The Lies I Told(97)

Her expression telegraphed pity, as if I’d lost my mind. “That’s ridiculous.”

I shook my head. “But me being me, I was passing out by then.”

Brit glanced at Richards and then at me, just like Jack had. Her face morphed from sister to lawyer. “I didn’t give you anything. Whatever Clare thought she knew was wrong.”

“Your mother died of a strychnine overdose,” Richards said. “In small doses it would make a person ill.”

“What are you saying?” Brit challenged.

“It’s an odd drug of choice,” Richards said. “Most suicides don’t use it. But it’s very effective if you want to make someone appear chronically sick. You were fifteen when she died?”

“You know I was,” Brit said.

“Maybe you figured out what your mother had been doing.”

Brit held up her hand and took a step back. “If you ever repeat that again, I’ll sue you and anyone associated with you into poverty. I would never have hurt my mother.”

“Or sisters?” I asked.

“Of course not!” Brit shouted.

Richards shrugged. “Don’t get all twisted up. There’s no way of proving anything. I’m just tossing out ideas.”

I’d always assumed our mother had killed herself. It hadn’t occurred to me that Brit could’ve given her the pills. Mom poisoned her children, Brit continued the tradition with her sisters, and Clare closed the loop. We were a sick, toxic family, and I realized it would never change.

“Get out, Brit,” I said. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to deal with you, but not now.”

Brit reached out for my hand. “Marisa, this is ridiculous. I need to take care of you. David is in jail. We need each other.”

Richards moved between Brit and me. “I suggest you go now.”

Brit stared at me, her eyes pleading. “Marisa, I’m your sister. I’ve always been there for you.”

“Leave,” I said.

Richards took Brit by the arm. “Now.”

Brit snatched her arm away. “This is ridiculous. I’m leaving now, but this is not the end of it.”

When Brit vanished around the curtain, I listened for her clipped heels moving down the hallway. When the sound finally vanished, I released my breath. “Richards, get me out of here.”

“You need to stay a couple more hours.”

“No. I’m leaving with or without your help.”

He studied me a long beat. “Stay put. Let me scrounge you some clothes.”



Four hours later, I rose out of Richards’s car as he hurried around to my side to help me stand. He’d pulled a few strings and found me clothes from the lost and found. The sweatshirt was two sizes too big and the jeans had to be held up with a belt, but the athletic shoes fit. They all smelled of hospital. My gut ached, but at least the hangover wasn’t so bad.

“Jack owns this building,” I said.

He walked me to the front door, punched in the code, and guided me to the elevator. He hit the button. “A buddy of mine reprogrammed the keypad and changed your locks.” He reached in his pocket and handed me two keys. “New set. No other copies.”

As I looked at the lobby, residual panic tightened my chest. I didn’t want to return to Jack’s building or my apartment. But for now, it was all I had. “Thanks.”

We made our way to the elevator, past a forgotten strip of crime-scene tape and fingerprint-dusting powder. As the elevator doors opened and we stepped inside, he handed me a slip of paper. “The new security code.”

I crumpled the paper in my fist. “Florida’s got to be looking pretty good now.”

He tugged the cuff of his jacket. “I’ve asked if I can stick around for a few months.”

I understood. He’d chased this case for thirteen years and wanted to see it to the end. “How does that square with your fiancée?”

“She gets it. All my wives understood, they just got tired of being second. My gal knows this really is short term.”

I’d carried the weight of Clare’s death for so long. Having the answers hadn’t eased the burden, but I sensed in time, it would fade. The doors opened, and we stepped onto my floor. “I owe you wedding pictures.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’ll be offended if you don’t let me.”

An almost smile tugged his lips. “Sure. That would be nice.”

I stepped into the apartment to see the crime-scene powder dusting many of the hard surfaces in the kitchen. Thankfully the glass had been cleaned and the tequila wiped up.

“I had the team in while you were in the hospital. It’s a bitch to clean up, but we found Jack’s prints on the counter and on one of the glasses. Give me time. I’m interviewing David this morning. I’ll build a case against them both.”

“Can they get away with this?” The fear had been stalking me for hours.

“No. The evidence is growing.”

“You said yourself a good defense lawyer can get around what you have so far.”

“We’ve come too far, Marisa. They won’t get away.”

“Let me talk to David. If he talks to me about Clare, you can use that, right?”