The Edge of Normal (22 page)

“Noted. So what’s the verdict?”

“The yellowtail is especially fresh.”

“Great. Let’s start with that. Uh, and how about some pot stickers?” After placing an order with the sushi chef, he turns to her. “Any other tips?”

She hums a note, thinking, and adds, “Any sushi prepared with cream cheese or mayonnaise is a fraud and an abomination.”

“Also noted.”

She has been avoiding eye contact, since good-looking men always make her nervous, but now she cocks an eyebrow and gives him a long, appraising look. “You didn’t invite me here just to flatter me. What’s up?”

He sits forward, drumming his fingers on the envelope resting on the counter between them. “I wanted to ask how Tilly is doing.”

The waitress brings cups of steaming green tea, and Reeve holds hers with both hands, warming them before answering, “You know, Dr. Lerner has been meeting with the whole family on a regular basis, and he should be back in a day or two.”

“Right, but in the meantime, can you share any insights?”

She acts nonchalant. “Dr. Lerner is the professional. He’s the one with the insights.”

He studies her for a moment. “What about you and Tilly, the two of you together? How’s that going?”

“There’s not much to tell,” she lies. The food arrives and she picks up her chopsticks.

“Come on,” he scoffs. “With all the time you two have been spending together?”

“Actually, she’s pretty reserved. More than I thought she’d be.”

He exhales loudly. “Okay, you want to maintain confidentiality, right?”

She lifts a piece of sushi and says, “Mm, doesn’t this look delicious,” trying to change the subject.

He laughs. “Okay, the truth is, I have an ulterior motive for asking you here. I hope you don’t mind, but Jackie Burke wants to talk to you.”

“Burke? Why?”

“She wants to pick your brains.”

Reeve chokes.

“Are you okay?”

“Too much wasabi,” she croaks, grabbing her cup of tea and gulping so quickly she burns her tongue.

“She said she’d be late.” He cranes around to check the door. “But she should be here pretty soon.”

“Well, I can’t tell her anything more than she already knows. At least, nothing that’s, uh, pertinent.” Tilly’s secret seems to pulse inside her.

“Maybe, maybe not. She’s pursuing a new theory.”

“What theory?”

“Oh, here she is now.” He stands and waves Burke over while muttering under his breath, “Just be helpful, okay? And try not to get us both in trouble.”

Burke seems to bring the storm inside with her as she comes toward them, carrying a dripping umbrella. “God, it’s pouring out there,” she complains, stamping her wet boots. “Sorry I’m late. Oh, I don’t like the sushi bar. Let’s move to that table in the back where we’ll have more privacy.”

Taking charge, Burke signals the waitress, and with some effort the group shuffles toward the most remote table in the restaurant. Reeve sits with her back to the window, keeping an eye on both the front entrance and the side exit.

As they’re getting settled, Burke says, “How about some of these rolled-up thingys with cream cheese?” She jabs a finger at a picture on the menu, adding, “My treat.”

Hudson shoots Reeve a wry look, waits for the waitress to finish taking orders, then hands Burke the envelope, saying, “Vanderholt’s file. From Dr. Lerner.”

She inspects it closely. “It’s addressed to me,” she grumbles, indicating the broken seal.

“Sorry about that.” He places a discreet hand on Reeve’s knee, as though to keep her from jumping out of her seat, adding, “My mistake.”

Reeve gives him a sideways glance and says to Burke, “I’m sorry, but I really need to get going. So was there something you wanted to ask?”

“Yes, Miss LeClaire, there are quite a few things I would like to ask. As you surely understand, there are numerous legal difficulties associated with having to interview children, a litany of difficulties that—”

“But Vanderholt’s dead,” Reeve interrupts. “So there’s no case, right?”

Burke’s eyes harden. “Okay, fine. I’ll get right to the point.” Putting her elbows on the table, she leans toward Reeve. “Has Tilly said anything to indicate that she has any knowledge regarding the whereabouts of Hannah Creighton or Abby Hill?”

“What? No.”

“I want you to think very carefully.”

“No, I’m sure. But if you’d like to talk to Dr. Lerner—”

“Right now I’m talking to you. Is there anything at all that Tilly has revealed to you that I should know?”

“Nothing.” Reeve swallows, trying to maintain her poker face.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Burke asks, peering at her.

