If Tim Healy was doing something nefarious, Aubrey wanted to know. Tim hadn’t spotted her. Aubrey waited for a couple of minutes before following him in, so it would look like a coincidence.
The inside of Shecky’s hadn’t changed in decades. It still had the long counter with the stools that turned, and the stainless-steel backsplash with the pies rotating in glass cases. The smell of the place—a combination of overly sweet pie, burnt grease, and undergraduate sweat—never failed to bring back memories of freshman year, when she’d spent so much time here. The all-nighters before exams, the plates of home fries after a frat party to ward off a hangover. And of course, the day that Lucas Arsenault died. None of them had come to Shecky’s much after that.
The place was packed at three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon with Carlisle kids laughing it up. Go ahead, be happy while it lasts, you’ll learn the hard way, she thought. Tim sat at the counter, next to a girl in skinny jeans with a long ponytail who was giggling and sipping a soda. As Aubrey watched, the waitress placed two vanilla milkshakes on the counter in front of them. Well, well. Tim Healy, buying a young girl a milkshake, who’d’ve thought. Men were beasts.
The stool on Tim’s other side was empty. Aubrey slipped into it.
“Hey, Tim. Fancy meeting you here,” she said.
“Aubrey. Hi.”
She wished she had her phone out to capture the look on his face. He literally blushed. Caught in the act for sure.
“Is this your friend?” she asked, nodding toward Miss Ponytail.
Tim looked confused. “What?”
Aubrey realized that the girl with the ponytail was actually talking to the guy on her other side, who looked about eighteen and wore a Carlisle Rugby T-shirt.
“Um, I was wondering why you have two milkshakes,” Aubrey said.
“It’s something I like to do on Lucas’s birthday,” he said sheepishly. “Years ago, when I used to work here, before I had a car of my own, Lucas would pick me up at the end of my shift and give me a ride home. I’d always spot him a vanilla milkshake for the trouble. It was kind of a ritual for us. So every year on his birthday, I order two and I drink one. The other is for his memory.”
“Today is your cousin Lucas’s birthday?” she asked.
“He would’ve been forty,” Tim said. “I can’t wrap my head around that. To me, he’s forever young, like the day he died. It was right here, you know, right at this counter that I talked to him last. From what I remember, anyway. I miss him every day.”
Tim stared across at his reflection in the backsplash, and Aubrey had the distinct impression that he was visualizing Lucas sitting beside him. And there it was, the moment of insight she’d been waiting for: Tim Healy was hung up on his dead cousin. He’d never recovered from Lucas’s death. The night at the bridge was real to him still, always playing in the background the way Ethan and Kate’s affair did for her. Aubrey realized in that moment that Tim wanted Kate dead as much as she did. Or, if he didn’t, it was only because he didn’t know the truth about Lucas’s death, and she could fix that. Tim was the sort of person who might actually do something about it, too. He had anger-management issues. Jenny blamed it on the severe concussion he’d suffered years ago trying to save Lucas’s life, and swore he was gentle as a lamb with her and the boys. That was probably a lie. There had been rumors of incidents over the years—a fistfight on a jobsite, a confrontation over a parking space at the Walmart outside town where a security guard had to intervene. Tim had actually been ordered to court-mandated counseling over that one. The anger was there. All Aubrey had to do was figure out how to channel it, and maybe she could finally get her revenge without taking the risk.
She glanced around the crowded room. The place was jammed to the gills, the volume deafening. Nobody would overhear what she was about to say. She leaned toward Tim.
“I remember Lucas, too. How could I forget? I was there that night. I witnessed his death. I’ve always felt that justice was never done.”
Tim’s eyes flew to her face. “What do you mean?” he asked, and she saw him hold his breath as he waited for her to answer. She had him now.
“Hasn’t Jenny told you the truth?” Aubrey asked innocently, remembering very well Jenny’s confession that she hadn’t.
“The truth?”
She lowered her voice an octave. “Didn’t she tell you that Kate pushed Lucas off the bridge? That we both saw it, and lied about it to the police because Mr. Eastman pressured us to?”
“No.” He went limp, leaning heavily against the counter. “That’s what I always suspected, but Jenny swore he jumped. So did you, Aubrey. You’re telling me you’ve both been lying all these years?”
She touched his arm. “Oh, Tim, I’m sorry. I never would’ve said anything, except I thought you knew. You were standing right next to me that night. You saw everything.”
“The concussion wiped out my memory. You knew that.”
“Somehow I thought you got it back.”
“No. I can’t remember a thing after Jenny and I left the parking lot. It’s like the rest of that night never happened.”
“And your wife didn’t set you straight? But what am I saying, Jenny’s not the bad guy here. Kate is. Don’t get me started on Kate Eastman.”
“What did she do, Aubrey? Please, I’m begging you. Tell me,” he said.
“Well, to put it plainly, when Lucas tried to break up with her, she pushed him off the bridge,” Aubrey said.
“I knew it. I always knew in my heart that it was her. That bitch,” Tim said, then caught himself. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You have a right to be angry. If Lucas was my cousin, I swear, I’d kill Kate for what she did.”
“Tell me exactly how it happened,” Tim said, clenching and unclenching his fists. The rage gathering on his face was just what she hoped for.
“Lucas told Kate it was over, and she started screaming like a banshee, and pounding him with her fists. He was walking backwards to get away from her, and she pushed him right through that gap in the bridge. Trust me, it was no accident. She knew the hole was there. Jenny and I were in complete shock. I think that must be why, when Mr. Eastman showed up, he could manipulate us so easily. We were both traumatized. I still am, to this day. I bet Jenny is, too, and that’s why she could never bring herself to talk to you about it. But Kate? Didn’t bat an eyelash. I’ve never once heard her say she’s sorry. You’d think she’d feel at least a little guilty. But no. She kills a man, and flies off to Europe like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Life is sweet when Daddy’s there to clean up the mess.”
“It’s so unfair,” Tim said. “He’s dead and she got away with it. Not only got away with it, but lived like a queen off Griff Rothenberg’s money.”