Burn Our Bodies Down(23)

Help? That’s not what any of this has felt like. But I don’t have to worry. Gram isn’t fooled.

“What you need,” she says, “is a scapegoat, and you will be finding one elsewhere.”

A swell in my chest, bright and sweet. Someone’s finally fighting for me. Someone’s taking the weight from my shoulders and bearing it themselves. Is this how it’s supposed to be?

“There’s no need for a scapegoat,” Anderson says, heated. “Your name is written all over it. What are you hiding, Vera? What were you doing this time?”

I look at Gram, wait for an answer. Anderson’s asking her the questions I want to.

“Honestly, Thomas, this is all a bit much, don’t you think?” Gram says, and his face goes bright red. She smiles at me. “Margot is visiting me for the summer, and she just arrived. That’s all.”

For now, anyway. At least until it’s just us.

“So she spent her first day at the scene of a crime?” Anderson says. “Some summer visit.”

“What crime do you mean, exactly?” Gram raises her eyebrows, and doesn’t wait before continuing. “My farm caught fire, and unless you would like to call that arson—”

“We might.”

“Then go ahead. Charge Margot. Charge my granddaughter for setting fire to her grandmother’s land.”

“She’s not who we’re after here,” Anderson says, glowering.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Gram says lightly. “Well then. That’s that settled. And as for this other girl, it’s a tragedy, surely, but that is, in fact, the only thing you can say with any certainty.”

It’s impressive. How polite she sounds, how little ground she gives. If I hadn’t seen my own face on that body, I wouldn’t hesitate to believe her.

“We can say something else, too. She’s a Nielsen, through and through.” Anderson lifts his chin, and for a second he and Gram just look at each other. “Maybe we don’t have enough yet. But we will soon.”

It’s a threat. But Gram doesn’t seem to care. “Looking forward to it,” she says with a cheery smile, before holding out her hand to me. “Come on, Margot.”

“You can’t just take her,” Anderson says. “She’s got no ID. You have no proof of guardianship. Until we contact her family—”

“You said it yourself. She’s a Nielsen. I’m her family.”

It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, and it burns up my questions, pulls me out of my chair, draws me to her side. I would go anywhere for that. Do anything.

She looks down at me then, reaches out and sweeps my hair back from my temple, showing the gray streak there. She smiles faintly. “Just like,” she says.

Like her? Like Mom? Like the girl in the fire?

It should matter more to me, I think. It should scare me. That if anybody knows anything, it’s her. But nothing’s going to keep me away.

“Margot’s coming home with me,” Gram says to the officers, her hand still brushing my temple.

Anderson and Connors let me leave. I don’t think there’s anything else to do in the face of a force like Gram.

Tess and Eli are still waiting in the bullpen. Eli’s just behind Tess, and he’s watching me with a sort of bland curiosity. Tess, on the other hand, looks absolutely delighted. I remember how she sounded, talking about Phalene, talking about how boring it was. Some entertainment at last. It makes me a little ill.

Gram stops in front of them, barely acknowledging Eli before focusing on Tess. “I would say it’s nice to see you, Theresa, but it decidedly isn’t under these circumstances.”

Tess shrugs, playing it easy, but I can tell she’s on edge under Gram’s scrutiny. “Hopefully you’ll see me in better ones soon.”

“Oh dear,” Gram says mildly. “That sounds ominous. Let’s go, Margot. Some alacrity, please.”

For a moment I try to imagine Mom saying the same thing, and I nearly laugh. We might look the same, but if Mom got anything else from Gram, I can’t see it yet.

“I guess I have to go,” I say to Tess. “But—”

She waves me away. “You’ll see me. We’re neighbors now.”

“Yes,” Gram says as she leads me away. “And aren’t we lucky?”



* * *



—

Gram doesn’t speak again until we’re out of the station, me rushing after her through the parking lot toward a weathered pickup truck. I chance a look behind me to see Officer Anderson lingering in the doorway, watching us.

“Ignore him,” Gram says, and I jump at the sound of her voice. Almost like Mom’s. Almost familiar, but not quite. “They’re all the same. If they see a chance to knock me down, they’ll do it however they can. It’s been like that for years.”

I wish it were as simple as that. A grudge held and unearned. It’s not, though. That girl was real, and she must have come from Gram. There’s no other explanation.

I get into the truck. I can feel every inch of my skin, every press of the seat belt. It hurts. All of it hurts. The blisters from the fire, the stares of the police officers. And Gram, meeting me finally and being nothing like what I thought I wanted, simple and sweet and easy.