Poisonous: A Novel (3 page)

Max was irritated, but curious. Who knew she was in town? Nick. Detective Grace Martin. Tommy Wallace. The kid wasn’t eighteen, so couldn’t be Tommy. And the Wallaces lived in Corte Madera, ten miles north.

Max gave up. She couldn’t keep up with the kid. Frustrated, she entered a nearby café and ordered a salad and a glass of white wine. She pulled her iPad out of her purse and started reviewing the Ivy Lake files sent by her staff. She skimmed the file names and descriptions, looking for photos. She spotted the Wallaces wedding announcement from seven years ago.

She tapped on the screen to open the pdf file. It was a page from the local paper, saved from their online archive. Bill Wallace had married Paula Alden Lake. They’d included their wedding picture—a bit elaborate, Max thought, considering it was a second marriage for both of them—as well as an engagement picture that showed their entire blended family sitting around a park bench, with San Francisco Bay behind them. Bill’s two children, Tommy and Amanda, then eleven and nine, stood behind the couple; Paula’s two children, Ivy and Austin, then ten and six, sat on either side of the couple. Boys on the left, girls on the right. Artistically, the photo was perfect. White shirts and jeans—trendy for family photos—contrasted well with the red bench, blue sky, and darker water. Green grass around the edges. It was the kind of picture families framed and hung above the fireplace.

The only one of the six with a genuine smile was Tommy. The engaged couple looked as if they were made of plastic, heads tilted toward each other just so, too perfect smiles on attractive faces. Amanda had forced a smile; Ivy had a closed-mouth I-have-a-secret grin; and Austin … he wasn’t smiling or frowning.

It was Austin who’d been on his skateboard following Max from the hotel.

Here in the photograph, he seemed contemplative, looking older than his years. His eyes—sharp. The kind of eyes that her great-grandmother would call “an old soul.”

She’d often told Max that she was an old soul.

Max surprisingly felt a kick of nostalgia and grief thinking about her great-grandmother Genie who’d died twelve years ago, when Max was nineteen. She should have had more time with her.

Thinking more about Austin, Max drained her wine and closed her iPad.

Max had e-mailed Tommy on Thursday to tell him she’d decided to look into his stepsister’s death and would be in town “next week.” She hadn’t been specific because she hadn’t finalized her arrangements with Nick. She rarely gave anyone outside of the people she worked with her entire itinerary. She usually wanted a day or two to immerse herself in the community, talk to people before they found out she was a reporter, visit the crime scene without anyone waiting for her or pushing her to think one way or the other. In her head, Max started with a pencil sketch about each cold case she investigated, faint lines that gave her a direction based on the information she knew and the research she’d done. She fleshed the picture out with her own impressions, then added detail and color by talking to the individuals involved. Family. Friends. Law enforcement. Suspects.

Max had planned to talk to Austin. She’d prefer to get his mother’s permission, but she wasn’t sure yet how she was going to handle the investigation and wouldn’t know until after she’d spoken to Detective Martin. According to Tommy, his stepmother thought he’d killed his stepsister, so Max couldn’t know if Paula Wallace would support her involvement.

Max would have to tread carefully. She’d let it go for now. Austin was long gone, and this time alone gave her the chance to review her notes and maybe even dig around a little more on Tommy’s stepbrother.

Max’s instincts twitched. She sent a note off to Ben to find out if anyone on staff had fielded a call about her today. As a reporter, she had to be accessible, but her staff would not give anyone her exact location. Could a thirteen-year-old boy have conned one of them into giving out her hotel information? Possibly.

Just because he was a kid didn’t mean he wasn’t a seasoned liar.

*   *   *

Before hopping a bus back to Corte Madera, Austin made sure that the reporter wasn’t following him.

He’d almost blown it.

He probably shouldn’t have sat outside the hotel, waiting for her to arrive. What had he expected? Well, he knew what he expected—he expected her
not
to show up. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe she would … but most people disappointed him. And she’d never told Tommy
when
she’d get here. If she sent that e-mail, then changed her mind, Tommy would be distraught. He was already nervous about sending her the letter.

But then Emma had called him last night.

“I can’t talk long, my mom is in one of those moods,” Emma said.