“Believe me, I wish there were something I could tell you, but I don’t have a clue about those other girls.”

“You’d better be straight with me, because if I find out she has shared important information of any—” Burke’s line of sight skims past Reeve’s shoulder. “Oh, shit, it’s Poe.”

“Otis Poe?” Reeve asks, craning to see.

A bald man the size of a football player comes through the door, his smile a slash of white across his dark face.

“Well damn, Burke,” Hudson mutters, “did he follow you here?”

“One important thing you should know about Tilly and me,” Reeve says to them, scooting back her chair, “we both hate reporters.” She grabs her jacket and makes a beeline for the curtained area beside the sushi counter, where she finds the exit and dashes out into the storm.

FORTY-TWO

Friday

A few news vans still clot the approach to the Cavanaughs’ residence late Friday afternoon, and reporters bark questions at Reeve, but she barely glances at them as she turns into the driveway and drives past. No one knows who she is, and she has nothing to say.

Mr. Cavanaugh greets her as if she is an old friend and invites her to join them for a snack. The entire family is clustered around the dining room table, where Reeve accepts a slice of pecan pie before announcing, “I come bearing gifts.”

Setting a shopping bag on the table, she pulls out a selection of chocolate bars and a tin of gourmet cocoa mix, but these are just distractions from her true purpose. It had taken her awhile to find this particular calendar. She places it before Tilly, saying, “I hope you like it. I noticed you like art.”

Tilly splits open the cellophane wrapper and begins flipping through the colorful pages, pausing to study works by Monet and Matisse and Gauguin.

Reeve takes a seat beside her, saying, “See? It starts with December, so you can use it right away.” Turning to Mrs. and Mrs. Cavanaugh, she adds, “You know, for planning trips and things.”

Everyone seems to gape at her, saying nothing. She gives Tilly a quick nudge beneath the table. “Didn’t you say you have family in Fresno? I mean, you probably want to plan your trip, don’t you? For Christmas vacation?”

Reeve steals a peek at Tilly, who is staring at the calendar with a kind of hunger. The rest of the family stops eating their pie and studies Reeve as if she has done something gauche.

Feeling awkward, Reeve is about to offer an apology when Tilly pipes up. “Yeah, let’s go down to Aunt Becca’s right away, okay? Please? Then we won’t have all those reporters camped out on our doorstep.”

“That’s a great idea,” Reeve says, her voice a bit too bright.

Matt glances at his sister and grumbles. “Yeah, we’re practically prisoners here.”

“Right! Just leave the media in the dust,” Reeve says. “The scrutiny here is hard on all of you, I’m sure.”

Tilly flashes Reeve a conspiratorial smile. “Mom, couldn’t we stay in Fresno with Aunt Becca? I mean permanently?”

Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh look at their children.

“Please?” Tilly says, rising from her seat. “Please, please, please!”

“What do you think, honey?” Mrs. Cavanaugh says to her husband. “It is getting pretty bad here.”

“Hey, Dad, why couldn’t they just stay down there for awhile,” Matt says, “and then you and me can come back here?”

“That might be a good idea,” Mrs. Cavanaugh says.

“I don’t know.” Mr. Cavanaugh puts his head in his hands. “Split up the family?”

“We could try it out, you know, as a compromise.” Mrs. Cavanaugh says. “Maybe Tilly could start school down there next semester.”

“See, Dad? Everyone thinks it’s a good idea.” Matt sits back and crosses his arms, giving Reeve a rare smile. “Let her move if she wants, and then I can at least finish my senior year like a normal person.”

“Could we go, Dad?” Tilly begs. “Please? Like right away?”

Mr. Cavanuagh looks from face to face and opens his palms. “I don’t know. I’m not crazy about the idea.”

“Well, but honey,” Mrs. Cavanaugh says slowly, “there is, um, one other thing.”

He exhales. “What?”

“Uh, well, someone put a dead rat in our car.”

He gawks at her. “Are you kidding?”

“I wish I were.”

“A dead rat? That’s disgusting.”

“Yes.” She grimaces. “It was really disgusting.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to alarm you.”

“A
rat?
” Tilly says.

“Where? When?” Mr. Cavanaugh asks, frowning.

“I’m not sure. While Tilly and I were out shopping, I guess. I thought the car was locked, but when we got home, I was unloading packages, and—”

“A
rat?
” Tilly repeats.

