You Owe Me a Murder(72)

“Don’t move,” I said. If she ran away, then this was all going to fall apart. She’d seen my face. She could identify me. “Find the phone.”

Her hands rummaged through the covers and then she held up the device. “Here it is.”

“We’re going to call the police. I’m doing this to help you. I’m here because of Nicki. She wants you dead. She’s blackmailing me, telling me I should murder you. If I go to the cops on my own, they’re not going to believe me, but they will if we go together.” I wanted to explain how brilliant this plan was—?it completely backed Nicki into a corner. If I went to the police with her mom, it changed everything.

Nicki’s mom looked confused. I was counting on the fact that in her heart she would know there was something off about her daughter. How could she live with that creature and not know? I had to convince her. “I know Nicki isn’t her real name, but I haven’t found out what it is. It’s your daughter. She hates your drinking. She blames you for not letting her live with her dad.”

“Her dad?”

“Yes. But I think it’s really about the money. She wants this house. Nicki thinks you’re blowing through the money her grandparents left. She feels it belongs to her. You may not want to believe me, but you have to. Think about it. How else would I know all of this? I’m telling you: She wants you dead so she can move to Vancouver to live with her dad. Or maybe she just wants the money—?I don’t know.”

Nicki’s mom shook her head. She didn’t want to believe me. I couldn’t blame her. Who would want to acknowledge they’d given birth to something like Nicki? That your own daughter would hate you enough to want you dead? I had to drill through the mom’s defenses, make her realize this wasn’t a horrible joke.

“I’m not making this up. Nicki told me everything. How your husband left and moved to Vancouver.”

“How do you know—?”

“I know he’s started a new family. She told me all about her grandfather, your dad. How they had a place in Scotland and how he had a telescope.”

Nicki’s mom held up a hand to stop me. “You have this all wrong—?”

“I don’t,” I insisted. “You have to believe me. I’ve tried to think of every single option. If I don’t kill you, she’s going to hurt my family. Nicki already tried to kill someone I care about. She’s capable of it—?she murdered my ex-boyfriend just to make sure I had no way out of this. I can’t kill you and I can’t not kill you. That’s when I realized this was my only option. We have to go to the police together.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Nicki’s mom said. “I don’t have a daughter.”





Thirty-Three


August 29


2 Days Remaining


My stomach turned to thick churning acid. What the hell was she talking about? She didn’t look intoxicated. Her eyes were wide but clear. Her words weren’t slurred or confused.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She held up both hands as if trying to make sure I stayed calm. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, who this Nicki is.”

My hands, which had been rock steady, started to shake, a faint tremor. “She’s your daughter. I know that’s not her name, but how many daughters do you have? You won’t let her move out because you’re still upset about the divorce. You were crushed that your husband left and you’re afraid you’ll be abandoned again.” I kept trying to supply more details, as if that would convince her.

“I’ve been divorced for more than a year. Good riddance.” She tried to smile as if she were making a joke. The smile fell off her face when I didn’t return it. “I don’t have any children.”

“Yes, you do,” I insisted.

She shook her head. “I swear to god, I live here alone.”

The blood was rushing out of my head. Then I remembered the woman I’d met on the street outside the house six days ago. I seized on the memory as if it were a life jacket and I was on a ship going down. I jabbed at Nicki’s mom with a finger. “You’re a liar! You do too have a daughter. I talked to one of your neighbors and she knew who I was talking about.”

The woman held up both hands, shaking her head again. “I have no idea who you talked to or why she would tell you I knew this Nicki person.”

“Stop lying!” My voice cracked. I realized I was holding out the knife.

“Yes, okay, I had a daughter!” she cried out, covering her face. “I had a baby girl. She died of crib death nearly two years ago. It’s partly why my marriage broke down, that and the fact that he’d been shagging the sitter. When I lost my baby girl, I couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. It was like he’d brought all the bad luck into our house, but I swear to god, she was just a little girl.” She started crying, giant hiccupping sobs. “My daughter’s name was Sarah. She wasn’t even a year old. I don’t know who this Nicki is. I don’t know why any neighbor would tell you I had an older daughter. I swear to god, none of this makes sense. I have no idea why this is happening to me.”

I watched her cry. If she was faking it, she was good. My brain scrambled to remember the conversation I’d had with the woman with the dog. She’d hinted something bad had happened, some kind of scandal. But did she ever use Nicki’s name? She’d never said she was talking about a teenager. It could have been crib death followed by a divorce.