The Wrong Girl (17 page)

He put a hand to his chest, feeling …
tight,
like a wrenching, as if an elephant were sitting on his chest. If he could only make it to the couch. A few steps across the room.

“Who the hell are you? Keefer! Get in here! Lookit this!”

Who was shouting? Was someone in the room? Brannigan narrowed his eyes, trying to make them work. Someone in a white coat and a mask. A doctor? But not a doctor. Only one step to Lillian’s soft couch. He needed to get—in the other room—the photo of—

“Holy shit, Kev, who the hell is this?”

Now someone else was talking, another man in white.

“Hey. Buster. Who the freaking hell are you?”

“He’s like a million years old. How’d he get in here? Hey, Grampa. What the hell are you doing here? Who the frick
are
you?”

He knew this. He knew his name. He just couldn’t think of it at the moment. “It’s—I’m—”

“Call the cops,” one man said. “Call nine-one-one.”

“Yes, call—” Brannigan tried to make the words come out, but he knew somehow, it didn’t sound like yes. The room grew darker, then lighter, and the elephant still sat there, and he needed—

“No. No freaking way. We’re not supposed to be in here till like tomorrow, you know that. How would we explain—”

The white suits kept talking, arguing, ignoring him. He needed to interrupt.

“In the bedroom drawer, there’s a—,” he said. Ah. Better.
Better.
He dropped onto the soft welcoming cushions of Lillian’s couch, her faint scent of muguet and roses lingering on one silky pillow. The lights were bright now, exactly as they should be, and the elephant was gone. His fear was gone. The ceiling was white, so white, so fascinatingly white, why hadn’t he noticed that before? He needed a moment to—But now the voices were yelling at each other, arguing, incessant but somehow hazy around the edges.

“I said, get him outta here!”

“But how are we supposed to do that? He’s a—”

Someone—screamed? But not one of the white suits, it sounded like a girl, someone who worked for him at the Brannigan? But why was she screaming? So silly. It would all be fine.

She was going to die.

Right here, right now, and it wouldn’t matter because her stupid brothers would be arrested for her murder, and she wouldn’t care. It might even be worth it to be dead to have those two idiots in handcuffs and behind bars.

How can someone this old weigh this much?
A million pounds, Kellianne calculated, seething. He weighs a million freaking pounds.

Kevin had draped one of the old man’s arms over her shoulders and the other over Keefer’s. Kev walked in front of them, ‘scouting,’ he said, as the two stumbled along the front walkway toward the street, holding the guy up between them.

After the man collapsed inside, Kev had made her take off her white suit, right when she had everything in place. Demanding privacy, she’d stashed her loot in the dead woman’s bathroom. They’d never come in the bathroom when she was in there. So that was okay.

But now, if any of the neighbors looked out their windows, wouldn’t they see them? Her and Keefer lugging some sick old man down the front walkway of the dead woman’s house?
I mean, how is that gonna work?

She took a deep breath, her nose wrinkling at the scent of mothballs and old man smell. Her white nylon parka was gonna smell like—
Shit.
Now she had to grab one of his hands and give it a yank to keep him from slipping off her shoulder. She hoisted the stupid guy and took another step or two, then stumbled, barely catching herself.

“
Shit
.” She should drop the guy, right on the wet brown grass. The brother brain trust could just deal with it. Without her.

She wasn’t going another step.

“Pssst, Kevin,” she whispered, needing to get his attention without making noise. No lights were on in the nearby houses, but someone could be calling the cops right now. “This is the dumbest, beyond dumb-ass thing you’ve ever—”

“Move it, princess,” Keefer hissed at her. He was holding up the guy’s other side. But Keefer was so much taller than her, the guy was all tilty. Which made him even heavier. He was still breathing. She knew that, at least.

“But—”

“It is what it is, right? Keep walking.”

No way. “Kevin!” she whispered, loud as she could, the sound tensing in her throat. “Stop, you asshole!”

Kevin stopped, pivoted, and strode two steps toward them, glaring at her, his face all lines and shadows. His silver down vest was hanging open, unsnapped, and he wore his stupid baseball cap, strap in the front, and precious sunglasses balanced on top.

“Listen to me, sister. You don’t have any say in this, right?”

She didn’t like the sound of his voice.