“That’s mega-gross,” Matt declares. “I mean, why would—”

“There are sick people out there,” Reeve says, staring at Tilly, who sits rigidly upright, looking pale. “It’s not safe.”

Reeve has no doubt the rat was a message for Tilly. Was it really from Mister Monster? Could he strike this close?

An hour later, Reeve and Tilly are curled on the couch watching yet another PG-rated movie, when Matt comes in and sits down beside them. He’s not paying attention to the movie, Reeve notices. He’s fidgeting, kneading his thighs, and keeps looking at his sister.

After a couple of minutes, Tilly sighs with exasperation and demands, “What?”

“Um, you’re not really watching this, are you?”

“Not really,” she admits.

His voice drops. “That rat creeped you out, didn’t it?”

She stares at him for a long moment before giving a short nod.

“I thought so.” He swallows, anguish showing on his face “Okay, can I show you something?”

“I guess.”

Tilly reaches for the remote, but he blocks her hand, saying, “Leave it on,” with a glance toward the door.

This earns Tilly’s full attention. Whatever Matt has in mind clearly would not meet with parental approval.

He stands, saying, “Reeve, you can come, too,” and leads them down a hall to a part of the house she hasn’t explored. They enter a den that’s twice as big as Reeve’s father’s, with a massive mahogany desk, paneled walls, plenty of bookshelves, and an elk’s head mounted above a fireplace.

He shuts the door behind them, saying, “Okay, weird shit is happening, but this is the safest room in the house. So if anything ever happens, meet me here.”

Reeve glances around, wondering what makes this room safer than any other, noticing the double locks on the door.

“If there’s a real emergency, I just want you to know that I can protect you, if it comes to that.”

Matt’s snarky attitude has vanished, and Tilly nods at her older brother with solemn respect.

He crosses the room and stands beside the fireplace, saying, “Mom and Dad don’t want you to know about these, so don’t say anything, okay?”

He grips the vertical edge of a gleaming wood panel and slides it to the right, revealing a hidden compartment stocked with guns.

Tilly stares with a rapt expression, standing with her hands clasped behind her back and leaning so far forward that she’s balanced on the balls of her feet.

“Don’t ever play with these,” he says, pointing. “I’m a pretty good shot, so if anything happens, I’ll take care of it, okay?”

For an awful moment, Reeve is afraid he’s going to take out a gun and hand it to Tilly, but then he slides the panel closed and she breathes out relief.

“Wait a minute,” Tilly says, stepping toward him. “At least teach me how to shoot.”

He glances at the door and shakes his head.

“What if you’re not home? What if I’m here all by myself?”

“If you’re home alone and something happens, come in here, lock the door, and call 911. Then just wait here, okay?”

“Come on, you showed me where the guns are, at least show me what to do.”

Matt rubs his face, thinking. He slides the panel open again, and says, “These three are rifles and these two are shotguns.”

For a moment, Reeve thinks she should stop him, but reconsiders. Maybe Matt actually knows what he’s doing. Given the circumstances, maybe this kid’s instincts are better than hers.

He takes down a rifle and hands it to Tilly, showing her how to hold it. “Now, this is just for absolute emergencies, okay? Grip it here. The safety is on, see? But always assume a gun is loaded. Don’t even put your finger on the trigger or point it at anyone you don’t want to see dead. You got that?”

“Yep, got it,” Tilly says quickly.

For the next several minutes, Matt conducts his own version of a gun safety course, and Reeve watches closely while Tilly learns the basics of how to aim and fire a rifle. The shotgun, he says, “has stopping power, but it’s too difficult for you because you to have to pump it.”

Tilly frowns at the rifle in her hands and asks, “How do I know when to shoot?”

“The thing is, you don’t want to shoot,” Matt says, taking the gun from her. “You just want them to run away. And trust me, anyone staring down the business end of a barrel is going to be scared.”

He fits the rifle back into its place and slides the panel closed.

The trio returns to the couch, and while the movie continues, they sit guiltily, quiet and watchful in the way of children trying to get away with something forbidden. Eventually, Matt slinks out of the room. Tilly chews her nails. And Reeve rubs the scar on the back of her neck, staring at the screen without seeing.

*   *   *

Later that night, Reeve is busy writing a last-minute e-mail to Emily Ewing when Tilly Cavanaugh borrows her father’s phone to send a short text message: