Stranger in the Lake(90)
With a sigh, he slaps the file to his desk. “Ten minutes, starting now.”
He leads me down a hallway and parks me at a table in a windowless room that does double duty as a kitchen. A counter is shoved against a far wall, battered and basic: a fridge, a double sink, an industrial-sized coffeepot lined with dark sludge. A vent above my head pumps in stale air, drying my throat into brittle paper.
Two seconds later the door opens, and in steps Paul, his jaw thick with two days’ worth of stubble. He’s wearing clothes that aren’t his—a grubby thermal and beige pants two sizes too big. They’re rolled at the ankle, a messy furl of wrinkled fabric that drags on the ground. He looks at me with eyes that are red and swollen, and the emotions cycle through me, love and regret and sorrow and fury.
Behind him, the lock slides into the slot with a metallic thunk.
“You must really hate me.”
I hate him and I love him and I hate him and I love him. But the man I fell in love with—the one whose first wife’s death left him with broken and ragged edges that matched up against mine, the one who promised to care for me in ways my own parents didn’t—that man exists mostly in my head. Paul showed me only the sides of him he wanted me to see and the rest he shoved somewhere deep inside, and I traded whatever doubts I had for security. I lived in his house and I ate his food and I never demanded to know the real Paul. How can you love a man who’s only a shadow? How can you hate him?
He gives me a resigned nod, reading the answer in my silence. He moves closer, pulls out the chair across from me. “I wanted to tell. For twenty years, I wanted to, but I owe Jax my life. I—”
“Stop.” I slap the air between us with my palms, and Paul freezes, his hand still on the chair. “Seriously, just shut up. I didn’t come here for an apology, and I’m not looking for an explanation. I already heard both from your mother.”
Paul frowns. “Okay.”
I gesture for him to sit, and he sinks into the chair. He folds his hands and sits up straight, waiting, and I notice the two pale strips of skin where his Rolex and wedding band used to be. Confiscated when they tossed him in jail.
“What did Sienna’s jewelry look like?”
He startles at my sudden change of topic, and I can’t really blame him. This is a question that’s either coming out of nowhere, or it’s not. He either has an answer ready, or he doesn’t. I intend to find out which.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Sienna’s jewelry. Micah described it for us last week in the kitchen. Chief Hunt and your mother were there, too. We talked about how the killer would have been stupid to dump it in the lake. Remember?”
“No. I don’t know.”
“Think about it.”
Paul humors me, and for the span of ten breaths. I watch his frown of concentration, those spider-fine lines fanning out from his eyes that mean he’s thinking really hard. I give him all the time he needs.
Finally, he lifts his hands from the table. “A watch. A piece from her grandma with some kind of stone. Some earrings, maybe? That’s all I remember.”
“It was a pair of gold hoops, a pearl bracelet, a watch, a ruby-and-diamond ring that once belonged to her grandmother. That’s what Micah told us. He also told us the police weren’t releasing the list of jewelry to the media. I checked, Paul, and it’s nowhere. No one has mentioned those pieces specifically.”
“Okay.” Paul drags out the word, still sounding for all the world like he still doesn’t know where this conversation is going. I stare across the table, taking in his furrowed brow, his measured breaths, the way his gaze stays strong and steady on mine, and I can’t decide if he’s playing me or not. His mother knows everything about him, but does he know what she’s capable of?
“The thing is, there’s no way your mother could have known unless she saw the jewelry for herself.”
“Could have known what?”
“Diana told me they were costume. She called them cheap.” I watch a shadow flit across his face, but he remains silent. He doesn’t move, either, other than to clasp his hands a little tighter, his knuckles going sharp and white. “Except how could she know that unless she saw it herself? Unless she held them in her own hands?”
“What exactly are you accusing her of?”
“Exactly what you think I am, and for the record, she didn’t deny it. Not even when I said they’d be looking to you for Sienna’s murder. Jax has an alibi, and Micah told all of us he didn’t kill Sienna. By then he’d already admitted to killing Katherine and driving the car that killed Bobby. Why not just come out and say he killed Sienna, too? At that point, he had no reason not to.”
“I don’t know. Because Micah was a monster. Because he wasn’t the person I thought he was.”
“And your mother? Is she the person you think she is?”
There’s a long stretch of silence, and I let him sit with things for a minute, giving him time for the full weight of his realization to sink in. Diana, who loves her son so fiercely, she’d silence anyone who got in his way. He winces, closing his eyes.
“When I heard there was a woman waving Jax’s necklace around town, I figured that was it. Finally this long, hellish nightmare would be over. For twenty years I’ve been waiting for someone to arrest me, but Mom kept telling me to sit tight. She told me to trust her, that she’d take care of it.” His eyes snap open, his gaze sticking to mine. “I thought she meant she’d talk to Chief Hunt or something. I never thought... Jesus.”