. She asked her to drive so she could call Smolleck. They weren’t going to be stupid and try to confront a murderer by themselves.
“Where the hell are you going?” Smolleck asked.
“To the time-share where my father and Star are staying,” she said. “Ethan’s probably there.”
“Your mother confessed to taking him?”