to one side when she speaks.
I can’t imagine how Becca must’ve felt finding out her mom wasn’t her mom, and then finding out her birth mother wouldn’t help her. No wonder she was such a mess that summer. And after she realized she couldn’t rely on either one, she turned to the Red Lady. She didn’t understand the how and why. How could she? Her birth mother’s name—Sarah—the name of her childhood invisible friend, the name of the witch in the book we made, the name of the Red Lady. All those dangling threads twisting into one. All because of this woman.
“I never saw Lauren when she was in prison,” she says. “But once she got out … She really did think she killed Becca. She was having blackouts and remembered that they had a fight and she hit her, but nothing after that. So when the cops said she killed her, she just went along with it. No fucking way would I plead guilty to something I didn’t remember doing, but Lauren … she was weak.
“I got to thinking, what if Lauren didn’t kill her? I guess if you knew her the way I did, you’d understand. I made her go over everything she did remember, and one thing kept bugging me: Becca said someone was going to help her. Lauren didn’t want to tell me who, so I had to convince her it was the right thing to do. She said it was you. You were supposed to help Becca.”
My hand fumbles toward the pocket in my hoodie, but my phone’s inside. I glance from Sarah to the house. She’s in the chair closest to the French doors, but if I run, I should be able to make it inside fast enough to shut and lock the door. Should being the operative word.
“From there, I just had to track you down. Wasn’t too hard. I even found your picture in the paper. I called you a couple times but figured you wouldn’t talk to me. So I had the idea to send you the necklace. Lauren wasn’t real happy about it, said she wouldn’t be involved, said you never would’ve hurt Becca, but it wasn’t her decision to make.”
Wait. This piece doesn’t fit, no matter which way I turn it. How did she even have Becca’s necklace? It was around Becca’s neck, and she was in the basement. Sarah wasn’t there. “Where did you get it?” I say.
“Get what?”
“Becca’s necklace,” I say. “And her drawing and the ribbon. Where did you get them? How did you get them?”
She purses her lips. “When I went to her house, there was a backpack on the porch and her stuff was inside.”
Becca’s things … and the stolen money. That part makes sense. If Sarah was using, the cash would’ve been impossible to resist. But how did the necklace get in the backpack? How did the backpack get on her porch? Something’s missing. Something’s wrong.
Sarah snaps her fingers. “Earth to doc, come in, doc. We’re not talking rocket science here.”
And something else pops to the forefront of my mind. “But why send them to me? If Becca meant so much to you, wouldn’t you want to keep them?” I say. I know I shouldn’t make her angry, but I can’t help it. Hands on the chair’s arms, I set my feet firmly on the patio, once more gauging the distance between me and the door.
“Never been arrested, have you?” she says. “Ever seen a cop show?” At my confusion, she rolls her eyes. “Jesus. See, if the cops have evidence and want to find out if you know anything about it, sometimes they’ll have you in a room and bring it in, see what you do. It’s a good trick, yeah? And it works most of the time.
“Besides, I didn’t really have a whole lot of other options. If I’d just asked, would you have told me the truth? I kinda hoped Lauren was right. But it was pretty obvious you knew something. And when I put the ribbon on your car, I saw how afraid you were. So, what are you hiding?”
I am not telling her a damn thing. She has no proof that I did anything wrong.
“Was it you that night in the rain? In the old Chevy? And outside the apartment?” I touch the bandage on my wrist.
She smirks. “That’s not really important right now.” She opens her messenger bag, withdraws an envelope, and every muscle in my body