“You can come over,” Austin said, both hopeful and nervous at once.

“I don’t dare leave my room. But I overheard her talking to my dad. Max will be here tomorrow. I don’t know what time, but my dad is coming over tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s cool.” Austin was cautiously optimistic. He didn’t want to tell Tommy, just in case.

“Not really,” said Emma.

“I thought you liked your dad.”

“Of course I do! I just hate how my mom is when he’s around.”

“Divorce sucks.”

“Yeah, well, maybe—anyway, I gotta go.”

“Wait—where’s she staying?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know—I guess I’m just surprised she’s really coming.”

“I told you she would. I’ll find out and text you. I really gotta go.”

Austin considered going to Emma’s and waiting until her mom went to bed, then texting her to meet him at the park. It’s not like anyone would miss them for an hour or two, or that they’d be doing anything wrong. Emma’s mom was ultrastrict, but Austin’s mom mostly didn’t give a shit what he did. All he wanted to do was talk with Emma. Try to figure out what was going to happen when the reporter came and what he should say to her.

But Austin didn’t want to get Emma in trouble, so he didn’t go. He was jumpy. He didn’t know what to expect, and that kinda scared him. He really didn’t think a famous reporter with her own TV show would actually come here to Corte Madera all the way from New York just to find out who killed Ivy. Why? Ivy wasn’t anyone special. Truthfully, she was a total bitch and Austin hated her.

Guilt washed over him as he turned his face against the bus window. Ivy was dead. She wasn’t coming back. He must be an awful person not to miss his own sister. He’d never wanted her dead, he just wanted her gone. And now she was, but things were even worse than before. Tommy was banned from the house and Austin’s mom wanted to keep Bella too busy to be sad. She had to make sure Bella was entertained 100 percent of the time. Ballet. Gymnastics. Playdates. Bella was starting kindergarten tomorrow and you’d think it was the first day of college with all the supplies and clothes his mother had bought for the kid. Austin knew his mother missed Ivy, but she didn’t really know Ivy. She didn’t even want to. She ignored everything that didn’t fit into her pretty box. Now Ivy was on this pedestal, all perfect and glowing like an angel, and if anyone said one word that wasn’t about how perfect and beautiful Ivy was, his mom would lose it. Austin steered clear of home whenever possible, and no one missed him. He had baseball in the spring, and in the summer he just rode his bike and hung out with Tommy.

Of course, he couldn’t tell his mom he saw Tommy nearly every day. She’d have a shit fit.

The bus ride was short, but Austin was antsy and couldn’t wait for the doors to open. Hopping off, he walked to the bike rack, stowed his skateboard on his bike, and unlocked it. Today was his first day not being grounded in two weeks. He supposed he had his stepdad to thank for it, but he didn’t like thanking Bill for anything. It was just as much Bill’s fault as his mother’s for Tommy not being at the house. Ivy had once said Bill was pussy-whipped. At the time, Austin had no idea what it meant, so he asked someone at school. He wished he hadn’t. He knew all about sex, but he sure didn’t want to think about his mom that way.

Still, it fit Bill Wallace. He’d do anything Paula said, even if that meant kicking his own son Tommy out of the house for no good reason.

Jerk.

Austin rode his bike the two miles from the bus stop to Tommy’s house. It was a trek he made all the time.

Maxine Revere had better do what she promised. Emma thought she was some sort of superwoman, but Austin was skeptical. Why did she care what happened to Ivy? No one else did. His mom said she did, but she already had her mind made up. She didn’t care about the truth, she only wanted to hurt Tommy.

Tommy, who used to be a happy guy, wasn’t happy anymore. Before Ivy was killed, Austin and Tommy would bike to his house after school because Tommy’s mom Jenny Wallace often worked late and Tommy’s sister was either out or in her room talking on the phone or doing homework. Tommy didn’t like being alone. They’d play video games, or go to the park, or watch cartoons. Tommy loved cartoons. “SpongeBob SquarePants,” “the Fairly OddParents,” and his favorite—“Jimmy Neutron.” Bill had an old collection of “Looney Tunes,” which he would let them watch, and Tommy could watch Bugs Bunny for hours. He didn’t like the Road Runner because he said the Road Runner made Wile E. Coyote feel stupid. They’d take Bella to the park down the street and Tommy never got tired of pushing her on the swing or spinning her on the merry-go-round. He’d play as long as Bella wanted, or until it was time to go home for dinner.