“You keep walking,” he said. “That’s gotta be his car across the street, the Lexus. Where’d he come from, otherwise, right? You keep your freaking arm around him, like I told you. And this will all be copacetic.”

“But what if—”

“There is no ‘what if.’” Kevin leaned forward, his eyes drilling into hers.

She hated that. What an idiot.

“Besides, he looks like some kind of drunk, ya know? If anyone’s looking?” Kevin waved a hand at the neighborhood. “So let’s all look sad for the neighbors, oh, no, Grampa had a little too much booze, must have been so upset over poor what’s her name. We’re helping him to his car. O-frigging-kay? Keep. Going.”

Lucky it was dark. Lucky the neighborhood streetlights were kinda dim. Dim. Like Kev, who kept acting like he was the boss of her.

Headlights.

Coming around the corner.

Kellianne felt her heart totally hammering in her chest. She tried to imagine what they would say if—

Kev stopped, backed up close until he was right in front of them, as if to hide the unlikely trio from the road.

The guy got even heavier. His head lolled to one side, his bristly white hair grazing her mouth. She. Was going. To
die.

The car was headed right toward them.

No one said a word.

The car whooshed past. Its piercing blue headlights grazed the surface of the walk, but no light touched them. The driver didn’t even slow down. Kellianne held her breath as it pulled away, leaving them in the dark.

It wasn’t dark enough to keep her from seeing the guy’s mouth hanging open, eyeglasses about to fall off. She looked down at the flagstone path, trying to keep his image out of her brain. Her boots were muddy, glistening with slush.
His
feet were twisted, shoes coming unlaced, now his feet were facing in, no one’s feet could ever naturally do that. She remembered to breathe, then looked up, at the road, at the disappearing taillights, at Kev. Anywhere but at
him.

“Toldja.” Kevin was waving them forward with a “hurry-up” spiral of one gloved hand. “Make it look like you’ve got to get him to the car. He’s not dead, you know? He just had a stroke or something.”

“And then what?” Keefer, lugging his half of the load, turned to her in the murky pool of the streetlight, muttering, as they crossed the road, step by ridiculous step. “We’re gonna put him—”

Kevin got to the curb, then faced them, hands on hips. “Look. If we call the cops, and they find him in her house, they’re gonna know we were inside early. If they know we were inside early, we are ska-rooed. You know the deal.”

“Yeah, but—” Keefer was frowning.

“Yeah, but nothing. Who’s to know where he had his heart attack or whatever? Right?” Kevin kept talking, his voice low and persuasive. “Right? So, listen. It’s all good. He had keys, remember? We’ve gotta find them to get him back into the car.”

“I’m not looking in his freakin’—”

“Shut up, princess. I’ll hold him up while you—”

Kevin took the last three steps to the car, and tried the driver’s side door. “Hey, no way. The door’s already open. How great is that?”

He still wore his gloves, Kellianne saw.

She frowned the whole time as she helped Keefer slide the guy behind the wheel. Keef had picked him up like a baby, plopped him in the front seat. She’d stuffed his legs into place, wincing as she saw his head bonk against the steering wheel.

She stood up, took one step away from the car, keeping her hand on the door handle.

“He’s in. We done? I’m closing this door.”

“Shit.” Keefer was pushing her aside, leaning in over the guy. “Holy…”

“What?” Kev whispered.

“What?” Kellianne whispered.

“He’s not breathing anymore.” Keef’s voice was weird, all freaked out. “Look. See that?”

“You sure?” This sucked, Kellianne thought. Sucked bad.

“You wanna check up close, little sis?” Keefer twisted around, cocking his head toward the body.

“Close the door,” Kev ordered. He pointed at Keef. “
Now.
If he’s dead, he’s dead.”

Keef reached for the door handle.

“Softly!” Kevin hissed.

The door clicked shut with a muffled thud. Kellianne looked around, eyes darting from house to house. Nothing. No lights flipped on. No sirens screamed down the street, not even a dog barked. Only the wind twisting through the bare rustling branches of the trees, and the three Sessions, standing by a dead guy.

“Don’t you morons see? This is
better.
” Kevin widened his eyes and held out both hands, like he was trying to convince a little kid. “Now he can’t talk about seeing us. Right? Or tell what happened. He can’t—jeez. Come on, we need to get back inside.”

Kellianne trotted after her brothers, across the street and back up the flagstone walk, considering.
Better?
It could work either way, she supposed.

