Two Can Keep a Secret(81)
“I listened to every word you said, Malcolm. You told him you must have heard wrong.”
“Mom was there when we talked about it,” I say, hating the desperate edge that’s crept into my voice. “She’ll remember. She’ll know something is fishy.”
“Your mother will remember whatever I tell her. She’s a remarkably compliant woman. It’s her greatest asset.”
I want to kill him then, and I think he knows it. He takes a step back and lifts the gun so it’s pointed directly at my chest. I strain to keep my expression neutral as my brain cycles through every possible reason why it’s too late for Peter to get away with another murder. “Officer McNulty was there when Katrin said Brooke snuck out during a sleepover to meet up with somebody in this house. If she wasn’t coming to me, it had to be you.”
“If you’re not here, there’s no reason for anyone to think it wasn’t you,” Peter points out.
Shit. I wish Ellery would snap out of whatever trance she’s in. I could use another brain working right now. “People are going to question another murder. Another couple of murders. Especially if your stepson is involved. First your daughter’s best friend, and now me? This is going to come back on you, Peter, and it’ll be ten times worse when it does.”
“I agree,” Peter says. He looks completely relaxed, like we’re chatting about baseball scores or the latest Netflix series. Not that we’ve ever done either of these things. “Now is absolutely not the time for anything even remotely resembling a homicide. I have to insist you come along, though. Downstairs. You first, Ellery.”
Hope pulses through me, even though the coldness in Peter’s eyes tells me it shouldn’t. I contemplate lunging for him, but Ellery’s already moving toward the hallway and he has the gun trained on her back. I can’t see any choice except to follow, so I do.
“All the way to the basement,” Peter says.
He keeps his distance as we troop down two sets of stairs. The Nilssons’ basement is huge, and Peter tersely directs us through the laundry room and the finished space my mother uses to exercise. The past week flashes in front of my eyes as I walk, torturing me with everything we missed. There’s so much to regret that I scarcely notice where we’re headed until the biggest revelation of all hits me. When it does, I halt in my tracks.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, Malcolm,” Peter says. Beside me, Ellery pauses. I turn slowly, and she does too.
Cold sweat coats my face. “Declan’s class ring,” I say. “You had it. You dropped it near Brooke’s body in Huntsburg.”
“And?” Peter asks.
“Declan never got the ring back from Lacey. She still had it when she died. She hadn’t stopped wearing it. You took it from her. Because you—” I hesitate, waiting for some sort of signal that he’s affected by what I’m about to say. But there’s nothing on his face except polite attentiveness. “You killed Lacey, too.”
Ellery draws in a sharp, shocked breath, but Peter just shrugs. “Your brother is a useful fall guy, Malcolm. Always has been.”
“Did you …” Ellery’s eyes are locked on Peter’s face. She tugs at the silver pendant around her neck, so hard I think she might break it. “Did you do something to my aunt, too?”
Peter’s calm expression doesn’t change. He leans forward and whispers something in her ear, so faint I can’t catch it. When she raises her head to look at him, her hair tumbles across her face, and all I can see is curls. Then Peter raises the gun again so it’s pointed directly at her heart.
“Is this a thing with you, Peter?” I’m so desperate to get his attention off Ellery that my voice bounces off the basement walls. “You hook up with girls your daughter’s age, and kill them when there’s a chance they might expose you? What did Lacey do, huh? Was she going to tell?” A sudden thought strikes me. “Was she pregnant?”
Peter snorts. “This isn’t a soap opera, Malcolm. It’s not your business what happened between Lacey and me. She overstepped. Let’s leave it at that.” The gun swings toward me. “Move a few steps backward, please. Both of you.”
I do it automatically, my thoughts tumbling and swirling so much that I barely notice we’re standing inside a room. It’s in the farthest corner of the Nilssons’ basement, piled high with sealed cardboard boxes.
“This is the only room in the house that locks from the outside,” Peter says, one hand gripping the edge of the door. “Convenient.” He slams the door shut before I can react, plunging the room into darkness.
I’m at the door seconds later, first twisting the doorknob, then pounding so hard that my bruised ribs flare with sharp pain. “You can’t just leave us!” I yell against the thick wood. “People know Ellery is here. Her grandmother dropped her off!”
“I’m aware,” Peter says. There’s a sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, and I stop pounding so I can hear better. “Are you familiar with how a portable electric generator works, Malcolm?” I don’t answer, and he continues, “It should never be turned on inside a house on account of the carbon monoxide it emits. It kills quickly in a concentrated area like this. I’m not sure how this got switched on, but oh well. Maybe you and Ellery knocked against it accidentally while you were down here doing who knows what. We may never know.”