What We Found (17 page)

He nodded, but he still looked doubtful. “Why would someone want to hurt us?”

Sitting on a lonely road with darkness falling was not the time to talk about pissed off murderers seeking revenge. “It’s probably just a mechanical problem.” I patted my dashboard. “This old thing has been around longer than you have.”

Ricky gave me a small smile, but he didn’t look convinced. I couldn’t blame him. Maybe it was the adrenaline left over from the near-accident, but I felt as if the trees were pressing in on us, and every time a car drove by I tensed, wondering if they would stop—and who would be inside.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “We’re ordering pizza for dinner! We deserve a treat.”

Maybe it wasn’t good to teach Ricky to use food for comfort, but it worked. “Meat Deluxe?” he said, starting to look more like my little brother again.

The detective called back and said he wasn’t in town, but he’d have someone look into it. A local officer came by an hour later. So much for avoiding police uniforms. Maybe I was supposed to feel safe and comforted with a large, imposing man in blue dominating the living room. I didn’t. Especially when he confirmed that the brakes had been cut.

I answered his questions with my voice wavering and stomach churning. It didn’t matter that the police were the good guys; I kept seeing them in unpleasant circumstances and my body made the association. It’s a form of killing the messenger, I guess. Once he finished questioning me, he said they’d have a patrol car drive by a couple of times during the night. “You be extra careful for a few days. Make sure the house is locked up, windows too.”

Great. He thought the vandal—who was most likely a murderer—might try to break into our house.

He added, “When you get your car back, test the brakes every time you get in, before you go anywhere. Make sure the engine sounds normal. It’s too bad you don’t have a garage. You might want to get a motion sensor light for the carport.”

“Thanks.” It was better to know what might happen. It was better to be prepared. But it wasn’t pleasant.

Ricky, after finishing half a pizza, started to see the whole thing as an adventure and went off to his room to update our notes. I sank down on the couch, staring at nothing. The police questioning had brought out a few things I’d known in the back of my mind but had avoided admitting.

The brakes had been cut sometime during our visit with Nancy, Daniel, and Kyle. We’d been with Nancy the whole time, but we couldn’t vouch for Daniel. And Kyle had been outside when we left the bird building. I tried to imagine him under my car, cutting brake lines. It was all too easy. He seemed like the kind of competent guy who would know cars and be able to handle that simple task. Apparently it only took one hand and some decent clippers.

Then I tried to imagine him sitting at the table eating cookies and bantering with his grandparents, knowing what he’d done. That didn’t fit at all. I couldn’t believe any of them had tried to hurt—maybe kill—us. But the only other people who knew we would be there were my mother—and Nascha.

Some of the people I liked most had jumped to the top of the suspect list.

A few minutes later the door opened and Mom came in. She was wearing a short black skirt and shimmery silver top. I blinked a few times and looked away. It wasn’t inappropriate, really—except on my mother.

Mom stopped in front of me, hands on hips, frowning. I sat up straighter and waited for her to complain about the pizza box on the coffee table. Then I’d tell her we’d had a hard day and describe the accident to distract her.

“Lewis Preppard approached me tonight,” Mom said.

“Jay’s father?” No. Oh, no. Please do not tell me she was starting a romance with him.

Mom nodded. “I don’t like that man.” Thank God. “I never cared for him much. He’s a pompous bully.” Her nose wrinkled. “He told me to control you. Said you were a troublemaker.”

The anonymous phone caller had said something like that—I caused trouble. Could it have been Mr. Preppard? It was hard to imagine a fifty-year-old man making prank phone calls, but I guess some people never grow up.

“He said you were willful,” Mom said.

Why couldn’t people leave me alone? I sighed. “I suppose you agreed with him.”

“Nonsense! You were a reasonably well-behaved child. Until recently, but I suppose I should be glad you’re getting some spine. A woman needs to be able to stand up for herself.”

I jumped up. “Now you tell me? That’s not the message I got growing up.”

Mom backed up a step and lifted her chin. “You didn’t need to disobey
me
. But that doesn’t mean you should give in to everyone else.”

