The Girl Who Survived(13)

She knew Faiza didn’t think her working as a substitute teacher was a serious job for a woman in her late twenties, and had said so often enough. Too bad. Kara had learned after college that she wasn’t cut out for an elementary classroom; too bad she’d learned that sorry fact while student teaching and already had earned her degree, another fact Faiza hadn’t understood.

“Why didn’t you change your major?” she’d asked a hundred times over.

“Why didn’t I?” Kara had always thrown back at her, not ever explaining that once she’d been on a path, she wanted to just get done with it, through college as quickly as possible. The degree had been a requirement for her to inherit her portion of her parents’ estate, and she’d earned it in three years rather than four because college life hadn’t been for her. She’d holed up on her dorm room, then apartment, and studied, unable to ever get into the swing of campus life, and even put in the extra hours and another year for her master’s. Another requirement to gain her inheritance according to her parents’ wills.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Not with her brother out of stir. “So Jonas is . . . where?”

“Unknown. So far. But he’ll turn up, let me tell you. Like a damned bad penny.”

“But—”

“Listen, you probably would have been the first to know if you’d taken the time to pick up the damned phone.” Faiza sounded put out. “You must’ve seen that I called, heard my message. Or read my damned texts!”

“I’ve also had a few appointments.” At least that wasn’t a lie. Before Dr. Zhou, Kara had visited her accountant and learned just how badly her once-healthy trust fund had dwindled. Significantly.

Yeah, it had just been a stellar day.

Kara’s stomach twisted, she peeled herself from the couch and with Rhapsody at her heels made her way to the kitchen, where she poured herself another big glass of wine. No restaurant pour for her, not while dealing with Faiza.

Faiza said, “I tried to let you know, to warn you that Jonas was getting out.”

“I knew he was going to be released. You’d have to live in Outer Mongolia not to know that,” Kara snapped.

Faiza ignored her sarcasm. “I meant today.”

“I thought it was scheduled for next week.”

“So did I . . . but that was wrong. But it got changed somehow. Who knows? Now he’s a free man, your half brother.” She said it distastefully, as if the words were bitter. “And believe it or not, he had the nerve—the nerve mind you—to call me. Your mother’s sister. That murdering son of a . . .” She stopped herself, and Kara heard her take in an audible deep breath. “He was, I mean, he is your brother.”

“Who claims he’s innocent.”

There was a snort on the other end of the line. “That’s what they all say.”

Kara kept sipping as her aunt added softly, “He wanted your number.”

“What?” Kara choked on her wine, spilling the red liquid on her pajamas and the kitchen floor. “You didn’t give it to him,” she sputtered. She wasn’t ready to face Jonas, not without a wall of thick prison glass between them.

A pause.

“Faiza?” Kara prodded.

“What was I supposed to do?” her aunt asked rhetorically. “He was going to get it anyway.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Who does?” But Auntie Fai, as Kara had called her while growing up, did sound a little contrite. “Okay, okay. Look, I’m sorry. Really. But you know, one way or another, you’re going to have to face him. Face what he did. He’s the reason, Kara, for everything that happened.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You never have, but I’m serious here. Okay? Despite the fact that he’s out due to a police screwup, Jonas McIntyre is an insane killer.”

“He’s your nephew.”

“No, honey, I’m not related to him at all. My sister was married to his father for eight years, but I never liked that kid. Never. Always thought there was something wrong with him. His mother . . . well, that has nothing to do with this, I suppose. Look, I’ve got to run now, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“Wait—” Suddenly Kara wanted more information from her aunt.

“Seriously, Roger’s in the car waiting. Oh, Christ. He just honked the damned horn!” Her voice was suddenly muffled, “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on to your frickin’ horses.” Into the phone she said, “Later, hon. Gotta go.” Before Kara could object, Faiza disconnected.

Kara wiped the wine from the floor with a wet paper towel, dabbed at the stains on her pajamas, and took another drink. The bottle, now close to empty, was sitting near the newspaper she’d left on the counter.

Eying the front page, Kara cringed. The page one story above the fold was all about the grisly murders twenty years earlier. Pictures had been included, the largest being the mountain cabin as it had been the night of the tragedy, shots of cops swarming the frozen grounds. A second photograph was Jonas’s mug shot, him staring sullenly at the camera, his dark hair slicked away from his face, the grim countenance of a would-be family annihilator. The last shot brought a catch to Kara’s throat as she stared at a familiar picture of her mother and father’s wedding. The tall groom was surrounded by his preteen boys, all in tuxedos, all with slicked-back dark hair. The bride was flanked by a light haired son in a matching tuxedo, while his younger sister was in a long silver dress, her pale blond hair pinned atop her head. The bride was dressed in a flowing ivory gown that effectively hid the early months of her pregnancy. Yes, Kara thought, she had been at the wedding, too, a small baby bump that was the reason for her parents’ quick marriage after hasty divorces from their previous spouses.