The Final Victim(66)

"First tiling this morning. I had to fly in from N'Awlins, where I live."

It takes a moment for Lianna to decipher that-at least, most of it.

"From where?" she asks.

"N'Awlins."

"New Orleans," Mom clarifies with a laugh. "And you must be exhausted, Aimee. I know you didn't sleep any more than I did last night, and you spent the whole day with me at the hospital."

Lianna looks at the newcomer, further resenting her. Not just for the obvious closeness between the two of them after a day spent together, and a shared tragedy.

But also for her looks. Aimee is as beautiful as Mom is, with same kind of long, thick hair-except hers is golden-and the same perfect figure.

Lianna is conscious that her own hair is matted to her head-thanks to Mom and her sloppy tears-and that she's still wearing the ratty T-shirt she threw on when she found out Dad wouldn't be coming. Her beautiful sundress lies in a heap somewhere on the floor at the foot of her bed.

But Mom didn't say anything about that, or about the general mess in the room she told Lianna to clean yesterday.

Naturally, Lianna forgot about that until just now.

"Aimee is a nurse," Mom informs Lianna, as if that matters in the least.

"I started out as a hairdresser," Aimee says wryly, "but then I got caught up in an awful hurricane, and I realized what really matters. So now I can save people's lives, instead of just fixing their hair."

Lianna's hand goes instinctively to her own head, even as she notices that Mom is looking at Aimee though she's some kind of superhero.

"Have you eaten dinner, Lianna?" Mom asks, patting her hand, then her head, like she's a very young child or a cute pet. Or maybe she's just trying to fix Lianna’s hair without Aimee noticing.

"No," she says glumly.

I haven't eaten lunch, either.

She thinks longingly of her father.

Daddy, I wish you were here.

I wish you were here, and this Aimee person wasn't.

"I'm going to ask Nydia if she can make something for the three of us while I go take a shower and g cleaned up," Mom says, getting up off the bed.

The three of us ?

Does she have to eat with them, too?

"I'm really not hungry," Lianna says, folding h arms across her chest.

"I'm not either, but we have to eat," Mom tells he "And you can get to know Aimee. You always said you wanted a sister."

"I never said that."

Mom gives her a look that says don't be rude. Now she looks more like her usual self-the self she's been lately, anyway.

Lianna feels more like her usual self when she insists, feeling ornery, "Well, I didn't."

"You did. Maybe you don't remember." Mom laughs the nervous laugh she does whenever Lianna is embarrassing her in front of someone. "When you were little, it's all you used to talk about. You wanted me and your father to have another baby, a girl, so that you could have a sister."

"I don't remember that."

No, all I remember is wanting my big brother back.

Lianna looks away, toward the collection of antique dolls that line a bookshelf, and blinks annoying tears out of eyes.

But her mother is reaching out to touch her chin, forcing her to turn her head back.

"What?" she asks, humiliated to be caught crying, especially in front of an outsider.

To her credit, Aimee has drifted closer to the door again, and seems to be caught up in examining the fringed shade of an old lamp.

"Come on downstairs for dinner," her mother says in that kind tone again. "I want to spend some time with you. I've missed you all day."

I've missed you, too, Lianna thinks sadly. And for a whole lot longer than just a day.

The police station is bustling on this summer Sunday evening.

Mimi waits to speak to the jolly-looking desk sergeant, meanwhile nibbling her lower lip so fiercely she tastes blood.

Finally, it's her turn. She gives her name, feeling as though she's going to faint any second.

"How can we help you, Mrs. Johnston?"

"I need to speak to, um, somebody. About a case."

"About a report you filed?"

"No…"

He waits. Beneath brows raised in obvious question, his eyes are kind.

Nonetheless, she's paralyzed with fear, barely able to draw a breath.

This is it.

If she reveals anything to the police, she'll officially be involved. She doesn't need this complication in her life. Not right now.

But what else can she do?

Run out of here?

What if the sergeant comes after her, demanding that she talk?

Come on. That won't happen.

He doesn't even know which case I mean.

All right, so she can probably get away, if she flees the station right now, and nobody will ever be the wiser.

But how will she be able to live with herself?

You won't.

Besides, don't you remember what he did to you?

Don't you remember that day in the dormitory at Tellfair Academy?

Yes.

She remembers.

Sorry, Gib, she thinks now, steeling her nerve, payback can be a real bitch…

And so can I.

She leans toward the officer and confides, "I have some information about the shooting last night on Oglethorpe Avenue."