The Cousins(84)

“Lovely picture, isn’t it?”

I spin to see Gran—or whoever she is—standing in the doorway. At first, all I take in is that for once she’s not dressed to the nines or wearing gloves. Then I noticed the small, pearl-handled pistol in one of her hands. It’s so pretty, it almost doesn’t look—

“Oh, it’s real. And it’s loaded,” she says, stepping into the room. “Two elderly women living alone can’t be too careful.” The look she gives me is almost sympathetic. “Did you honestly think we’re not alerted when the gate opens?”

I lick my lips, which have gone suddenly dry. “So…what? You let me come in?”

“I opened the window for you.”



Stupid, stupid, stupid, I berate myself. “Well, you caught me,” I say, affecting a guilty laugh. It comes out like more of a wheeze. “I wanted to see this place one more time. Try to find my father’s room. And I did, so…I’ll just leave now.”

“No, you won’t.” My heart sinks as she takes another step forward. “I wondered yesterday, if you got a good look at my hand. I take it you did?” I’m too frozen to even nod. “And now here you are. Adam’s daughter. It would be quite a poetic tragedy if I mistook you for a burglar and shot you in his old room, wouldn’t it?”

“I told people.” I blurt out the lie as convincingly as I can. “I told everyone what I saw. Uncle Archer and Milly and Jonah and…everyone.”

Gran, or Mildred, or—I don’t even know what to call her anymore—tilts her head to one side. “And yet, you’re here all alone.”

My blood runs cold. I got one text off to Uncle Archer, and there’s not much chance that he’ll know what I meant. “What did you do to my grandmother?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“Nothing,” she says, with such quick certainty that I actually believe her. “Your grandmother died of natural causes twenty-four years ago. I found her here. She liked to spend time in Adam’s room while he was gone.” Her eyes flash. “He was always her favorite, even though he was the least attentive child.”

“You’re Theresa,” I say. She doesn’t deny it. “And…and the other Theresa…” I have no idea how to finish that sentence.

She doesn’t satisfy my curiosity. “It’s odd,” she says musingly. “I took everything I could from Adam, and for all these years, it’s never felt like enough. Maybe taking his only child would be.” My heart drops into my feet and I almost blurt, I’m not his only child, before she adds, “After all, he took mine.”



The world tilts on its axis. “My father…killed your son?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

A loud, crashing noise startles us both. I move instinctively toward the window, reaching its edge before Theresa’s commanding “Stop!” makes me pause. But I can see enough to make out a large black SUV barreling across the lawn. It’s such a bizarre, out-of-context, yet blessedly welcome sight that I almost laugh out loud.

“Tess!” A woman’s voice, loud and agitated, calls from downstairs. “Tess, someone is driving up to the house. Tess!”

“I see,” Theresa calls back. She looks remarkably calm for someone whose house might be plowed into any second. But the car stops a few feet from the front door, and, with a mix of relief and apprehension, I watch Uncle Archer get out of the driver’s seat.

“So you weren’t lying,” Theresa says. “Well. We had a good run, I suppose.” The hand holding the gun drops slightly, and I feel a surge of hope until her face hardens. “May as well see things to their inevitable conclusion. Come along.” She steps into the hallway, gesturing for me to follow, and crosses to the balcony staircase overlooking the second floor of the house. “Show our guest into the sunroom,” she calls downstairs. “Tell him Aubrey will be right there.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask anxiously. “Please don’t hurt him.” The thought of anything happening to Uncle Archer because he came after me makes me sick to my stomach.

“Downstairs,” she orders. The look in her eye is so deadly that I do what she says. She directs me—left at the foot of the stairs, right into the hallway, another right—until I’m in the doorway of a room that’s floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. At its center, Uncle Archer stands beside the woman I thought was Theresa Ryan.



“Aubrey!” he cries. He strides forward, mouth open to say more, until the real Theresa appears beside me, gun in hand. Archer stops short, his eyes boring into hers. “Oh my God,” he says hoarsely, one hand curling into his chest. “It’s true. It really is true. I thought there had to be some mistake, but…you’re not my mother.” The muscle in his jaw jumps. “If I’d ever gotten within ten feet of you before now, I would have known in an instant.”

“Possibly not,” Theresa says. “We see what we expect to see. But you understand now, I suppose, why I had to cut off contact.” Her voice doesn’t soften exactly, but it’s less steely when she adds, “Even with you, who’s relatively innocent in all this.”

“All what?” Archer asks. “Why would you do this? What did we ever do to you?” His gaze flits between Theresa, the gun, and me. “Is this about what happened to Kayla? Or to Matt?”