Page 129 of You Know Why

“My sister does.”

“Could your sister have accidentally spilled some vape juice in your food or drink? Even on your skin? Topical exposure can be just as deadly.”

“Deadly?”

“Honey, you’re lucky to be upright. We need to admit you and closely monitor your condition. Nicotine can clear your system in six to twelve hours, but if you’ve been ill like this for years, there may be systemic damage to your heart, your kidneys.”

Chloe burst into tears. “I need to call my parents.”

Chloe’s parents came to Atlanta and stayed with her until Eden returned from her trip. They went through the houses, both of them, pulling Chloe’s favorite foods off the shelves and bringing them in for testing.

Almost everything tested positive for nicotine.

The doctor wanted to report the case to the police as an attempted murder, but Chloe’s parents talked them out of it. They explained it was all a big misunderstanding.

And when Eden came home from her trip, they sat their daughter down and confronted her. She denied it all. So they explained the reality of life to her. Either she was going to check herself into the hospital again and come to terms with her issues, or they were going to have the Atlanta police arrest her for trying to kill her sister.

Eden made the only choice she could.

While Eden was in the psychiatric facility, Chloe got a restraining order against her. She moved home to Malogen. She got a job at the library. And she waited for Andrew to come home. He had too much to deal with to be worrying about her. The situation was under control now. She would never let Eden near her again.

Busted

Brooklyn

I watch Detective Lee cautiously. Where is she going with this?

“I don’t know what there is to say about Roger,” I answer. “He died a decade ago.”

“Your aunt told us everything,” Detective Lee says, her tone weary, matter of fact. “We know about your dad, too, the time he served for drug charges, fraud, and money laundering. But I want to hear it from you. Were you involved in Roger Bandolier’s death?”

I don’t say a word. The detective is trying to trick me into talking. Pat knows nothing about France. No one but Margot knows what really happened in Thiviers, and we’re going to keep it that way. Even Trey thinks he knows, and I’ve never dissuaded him from his version of events. It’s safer for all of us that way.

But what does Roger’s death have to do with Trey’s disappearance? Unless . . .

The cop settles deeper into my sofa, getting comfortable. She’s been burning the candle at both ends. Dark circles ring her eyes, and her silver hair is wiry and needs a wash. She’s been busy trying to arrest my husband, and I am not about to cooperate. As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, she drops her voice low.

“Listen to me very carefully, Brooklyn. I’m not going to jam you up here. We’re totally off the record, okay? I’m just trying to figure out what’s happening. Something in your past is tied to what’s going on now. I’m sure of it. Someone has been stalking you. And your husband. And me.” She holds up her hand, the bandage tight across her palm. “He came by my place the night of the accident, the night the Lockes were killed. I didn’t report it because, well, two reasons. One, he threatened to kill me if I did, and I didn’t doubt his sincerity for a moment. He scared the bejesus out of me. And two, I think there’s something else going on with this case. I need to know what his tie is to you. So tell me the truth, Brooklyn. How do you know him?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Let’s do it like this.” The detective sets her iPad on the sofa between them. “Have you ever seen this man before?”

The video is grainy, black and white, and I’m immediately cast back to the airport footage, Trey’s pained expression as he left us behind. The phone he left for me is warm in my pocket. Is he really coming? Or is that a lie, too?

Lee hits play, and I watch Trey move through the airport. And behind him, in a surgical mask and a baseball cap, is another man. His hair is light and curly. He moves with the grace of a predator. He is hunting my husband; that is abundantly clear.

My heart starts to pound.

“What is this? What kind of joke are you playing on me? You know I have a bad concussion, a TBI, and I have to say, manipulating a video to entrap me is low. What the hell is this?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down. No jokes. No manipulation. He followed your husband from the airport, then went to Malogen.” She flashes a photo of an SUV. “I get the sense you know who it is.”

I do. But that is impossible. Completely, undeniably impossible.

“This is a trick.”

“It’s not. All of our lives depend on your answer here, Brook. I’m not joking, and I’m not playing around, and I’m not manipulating things. I am scared to death of what this man is capable of, and I think you are, too.”