I dragged my fingers through my hair, wanting to tear it out. “Thanks for clarifying. So I should be totally obedient to you and stand up to everyone else.”

“Is that so unreasonable? I’m your mother. I want what’s best for you.”

“Oh, right, it’s always about what’s best for me. Like you never put yourself first.”

She edged back another step. I probably looked crazy, hair messed up, dark circles under my eyes, my clothes rumpled and smelling of sweat. But all the exhaustion and fear and frustration of the last few days mixed with the hurt and anger of a lifetime, and something snapped. I couldn’t hold back. I didn’t want to.

I stepped closer. “You filled my head with so many warnings about men that I could hardly talk to a boy! You didn’t teach me how to tell bad from good, which might actually have been useful—you taught me to be afraid. And the one time I started to feel close to a man—the one time I had somebody who might help me understand what it was all about—you ruined it.”

She shook her head. “What are you talking about?

“Gee, maybe Richard? You know, Ricky’s father? We could have been happy. We
were
happy, until you drove him away.”

She avoided my gaze and grumbled, “I didn’t exactly drive him away.”

I snorted. “Right. It had nothing to do with the way you nagged him, and all those innuendos. How is a man supposed to put up with those kinds of accusations?” I couldn’t stand still. I paced the small open area of floor, two steps and then back. My eyes stung. “Like I would really try to steal your husband, at thirteen.”

She gasped. “That had nothing to do with you! He was having an affair with his secretary.”

I jerked to a stop. “He was?”

“Absolutely. Of all the clichés women have to suffer! I found sexy messages between them, and then he admitted it. He said they hadn’t slept together yet, but what difference does that make? It was still a betrayal. I was going to give him another chance, for Ricky’s sake.” She looked away and brushed at the corner of her eye with a knuckle. “But I wanted to punish him, too. He had to suffer somehow for what he’d done.”

“But you’d say things to him and then stare right at me. I thought you were accusing me of something, too!”

She brushed at her eye again. “I wanted you to understand, to not blame me for what was happening.” She clasped her hands at her waist. “I shouldn’t have said those things in front of you. No wonder you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you!” I closed my eyes a second. Then I met her gaze. “Maybe I do hate you sometimes. You have to control everyone. Everything has to be your way.”

“I just want what’s best for you and Ricky.”

I gave a sigh that was almost a groan. “I know. But you’re not God! You can’t know exactly what is best for every other person at every moment. I’m an adult now. You have to let me make my own decisions.”

Her lips pursed and she didn’t say anything for a long time. It was foolish to think she could change after all these years. I sagged, the anger gone, nothing left but exhaustion. I was about to walk away when finally she spoke. “It’s hard. Hard to let go.”

I touched her arm. “I know. Or at least, I can imagine a little. I want to protect Ricky, too. I guess….” I searched for understanding. “I guess it’s like I want to feel that if he does exactly what I say, and I say the right things, he won’t be hurt. Is it like that for you?”

She considered. Nodded once.

“Okay. I’ll accept that you want to protect us. But we can’t go on like this! Maybe you’ll never be able to see me as an equal, but can’t you at least try to see me as an adult? You can give me advice as … as a friend, but you can’t give orders anymore.”

She blinked rapidly, her eyes moist. Had I finally made a chink in her armor? She gave a kind of half-nod, half-shrug that could have meant anything, but at least she wasn’t yelling or storming away. I was tempted to press my advantage, maybe drag an actual promise out of her in her weakened state. But somehow I couldn’t make myself do it. It was disturbing to see my mother not entirely in control.

I glanced away. “I do appreciate it all, you know. The fact that you raised me alone. I know it wasn’t easy. I wouldn’t have wanted to have a child at seventeen.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was low and raw. “Don’t start too soon.”

I had to smile. “You do realize I’m already five years older than you were then.”

She gasped out, “It’s still too soon!” She swallowed a couple of times and when she spoke again her voice sounded closer to normal. “Live your life first. The life I didn’t get.”

