The Good Twin(66)

“What’d they do?” I asked. “Assign partners alphabetically?”

He laughed. “Nope. Just happened to work out that way.” He quickly turned serious. “You all set? Got the pen?”

“All set.”

“Walk ahead, then turn the pen on. I want to make sure it’s transmitting okay.”

I did as he asked, and he gave me a thumbs-up.

It was time to go inside, to finish what Ben had started.



I made my way to the back door, then texted Mallory to let her know I was there.

Mallory texted back, I’m ready, and I quietly opened the door into the mudroom that led to the kitchen. Mallory was waiting for me, dressed just as I was, in the new clothes I’d bought this morning. We each had our hair pulled back into a ponytail. Anyone looking at us would be hard-pressed to discern a difference.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Where do you think? There’s a Knicks game on.”

Of course. That meant he was in the den, glued to the television. I glanced over at my sister and felt a tug of sadness. I wished we hadn’t met this way. I wished I’d known her when we were growing up. I wished our lives had been equally blessed with wealth. I wished Detective Saldinger hadn’t planted the seed of doubt in me. I didn’t buy into his concern that Mallory had designs of her own to replace me. Not now. I just couldn’t be sure that wouldn’t change down the road, and I feared that uncertainty would make it hard to have a relationship with her, when this ordeal finally ended.

I nodded to her, then walked from the kitchen over to the den. I peeked in, then casually asked upon spotting the empty beer bottle, “Want another?”

Ben looked up from the couch. “That’d be great.”

I returned to the kitchen, retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator, then brought it to Ben. I sat in a chair opposite him. He gave me a fleeting look, then turned back to the game. When I didn’t move, he paused the game. “What?”

I slipped my hand into my pocket and flipped on the transmitter pen. “I’ve been wondering. What made you think I would go along with your plan to kill Charly?”

Ben didn’t hesitate. Within minutes, he acknowledged that he was the one to come up with the idea. He had gone to Mallory and convinced her to go along. I knew that Detective Salinger, ensconced in his police car outside the townhouse, heard every word Ben said. I was about to leave when I decided to ask Ben for an advance on the inheritance.

He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. I figured this had to be serious—either that, or the game was a blowout. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you brought that up. I’ve been thinking . . .”

Always a bad sign, I thought.

“I think the split needs to be something different from we discussed.”

I had to restrain myself from laughing. Not only did the bastard plan my murder, he now wanted to cheat his accomplice. “Why?”

I pretended to fume as Ben went through his explanation for keeping almost all my money for himself. When the charade started to bore me, I stormed out of the den and back into the kitchen. It was time for the fireworks. I slipped my hand into my pants pocket and clicked off the transmitter pen. “Did you hear?” I asked my sister.

“Every word.”

“Let’s go.”

Side by side, we walked to the den. Ben had already turned the Knicks game back on and didn’t look up when we stood in the doorway. Detective Saldinger wouldn’t enter the townhouse from the unlocked back door until he heard Ben react to seeing Mallory and me together. That had been his promise to me—to let me watch Ben’s reaction when he realized I was alive.

But that wasn’t enough for me.

I called Ben’s name, but he didn’t look up. I called it again, louder. He held up his hand to shush me, without turning his head.

“A minute. Key play here.”

When he finally paused the TV and swiveled toward us, his face turned a deadly pale.

He stared at us both with his eyes wide, his mouth open.

“Hello, Ben,” I said.

His head twisted back and forth between us as his eyes rapidly blinked.

“You’re . . . you’re not dead.” His voice came from his trembling lips as a croak.

“Who, me?” I said.

“Or me?” Mallory said.

“But . . . the pictures. You were . . . dismembered.”

I laughed. “I work with artists, you fool. They can make anything look real.”

He swept his hand across his forehead and wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed. “You went to the police?” he asked both of us, not knowing which one was his wife.

“Did I?” Mallory said.

“Or didn’t I?” I chimed in. “You can’t really tell us apart, can you?”

He stood up from the couch and started to approach us. “You bitch,” he hissed, still turning his head back and forth between us.

I slipped my hand under my tunic and pulled out the gun I’d retrieved from Ben’s night table earlier that day. I pointed it straight at my husband. “I’d stop there if I were you.”

“Charly, what are you doing?” Mallory shouted at me. I didn’t answer. I just kept my eyes on Ben.

“Charly, put that away. I don’t know what she told you, but it was all her idea. She paid the hit man. She found him and paid him. She told me if I didn’t go along, she’d kill me, too.”