You Let Me In - Camilla Bruce Page 0,68

Mr. Thorn had had an accident. When they arrived at the scene, though, it was quickly changed to murder. Not only was the bear pit a lethal trap in itself, but the weapon that had speared his heart was missing from the scene.

They knocked on Ferdinand’s door several times during this first round of investigations, where the body was removed and the scene secured. He quickly became a person of great interest, and though Mother was both shaking and sobbing at the time, she readily agreed to let them inside, using Ferdinand’s spare key.

They found him then, of course.

I have asked Mara many times what really happened that night; why he never filled that pit back up. She says she doesn’t know, says she never went back—but I know that she is lying. I know that not only because the bloody spear was found beneath his hanging body, but because of the ring of mushrooms that had suddenly sprouted forth on his living room floor. They never told you about that, did they? About that sudden infestation of fungi in his house, those pearly white mushrooms that appeared overnight. Not there the day before, said the help. I only know because I went to Ferdinand’s sad funeral, and overheard the police officers talking to each other. It didn’t make sense to them—but it certainly did to me.

After they found Ferdinand, it was a clear-cut case to the police. Especially since the spear was inscribed with nasty quotes from Dr. Martin’s book. Ferdinand had taken it to heart, they said, that book had “ruined his life” and become his truth, and so he killed our father with it.

Then he killed himself.

XXIX

When the police finally arrived at the lilac house, noon had long since come and gone. I was sitting on my porch doing crossword puzzles, but really just watching the road. The day was chilly and I was wrapped in a knitted blanket, a cloud of steam rose from the tea before me. I’d felt sick to the core all day, felt it in my bones that something was doomed to turn out bad. I didn’t know yet that he’d never filled in that hole with dirt. Neither did I know about Ferdinand’s fate. As far as I was concerned, they might only think my father missing.

I soon learned it was more serious than that.

The police officer who was driving the vehicle was a big red-bearded man that I remembered from my trial. He had been the first one on the scene after they discovered what they thought was Tommy Tipp. He’d been just a rookie then, slimmer and fitter, hair more lustrous and thick. His name was Officer Parks. The other police officer was a woman, fairly young and dark-skinned; she said her name was Amira. I think she was the one who was supposed to comfort me if I broke into pieces at the news.

They stood before the porch where I sat; Parks fiddled with his belt as cops do.

“Are you Cassandra Tipp?” asked Amira.

“She is,” Parks grunted beside her.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news for you,” said Amira. “Can we come inside or—come sit down there with you?”

I nodded, didn’t like where this was going. “What is it?” My voice was high-pitched as I battled jolts of fear. “What has happened?”

The two officers took their time approaching me, then sinking down in my wicker chairs.

“Mrs. Tipp,” Amira said. “I am sorry to inform you that your father and your brother passed away last night.”

“What?” I burst out—hadn’t seen that coming. Not the part about Ferdinand, anyway. “Why? What happened?”

“We are not sure yet.” Amira looked weary. “Your father was found in your brother’s garden, and his death was … quite violent. Unfortunately, everything points to your brother being involved in his death, including his subsequent suicide.”

“Suicide, huh?” I murmured, thinking thoughts better left unspoken.

“You mother doesn’t think so.” Parks’s dark eyes stared unblinkingly across the table. He remembered me well, then. Remembered Tommy Tipp. “She thinks you may have had a hand in this.” He ignored Amira’s warning gaze. “That you’re somehow responsible for them both.”

“Me? Why? I barely spoke to any of them for the last thirty years or so.”

“So you weren’t aware of any disagreement between them?” Amira’s cheeks were flushed, from shame on Parks’s behalf, I reckoned.

“No, I’m not on speaking terms with any of them. You can ask anyone—I’m surprised Mother even remembers my name.”

“Your mother is quite determined”—Parks again—“that your brother would