I gazed at her, trying not to be hurt by her bitterness. I’d always tried to be a good child. Had life with me really been so hard?

It probably had.

“I’ll live my life, and I hope my life will include children. Not right away, but someday. But I won’t live the life you wanted. That’s for you to do. You’re not too old.”

She sniffled but managed a smile. “Thanks for that.”

I rubbed my hands over my face and finger-combed my hair. “Mom, now that we’ve sorted that out, I should probably tell you what happened today.”

She studied me. “Is this something that needs a pot of tea?”

“Yeah. That would be good.”

“Let me change.”

“I’ll get the water going.” I dragged myself to the kitchen and filled the kettle. My phone rang in the living room. I glanced at the clock—nearly ten o’clock. A little late for a weeknight phone call, and I didn’t get many calls at any time. I crept toward the phone with caution. Maybe the police had something more to report.

I picked up the phone and saw the caller ID. Nascha. What could she have to say that wouldn’t wait until morning? Unless she wanted to see if we’d survived the evening.

I took a deep breath and answered.

She spoke before I could. “Audra? Are you all right?”

She knew. She already knew about the accident. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just talked to Kyle and he said your brakes had been cut!”

“Wait—you said you didn’t know Kyle.” And how did he know about my brakes? My head pounded.

Mom came into the living room in sweatpants. I covered the phone, whispered, “Ricky will tell you,” and headed for my room.

“I don’t,” Nascha was saying. “Daniel called me, and then he put Kyle on. I guess the police were there, and Kyle was worried about you, but he didn’t have your phone number. Daniel thought I might have it.”

I sank to my bed. After I sorted through what she’d said, it made sense. I’d taken Kyle’s number but hadn’t given him mine. Daniel knew that I knew Nascha and knew about her good memory for numbers. And of course the police would go there and ask questions, after what I told them.

“Audra? Are you there? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m all right. We just got a scare.”

“It’s true then? Someone cut your brakes?”

“Looks that way.”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe what’s been happening.” That made two of us. After a long silence, she said, “It’s late. You’re probably exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow, but call me if you need anything, any time. About Kyle—I didn’t want to give him your number without checking with you first. But he sounded really worried.”

Warmth flooded me but quickly turned cool and sluggish. If only I could be sure he really cared about me and wasn’t just checking on his sabotage plan. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to call them back?”

“No. I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”

“All right. You take care of yourself, too. Goodnight.”

I sat on the bed with the phone in my hand. I could hear Ricky’s voice from the kitchen, high-pitched with excitement.

I needed to figure this out. Kyle seemed like the obvious suspect for cutting my brakes. He had the opportunity. He had the—what do they call it—the means, because he no doubt had tools in his truck or at the house. What about motive? That was still open. But if he’d had something to do with his sister’s death, maybe through drugs, he might’ve gotten suspicious about our visit. And decided to do … what? Get rid of me?

As murder attempts go, it was kind of weak. His house was down in the valley; I was in town up on the plateau. It would have been better to tamper with my car when I was heading down, not up. Besides, with airbags and seatbelts, the chance of a fatal accident dropped. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe he hoped he’d get lucky. The intersection could have gone much worse, and injuries could have stopped our snooping even if they weren’t fatal.

Or maybe Kyle had nothing to do with it. The alternatives still didn’t fit, but imagining some unknown culprit made more sense than imagining that gentle, hurting man clipping my brake cables, before we’d even asked nosy questions, and then sharing tea and cookies. Or was that wishful thinking?

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. Friend or enemy? How did one tell?

If he was a friend, and really worried, I should call him. If he was an enemy, I shouldn’t let him know I suspected.

Either way, I should call him. But I didn’t think I was up for that phone call. I settled on a text instead. I typed in “Everything okay. No injuries.” I sent that and considered following up with, “Thanks for concern.”

The phone rang. Kyle. Of course he had my number now from the text, but didn’t he get the hint when I texted rather than called? But now he knew I was with my phone, and if I ignored him…. I groaned and answered the phone. “Hello?” I let the exhaustion sound in my voice.