All that ended last year. Now Austin lied about where he was going so he could hang with Tommy. Sometimes he snuck out of the house. His mom didn’t care, so Austin grew careless. Two weeks ago she’d caught him sneaking back into the house—someone had ratted him out, probably Tommy’s old fart neighbor. Austin didn’t mind so much being grounded, but now Tommy thought it was his fault that Austin got in trouble.

Ever since Paula wouldn’t let Tommy come to Bella’s birthday party, Austin had known they had to do something. Paula had even told Bill that all the other mothers were scared of Tommy, that they didn’t trust him around their little girls. Paula said no one would come to Bella’s party if Tommy was there and she would be heartbroken. Austin didn’t believe his mother—but Bill did.

Tommy had cried. Austin didn’t know what to do. He went to his mom and pleaded with her to let Tommy come to the party. When she said no, Austin found her favorite earrings in the bathroom and pushed them down the drain. She would never find them.

Tommy still talked about the party.

“Did you give Bella my present? The baby doll with the pretty blue eyes and the pink dress? Pink is Bella’s favorite color.”

“She loves the doll, Tommy. She sleeps with her every night.” That was the truth.

“Did you tell her thank you for the piece of cake? I love cake almost as much as ice cream.”

“I told her.” That was a lie. Tommy was so sad the day of Bella’s party that Austin brought over a piece of cake and told him that Bella saved it just for him. In truth, Bella had missed Tommy for about five minutes until all her little friends showed up and the man with the ponies came.

Tommy had said one thing that got Austin thinking.
“I wish we knew who hurt Ivy so Paula will let me be in the family again.”

Austin told everything to Emma earlier that summer. It came out in a rush the night the police wouldn’t talk to him and Tommy a year after Ivy was murdered. They were sitting in the park late at night down the street from Emma’s house. She’d snuck out, but they weren’t doing anything wrong. Just talking.

“I don’t know what to do,” Austin said. “I want to help, but I can’t force my mom to stop being a stupid bitch. I can’t force Bill to see how sad Tommy is all the time.”

“I know,” Emma said. “Max would help. I know it.”

“Who’s Max?”

“Maxine Revere. My dad works for her. She’s a reporter, and this is what she does—solves cold cases. She has a television show where she talks about crime and stuff. She’s like a private investigator, sort of, but not really. She’s a reporter, but not like the newspaper or anything. She’s written four books about murder and stuff.”

“Your dad works for her? Can you see if she’ll help us?”

Emma frowned. “It’s just—my mom and dad don’t get along, and my mom and Max had a big fight last summer when I visited my dad in New York. I don’t want my mom finding out that I’m doing this. Does that make sense?”

In a twisted way, yeah, Austin understood. “You think your mom will get mad at your dad or something.”

“She hates that I like spending time with him, and one time I told her that Max took me shopping and she had a total meltdown. I really don’t know why—she knows Max and my dad aren’t together or anything.”

“Maybe you can get her phone number and I can call her?” He had no idea what he would say.

“I know what I can do—my dad and I are going up to visit Max and her boyfriend in Lake Tahoe next week. It’ll ask her a bunch of questions about her cases, she likes talking about them. I’ll find out how she picks which cold cases she investigates, and then we’ll know how to get her here.”

“You think that would work?”

“My dad says that Max has a compulsive need to solve puzzles, and she looks at unsolved murders as puzzles. I just have to figure out how she decides which unsolved murders she investigates.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. Tommy didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I wish everyone else believed that.”

When Emma came back from Lake Tahoe, she said she’d figured out what Max looked for in the cases she wanted to investigate, and thought the best way to get her to come was if Tommy asked because he was eighteen. At first, Tommy was skeptical, but he sat down and wrote the letter. Austin and Emma helped—Emma had some great advice on what to say, insisting that if Max was curious, she’d definitely come—and they mailed it the next day. Austin asked why not e-mail, and Emma said that Max got hundreds of e-mails every day, but only a few letters in the mail.