“I hope you’ve been being careful,” she warns. She actually wags her finger at me as she bags the meds. “Right about now I’m very grateful we put Kayla in karate. Denise insists on dance still, bless her. These silly girls don’t know what danger is.”
Ashley grips the receipt Deb hands to her. No doubt thinking of Lauren, home alone with Mrs. Lao watching her. “Thanks, Deb. You take care.”
“I heard they got some detective from the state bureau of investigation,” Deb says. “Someone with actual experience.”
“Well, the sheriff is doing his best.” Ashley gives a tight smile. The Midwest way of saying, Please shut the fuck up now.
“You know, I wonder if they want him off the case because of his connection.” Deb looks over her shoulder, which is hilarious considering the store is literally empty except for Tyrell. “Everyone is saying the Grosso boy is involved.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise.” Ashley hikes the strap of her purse up higher on her shoulder. The Grossos may not be the most well respected in Broken Falls, but it’s better to be feared than loved. No one wants to mess with them and have to drive forty minutes to the Walmart outside Pleasant Plains for ammunition. Most people who go in their stores do it with their heads down. Too afraid of looking at Jim Grosso the wrong way and getting a bullet in the ass like that boy did.
Perfect reason for the people who might have seen Jim Grosso at the Tap Room Saturday night not to come forward and say so.
“Well, sleep well.” Deb gestures to the plastic bag with the NyQuil—I’d grabbed it unconsciously.
“Oh, those are for Lauren,” Ashley says. “You take care, Deb.”
“Oh! You know, your son has a prescription here waiting,” Deb says. “Did you want to pick that up now?”
I freeze. Ashley says sure, gets out her wallet again. Completely unaware of what Andrew told me the other day: that he picked up his medication Sunday morning.
—
Ashley drops me off at home so I can wind down while she goes to the Costco in Pleasant Plains to get the boxes for the hundred lunches we’re making tomorrow, to donate to the volunteer search.
Andrew is in the dining room when I get home, his physics textbook cracked open in front of him, an empty pickle jar off to the side. It sends a jolt of calm through me, a brief reprieve from how rattled I am after that interview with Detective Burke.
And then I remember the bag of meds in my hand. The ones he lied about picking up the other morning.
I sink into the chair across from him. He looks up. Shakes hair out of his eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I set the prescription bag in front of him. “Your mom and I picked these up for you.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
A beat of quiet as Andrew finishes up the problem he’s working on—math, physics, it all looks the same to me. I swallow. “I thought you said you picked up your prescription on Sunday morning?”
“I guess I had another one waiting.”
I study the top of his head. Can’t tell if he’s purposely not looking at me. He could very well be telling the truth, but there’s still a question mark that pings in my brain when I think of those fresh tire tracks Sunday morning.
I’m being paranoid. I’m just frazzled from the interview at the sheriff’s station. As I open my mouth to tell Andrew about it, a familiar, husky voice floats down the hall. I stare at Andrew: “Chloe Strauss is here?”
Andrew rolls his eyes. “She just showed up. I kinda wanted to tell her to leave.”
I unwind the scarf from my neck. “You’re too nice to tell her to leave.”
Luckily, I’m not. I follow the chattering into the den where Lauren and Chloe are watching TV. The sight sends a shock of annoyance through me. They’re only thirteen, they’re not even Bailey’s friends, but seeing them chatter casually over Say Yes to the Dress is too much right now.
“Hey, Laur,” I snap. “Don’t you have chores to do before your mom gets home?”
Lauren looks at me blankly; Chloe inspires that held-hostage look in her eyes. “I did them.”
Chloe mutes the TV. “I heard you’re the one who found the blood in the Leeds Barn.”
My heartbeat stalls. “How did you hear about that? It wasn’t on the news.”
Chloe shrugs. “My dad heard. He says Bailey’s dead.”
“It’s stupid of him to spread rumors.” I think of all the things people are saying about Bailey—that she OD’d on drugs, that she killed herself. What the hell do they know? “Bailey could still be alive.”
Chloe lifts her chin. “She’s not. I know what happened to her.”
Lauren’s shoulders tense up. I stare back at Chloe. She even looks like a little rat: pointy nose, mousy blond hair with a gray sheen to it. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You guys made the Red Woman angry,” Chloe says. “When you summoned her spirit to the barn. She killed Bailey for revenge.”
In a split second I have Chloe’s arm in my grasp, yanking her off the floor. She’s yelling, and Lauren is yelling, and Andrew runs into the den. “Kacey! What is wrong with you?”
“There’s something wrong with her.” The feel of my nails digging crescent moons into Chloe’s skin is satisfying.
“Let go of her,” Lauren pleads over Chloe’s yelping.
I let go of Chloe. She falls back to the carpet, her eyes saucers. My voice comes out in a tremble: “She shouldn’t be here. She’s a lying little psychopath.”
Chloe lets out a low whine: “I didn’t even do anything—”
“Jesus.” Andrew runs a hand through his hair. “Chloe, c’mon. I’ll walk you home.”
Chloe stands up, sidestepping me like a cowering puppy. When they reach the hall, I hear Andrew admonish her: “You can’t just show up here without calling first. It’s rude.”
I’m shaking, Andrew’s words zipping around in my head. What is wrong with you? Lauren sits on the floor, shrinking into herself. Her eyes are on the door, but she doesn’t move to get up.
“Laur—”
“Just go away, Kacey. You mess up everything.”
I turn and cross the hall to my room without looking back at her. If I do, she’ll see how much what she just said wrecked me.
—
Lauren hates me. I hurt her friend—the only friend she thinks she has left—so she must hate me. Chloe isn’t going to want to come back here now. Maybe Chloe will even tell all the kids at school that Lauren Markham’s stepsister is a psycho who tried to hurt her.
I never wanted siblings. My mom had always been so inaccessible, so erratic with her affection, that I couldn’t imagine having to share her with someone else.
When the social worker told me that my father had a daughter and a stepson who lived with him, I thought I would be sick. They’d hate me, I was sure of it—I imagined being relegated to an extra bed in the attic. Real-life Cinderella shit.
So I tried to avoid everyone. But Andrew wouldn’t let things be.
It was a Saturday morning when he came into the living room where I was watching Animal Planet. I turned it off, like I’d been caught watching porn—even though Ashley told me to treat the house as my own.
“Are you doing anything this morning?” Andrew asked.