The Lies I Told(89)

“Brit’s usually a straight shooter. She’d tell you if she didn’t like it.” That wasn’t exactly true. My sister could circumvent anything to get what she wanted. She’d drug or poison her younger sisters for peace and harmony in the house. Jesus, who did that to their children or sisters? Monsters.

“She’s like you in many ways,” David said.

The surprise comparison didn’t sit well. “How so?”

“You’re not a good liar,” he said. “You might think you can hide your feelings, but you can’t from me.”

I stilled. “What do I have to lie about? I came here to talk to you about engagement pictures.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I set my cup down. “Okay, why am I here?”

He smiled, sipped his coffee. “You tell me.”

Had I stood here before, talking to him? I still had no specific memory, but I had been in this area before my car accident. I was more certain than ever. My mind raced back toward the Black Hole, but instead of penetrating it, I slammed against it. I tried to reach inside and grope for any kind of memory or hint. But there was nothing. No clue. Just a feeling I was on the right track.

“I don’t have an agenda, David,” I said.

“Seriously, why did you come here? And don’t say the engagement pictures. Did Brit send you here? Did she want you to tell me something?”

“Brit’s never used me to do her bidding. And even if she did, I wouldn’t.”

“Why not? You two are sisters. The last of the surviving Stocktons. Blood is thicker than water.” His smile waned and he tapped his index finger against the side of the mug.

“Brit didn’t send me.”

“She doesn’t like the ring. We’ve established that,” he said. “What else is bothering her?”

“I never said she didn’t like the ring. Your words, not mine.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like me as much as she thought.” He leaned toward me, his eyes darkening a shade. “Maybe the ring is just the beginning of the end.” That easy smile tightened around his lips.

“This is not a conversation you should be having with me. Seriously, I was just asking about the pictures.”

He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m getting all worked up over nothing. I get that way sometimes. Worst case–scenario kind of guy.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You just got engaged. Makes sense you’d be nervous.”

“I suppose I am nervous, aren’t I? I was in love once, but she died. I’m just afraid of losing again.”

Jenny had said my Good Samaritan had called me Clare. Could he be talking about Clare? “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean, we’re going to be family.”

“Right.”

He picked up his mug, dumped the coffee in the sink, and set the cup on the counter. “Coffee this late will keep me up all night.”

“Look, I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. You and I can schedule a meeting with Brit about the pictures later.” Whatever idea I’d had about DNA collection suddenly didn’t warrant being alone with this man. “I’ll just take off.”

“Have you ever been in love, Marisa?”

“What? No.”

“Maybe when Brit settles down with me, you’ll find someone to take care of you.”

“I don’t need taking care of,” I said.

“We all do.” His smile returned to its former brilliance. “I don’t want to chase you off.”

“You’re not. Really.” I rose and shouldered my purse.

“I feel like I’m rushing you off.”

“Not at all.” I thought about the mug sitting inside the sink. But there was no way I could just reach around him and pocket it.

Still, to leave could end my one chance to learn more about him and Clare. I could push this a little further. “Do you mind if I use your restroom before I go?”

“Sure, second door on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Down the narrow hallway, I let myself into the bathroom, closed and locked the door. Towels folded neatly on a small shelf above the toilet, soap in a dispenser, and black-and-white checkered floors scrubbed so clean even the grout glistened. I moved toward the small medicine chest, hoping he kept a comb or extra toothbrush here. I’d no way of proving it was his, but I didn’t need proof for a private DNA test. I just needed a sample, and then when I had the sequencing, I’d have a chance of Richards and his forensic department comparing it to what was on file.

I set my purse beside the sink on the floor and raised the soap dispenser to my nose, inhaling the clean, neutral scent. The sense of smell was supposed to be a good conductor of memory, but there wasn’t even a vague feeling of having been here before. Maybe we’d never met here, but in the bar down the block.

I opened the medicine chest and studied the collection of bottles bearing the names of several tranquilizers. I reached for a bottle and twisted off the top and poured the blue pills into my hand. Carefully, I moved them around with my finger.

A memory flashed, but it hadn’t happened here. It was at the home where I’d grown up. Brit had dropped blue pills into a mortar and was grinding them with a pestle. “What’re you doing?” I’d asked.