Woman on the Edge(54)

When he doesn’t say anything, I do. “The police think someone was after her, and we have reason to believe that might be true. Did you stalk her? Have you been following us?”

Donna puts her face into her hands. Her shoulders vibrate, but no sound comes out. I stand back, helpless. I feel sick.

“Donna? What have you done?” Ben asks.

She brings her hands away from her face and looks at him. “A reporter called, then came to see me a couple of months ago. She said she knew things about Nicole’s past, which is why she wanted to talk to me. She wanted to do an exposé on her and on Breathe. I’d already seen the article about her pregnancy in the Tribune, and I couldn’t believe she was having a baby. I was furious. Why did she deserve a child when mine was taken away from me?” Tears roll down her face.

“No one ever wanted to listen to me talk about Amanda anymore. Not even Flynn, Amanda’s father. ‘It’s all in the past. You have to let her rest,’ he’d say. But how? How can a mother do that? I was so happy this reporter wanted to hear me that I told her everything about the day Amanda died. I told her I always suspected that Nicole was unhinged, that she killed my little girl.” She blinks and the tears continue.

My mind is whirling. “Go on,” I say.

“She listened carefully. It was clear she was on my side. For once, someone believed me. She left, but then she came once more. She was close to submitting the article, but she needed to make Amanda more real to readers. I showed her a few of Amanda’s dresses that I’d hidden away. Not even my ex knew I had them. He threw everything else of hers out years before, against my will. I lent the reporter Amanda’s baby blanket, the only one I kept, and the beautiful butterfly mobile Amanda loved so much so she could take pictures of them to include with her article. She mentioned she was very concerned about Nicole’s daughter. Worried that Nicole wouldn’t take care of her.” Her voice breaks, and she uses the edge of the couch to stand.

Ben and I quickly exchange a look.

“Did you send my sister threatening letters, year after year?”

Her face goes tight and hard. “Yes,” she says. “I was just trying to make her admit what she did. I wanted her to feel as anxious and distraught as I did when Amanda died. But I stopped those letters years ago.” She grabs the neck of her loose white T-shirt, pulling it again and again. “I haven’t sent a letter for five years.”

I’ve worked with all types of people. I understand psychology. In front of me is a broken, delusional woman and we need to proceed with caution. But we also need answers. “Were you there on the platform the day Nicole died?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

“What? No,” Donna says. “I admit I sent her letters years ago, but that’s it. I’m happy she jumped. But I had nothing to do with it.”

Ben takes a deep breath. It looks like she’s telling the truth. She wasn’t on that platform.

A thought is beginning to form in the back of my mind. “This reporter you mentioned. Do you have her name? Her phone number?”

“It’s funny,” Donna says. “She never left a number. She always called me; I never called her. And I never did see a single article or anything come out in the Tribune like she said it would.”

Who is this reporter? Is she the one who followed me, who tried to kill us in front of Nicole’s house? Was she after Nicole, too? Why would any journalist go this far for a story?

Ben looks at me, understanding dawning on him, too.

“Tell me,” he asks. “What did the reporter look like?”

Donna looks from Ben to me, and back to Ben. “Young. And she had bright red hair, a lot like mine.”





CHAPTER THIRTY NICOLE




Before

Nicole opened the door to her wine-colored Lexus GS 350, her chest constricting with anxiety. She slid behind the wheel, the smooth leather seat almost consuming her. I wish, she thought, then stifled it. Today was the most alert she’d been in a long time, and she wouldn’t let negative thoughts drain her.

She backed out of her driveway, and, on autopilot, turned onto North Lake Shore Drive. Her muscles remembered the dips in the road where potholes needed to be fixed, and the buses and trucks, taking their mundane routes, soothed her. She cast her eyes at the rearview mirror to check on Quinn, and when she couldn’t see her, Nicole slammed on the brakes. A car behind her honked, and a man stuck his head out of the window. “Are you crazy, bitch?”

Yes, I am! Nicole thought about shouting back. He maneuvered around her and gave her the finger as he passed. She reminded herself Quinn was at home with Tessa, safe and sound. She just needed to get to North Sheridan Road in one piece and find Morgan.

She signaled to make a left onto West Foster Avenue, minutes from the apartment building. “I’m coming, Morgan,” she said out loud as she checked her rearview mirror. Behind her, too close to her bumper, was a dark blue Prius. The woman driving had flaming red hair. Behind the woman, on the passenger side, she could see a car seat facing backward.

Oh my God, oh my God. Was that Quinn with Donna? She made the turn, pulled over, and used the Bluetooth to call Tessa. “Pick up, pick up, pick up!” Nicole screamed in the confines of her car as horns honked angrily behind her.

The Prius roared past her before she could get a second look.