Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead(Finlay Donovan #2)(46)

“And used Steven’s credit card to pay for it,” Vero added, “so you could pin the murder on your fiancé if the police ever found Carl’s remains.”

Theresa turned away.

Vero was right. Steven’s future interest in the farm could be seen as a motive for killing Carl. He was the perfect patsy.

“Wow,” I said, unsure if I was disgusted or impressed. “That’s real love and commitment for you.”

“I was scared! They killed a man in front of me. I didn’t know what to do!”

“So you found the answer in Feliks Zhirov’s wallet?”

“More like in his pants,” Vero muttered.

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” I said. “If Andrei slit Carl’s throat and they left you to clean up the body, then how did Carl end up in all these pieces?” Theresa winced. “Oh, god. You didn’t…”

Vero blanched. “So glad I skipped lunch.”

“What did you expect me to do, Finlay! They’d left me alone in a house with a corpse! Have you ever tried to lift a dead body?”

“All it would have taken was some table linens and a skateboard,” Vero said under her breath. I shot her a look.

“I couldn’t leave him there! Someone would have found him and called the police. And he was so heavy!” Theresa’s confession spilled out of her as if a dam had broken. “I couldn’t carry him to my car. Not in one piece.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police about this when Feliks was arrested?” I asked. “You could have told them Andrei and Feliks killed Carl when you gave your statement. Feliks is behind bars. He isn’t a threat anymore.” And one more count of murder, with an eyewitness to testify, would have made the DA’s case against Feliks airtight.

Theresa laughed. “You’re kidding, right? This is Feliks Zhirov we’re talking about. He won’t serve a day of prison time. If his lawyer doesn’t get the case kicked out for some stupid technicality, Feliks will find his own way out, and when he does, I have no doubt he will personally take down anyone who had a hand in his arrest. I told the police I had no idea there had been any bodies at the farm, and that was the truth. I never accused Feliks of murdering anyone, and I don’t plan to start now. He would only come after us.” Theresa’s cheeks flushed a guilty shade of red.

“Us?” I asked. Theresa had never cared about my well-being before. And she certainly had no reason to care about Vero’s. Why start now?

Unless we weren’t the us she was worried about.

“How’d you get the freezer to West Virginia?” I asked. The trunk of her sporty BMW was far too small to hold such a large appliance.

She raised her chin defiantly. “Steven’s farm truck.”

“Steven’s farm truck has restricted license plates. It’s not registered to drive on the highway. You could have been pulled over and searched.” Theresa would have been a fool to take that kind of risk with a dismembered corpse in the open bed of the truck. That freezer had been nearly four feet long. Even empty, it must have weighed over a hundred pounds. “Who helped you move it?” I demanded.

Theresa’s watery green eyes leapt between Vero and me. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same for each other. That if she asked you, you wouldn’t do something like this for her?”

My breath caught as Theresa’s meaning became clear. She was talking about me and Vero. About our friendship. About the crazy things we would do for each other. She had no idea how right she was.

“Aimee?” I whispered.

“Please don’t turn her in,” Theresa begged. “She was only trying to help! I called her from Carl’s house. I didn’t know what else to do. It was Aimee’s idea to put him in the freezer. She said she knew where to take Carl. How to make him disappear.”

My heart lurched. Vero’s nails dug into my arm.

Theresa reached for me, tripping over the trash bags as I bolted for the door. “Where are you going?” she cried. “You can’t leave! You can’t leave him here! You can’t—”

I didn’t even think about the body as Vero and I sprinted to her car.





CHAPTER 21


I was out of the Charger before Vero put it in park, my mind too scrambled to think as I unlocked my front door. What if my sister had been chopped into tiny pieces? What if my children were gone? What if they were all stuffed into shiny black trash bags in the back of Aimee’s car?

I threw open the door to a rush of warm air and the smell of burnt popcorn. The living room was dark, the TV left on, the closing credits of a movie scrolling down the screen.

I burst into the kitchen. The microwave door had been left ajar. A burned bag of singed, cold popcorn had been abandoned in the sink.

“Georgia!” I called out. No one answered.

“Finlay?” Vero’s voice was low and choked. She stood in front of the pantry, pointing at a trail of red droplets on the floor.

I followed them from the pantry to the stairwell, gasping when they led to a bright red smear on the wall. The stain was the size and shape of a tiny hand, traveling up the stairwell the same way Delia’s and Zach’s handprints did after they’d eaten something sticky or trailed in dirt from the playground. “No!” I surged up the stairs with Vero on my heels. My sister’s voice carried from the end of the hall, and I chased the sound of it into my bedroom.