SOMETIMES, WHEN I’D BE sitting on the couch, Candy would just come up and put her arms around my neck, call me “sissy”—short for sister. She would hang on me and play with my hair, saying, “You’re so pretty, Libby.” I knew it wasn’t real, that Ma was teaching her, just like she taught me, how to use what you’ve got to get what you want. If you’re pretty, use that face. If you’re curvy, use that body. If all you have is charm, then smile and let ’em have it.
Candy would usually follow up with a request: Do you have any gum? or Can I watch TV now? Can I stay up late with you and Ma? It was never a hug just because. It was never love.
When I woke up in the children’s shelter that morning, and the Morris family came into the room, it was like a whole different feeling. Love, everywhere. I felt it, when Mom wrapped her arms around me, in the tears on Dad’s face. Love, unconditional. Family love, the real kind. It felt so good, I wanted to jump up and yell. I wanted everyone to know that I, Liberty Helms, had a family, finally, a real family of my own, people who loved me. But they didn’t love me, they loved Sarah, the missing girl. Or did they?
Nico stood in the doorway that day, stiff but obviously so fragile—she was as broken as I was. I knew it would take some work to win her over. Kill ’em with kindness, Ma always said. But it wasn’t so easy. It became clear pretty fast that Sarah and Nico had not been super-close sisters. Then I realized it was more—how she flinched when I sat next to her. She was scared to even come into my room. Sarah had hurt her, physically and emotionally. She hated Sarah, or she had.
She wasn’t the only one. I saw it in Paula’s eyes, challenging me. The way Mom and Dad reacted to the most simple kindness, like it was a gift, a revelation. Sarah had not been a nice person. She was more than a bitch, she was downright terrible. And it was my job to clean up her mess if I wanted this family to be mine.
Max was a lost cause: he wanted the cold blond beauty he had worked so hard to win over, the most popular girl at school, and I wasn’t her. So, after breaking Paula’s heart, he moved on. Paula’s friendship with Sarah had been based on competition, and if I wasn’t playing, what was the point? So I started with Nico and worked my way up. Funny thing was, once I got to know Nico, I really did like her. It wasn’t pretend. Sweet, damaged kid. Why had Sarah tortured her? I’d never know now, because Sarah was dead. And Nico—innocent Nico—had watched her die.
CHAPTER 28
“SARAH HAS A TATTOO,” I blurted out fast. “She did it herself, right before she went missing.”
“What?” Mom said, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide.
Sarah looked over at me. I was probably the only one who noticed her tiny smile, the squint to her eyes. “Nico, how could you tell everyone? You promised,” she said.
“Sorry, Sarah,” I said quickly, watching as Detective Donally paged through his folder.
“I remember something . . .” he murmured, looking for a sheet of paper. “Your boyfriend also knew about this,” he said. “Max?”
“Ex-boyfriend, but, yes, of course he knew, it’s his initials,” Sarah said, looking down and blushing a bit.
“Oh my goodness,” I heard Mom say quietly.
Detective Donally pulled a sheet of paper from the folder, saying: “Max did tell us about the small tattoo when we were originally investigating the case. He offered it up as evidence of their affection for each other. I believe, it says here”—he turned the sheet of paper over and read—“not only do you have a tattoo, but he has a matching one, of your initials, on the right hip?”
Sarah stood and pulled down the side of her shorts, showing at the hip, right where her bone curved beneath the skin, the tiny letters in black: an interlocked M and V.
Mom glanced at Sarah’s skin and let out a sigh. I couldn’t tell if she was thrilled or horrified. “What on earth were you thinking?” she said to Sarah. She shook her head, then turned to the detective. “And if this was in your records of the investigation from years ago, why is it the first we’re hearing about it?”
“I’m sorry,” the detective started to say. “I didn’t see the point in sharing anything hurtful about your missing daughter. Max made it clear that it was a secret they had. . . . Honestly, I kept it in the file in the hopes that we could use it for, well”—he paused for a moment—“for body identification.”