Like a Sister(94)

Naut’s expression was blank, then he smiled. It wasn’t sadistic like the guy in that Jack Nicholson movie. It was one of relief.

“That’s me.” For once, he sat up straight, shoulders raised like a literal weight had been lifted.

But the weight had just transferred to me. I let my phone fall to my lap and used the suddenly free hand to rub my wrist. “Driving Desiree’s car the night of her DUI?” I wanted to make it clear for the recording.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because my dad wasn’t Mel Pierce.” His voice was soft, but I heard him loud and clear. His eyes were on the counter like it was some reverse crystal ball that let you look at the past. “Desiree passed out as soon as she got in the car. Barely woke up when we had the accident. I got out. No one was there. So I just kept going. Didn’t look back. I didn’t sleep at all that night, expecting the police to come pounding on my door. They never did. And then the news reported she had been driving.”

“When did she find out?” I said.

“She always knew I’d been driving. Don’t know why she never said anything.”

“About Kevin House.”

And just like that, the weight was back. “That’s his name, huh?”

It figured he’d never bothered to find out. “He had a daughter,” I said.

“Kevin House with a daughter.” He said it slowly, as if wanting to hear every word even though he was the one talking. “I don’t know who told her about the hit-and-run, but she only found out a few weeks ago. She was pissed. Demanded money.”

Erin finally said something. “When did you decide?”

“To pay her? Right away.”

“To kill her,” I said.

He jolted back to the here and now. “You can’t be serious.”

He looked at me, then Erin, and back again. Going back and forth between us like a tennis match. When he realized neither of us was going to correct him, he spoke again. “I loved her.”

Everyone loved Desiree. Erin. Mel. Naut. But that love hadn’t stopped them from lying to her, using her, doing worse. “People hurt people they love all the time,” I said.

“Not me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You only kill strangers?” It was cold, but it should have been. Two people were dead because of him, and he was backstage at the Apollo.

“I had a gig.”

“You or your assistant?”

Naut reached into his pocket, and I tensed. Tough Girl Act once again up and leaving like it was late for its next appointment. The pepper spray felt as heavy as a gun. But Naut pulled just his phone out. He showed me a photo. Him and Trevor at a bar. June 5, 4:54 a.m.

I should have been happy I’d eliminated another suspect. But unlike with Mel, there was no sense of relief. “Why the hell would you hang out with someone who was blackmailing you?” I said. “And don’t give me that ‘I was in love’ bullshit.”

“She stole my laptop.”

“Big effing deal. You bought another one.” I’d brought it up to him.

“There’s a recording on there. Me talking about the accident. Drunk. A few months ago. Foolish to even talk about it, but the anniversary was coming. I didn’t get rid of the recording. Guess I figured if something happened to me…”

“You’d have insurance?” Erin said.

“That then people would know what I’d done. It was my confession. It was only after she took it I realized how silly an idea it was. I wanted to convince her to give it back to me.”

“When did she take it?” Erin said.

“First weekend in May. Right after my birthday. Still don’t know where it is.”

I hoped he never found it.

There was a knock and a woman came in, a fake smile plastered on like drywall mud. She didn’t even pause when she saw the three of us. It probably wasn’t the first time. At least we were all clothed. “Mr. Naut needs to get ready for his show.”

Naut glanced at me, unsure of what to do. What I’d do. I just smiled, thinking of Erin’s recording. “Break a leg.”

He nodded, then stood up, never taking his eyes off me. As he trailed after the woman, I heard one final thing. “Can I get a drink?”

The lobby was loud when we got to it. The show was about to start. I leaned in to Erin’s ear, anxious. “Did it record?”

She pulled out her phone. “I’m sure.” But she glanced at the sign for the ladies’ room. “Let’s go in there and check.”

The bathroom was deserted, everyone having rushed out to not miss the show. Erin pulled up her voice memo, hit PLAY. Nothing but static.

“No.” I shook my head for emphasis. I wanted to cry. Again. “Fast-forward.”

But it was still the same. She looked even more upset than I was. “No. It had to have worked.” She hit her phone, like it was a TV in the ’80s. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Lena. I swear it was working.”

“It’s fine,” I said, having finally gotten better at lying. I placed my bag on the bathroom counter and pulled out my phone.

“What are you doing?” Erin said.

“Calling the police.”

“Still? He’ll just get an expensive lawyer. We have no proof other than an arm in a video. He’s never gonna admit it.”