If they got into trouble, like the cops started asking questions, well, none of it was her idea and nobody could say it was. And if it actually worked, if, like, the cops thought this guy had his heart attack behind the wheel, maybe, felt bad, pulled over, then died, well, that wasn’t her fault, either. Shit happens.

Then she thought of something. Something not good at all. She had to tell Kevin. He was about to open the door, and she’d better stop him.

“Hey. Kev.”

Kevin had left everything unlocked. He was pulling open the white-trimmed storm door but turned to her, his stupid cap all sideways but his stupid sunglasses still in place.

“What, for godsake? We need to get inside.” He turned the brass knob of the front door, and pushed it open.

“I’m just saying.” Kellianne, the last one in, closed the storm door behind her. They stood in the entryway, looking into the living room. Only the puffy couch pillows that had fallen, haphazard, onto the dead woman’s expensive-looking rug betrayed anything unusual happening inside. “You’re so smart and all, but this guy had a key to the house, right? So it seems like he had to know the dead woman. So aren’t the police gonna connect—”

“If they do, Miss Buzzkill,” Kev interrupted her, she hated that, “they’re gonna think he was on his
way
to see her, right? Maybe he didn’t know she was dead. I mean, obviously he didn’t. Why would you come visit a dead person?”

Kevin was sneering again. She hated that, too. He kept talking, his eyes all sneery, like she was so dumb.

“Right, princess? But he never made it inside. Because the door was sealed with crime tape. And we’re gonna do that right now. Capisce?”

“Yeah, capisce?” Keefer echoed. He stabbed two forefingers at her, poking the air. “We got nothing to do with that guy. Okay? And we’re gonna seal the door when we leave.”

Keef turned and looked back through the storm door. Kev did, too. So did Kellianne. The three remained silent for a moment. Staring across the street.

In the glow of the streetlight, Kellianne could make out the man’s body, head down, sitting behind the steering wheel. Kind of, she guessed, like he’d just parked there. Maybe getting ready to open his door. Which, come to think of it, was exactly what he
had
done about twenty minutes earlier.

Maybe this would work.

“Okay,” Kellianne said.

“Why would you think she’d be home, Tuck? Shouldn’t you call?” Jane watched the numbers on the gas pump fly by as she filled her Audi with unleaded. Not exactly how she’d planned to spend her Tuesday morning, but then, nothing in her life was going as planned. Frankly, that was becoming a pattern.

Her hand nearly froze to the pump handle, but self-serve was cheaper. If it turned out her job was in the
Register
’s budgetary gun sights, she’d be wise to keep expenses down. And she should have worn a hat. She wrapped the end of her plaid muffler around her other hand. Freezing.

Freezing and banished.

Tuck had her passenger-side window open and was pecking at the keys on the car’s GPS. “She lives there, that’s why,” Tuck said. “It’s not where we met, remember, but I know … hang on a second, I can’t talk to you and enter the address at the same time.”

Banished from the
Register
.
So ridiculous.

“I know, Mom, glass half full,” Jane muttered at the flashing numbers. Come to think of it, she
should
remember that. She wasn’t banished from journalism. She could work on a different story, and she didn’t need to go into some building to do it. Eventually, Alex would love it and Tay Reidy would unbanish her and all would be well.

It could happen. Might as well believe it.

But truth be told, she didn’t. As the gas pump numbers racked up more dollars, Jane’s worries spun even faster, imagining what would happen if she got fired again. Her father would—well, he’d probably pull out his favorite phrase, “I told you so.” Then remind her he’d have preferred her going to law school, and remind her that Lissa had followed his advice, then point out how happy her sister was now. How engaged Lissa was. All that Jane wasn’t. She’d have to sell her condo, move somewhere, find another new job.
As what?
And Jake—

The gas pump bell dinged. Jane jammed the hose back on the hook.

Jake was so angry last night. She had to admit she wasn’t thrilled with the nasty phone call, either, who would be? But it was the cost of doing reporter business, and she couldn’t live her life spooked every time some goon felt unhappy with her story. She promised Jake she’d be careful and made it home fine. No bad guys or boogey men. No repeat phone call. Fine, okay, she’d checked the street outside her front window a time or two. She hadn’t noticed any police cruisers—so much for “keeping an eye on her”—but who knew.