Page 80 of Buried in the Woods Below

Now it’s my turn to do the interrogating. “Yes, you were outside with Vivek and Freida. It looked pretty heated. What did you say to them?”

She waves her hand as though I’ve asked her a trifling question. “I told Vivek he had a choice: quit Winthrop, take responsibility, or face the consequences.” Her lips thin.

“What did he say?”

“He said you were stalking him. That he was the victim.” Her eyes flick toward me, waiting to see if I’ll flinch.

I scoff and ignore her implication, picturing Vivek, the sorcerer, weaving one last spell before he died. “And then?”

“And then I left.”

“What time was that?”

“Around ten thirty.”

I search her face for any deception. The flicker of an eyelid. The flash of a pupil. Bite of a lip. But she holds my gaze. She’s telling the truth. Or at least I think she is. I’ve been wrong about my mother before. I release a breath but then stiffen.

“You swear you had nothing to do with this?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Please, dear. Don’t insult me.”

“So, why were you so quick to call Tom Kim? You have to admit, calling an attorney at the drop of a hat doesn’t scream innocence.”

She undoes the tourniquet and slides the scarf back and forth through her hands. Her lip quivers. “Because of you, dear. You worked with Vivek. You had a history. You’re staying a few hundred yards from where he died. And…given your history with your father—”

The words cut. I’d braced for suspicion from the outside world. But hearing it from her?

I think of the axe missing from the toolshed. The toolshed attached to the house I’m staying in. I say I went to bed, but can I prove that?

My mom purses her lips and nods at me as if she can see what I’m thinking. “That is why I called Tom Kim.” Her voice softens. “We have to be smart.”

“We have to be smart? Mom, you’re acting like this is my fault. I told you not to talk to the Adwanis. If you hadn’t stuck your nose in my business, we wouldn’t even be in this mess. Has it occurred to you I’m a grown woman and can take care of myself?”

My mom’s face turns to fire. Her eyes squint, and she points a narrow, bony finger at me. Her refined Boston accent drops, revealing the tough girl who grew up in Southie. “The only reason you are where you are in life is because I stuck my nose in your business. You have no idea what it’s like to grow up with a mother who doesn’t give a shit whether you’re coming or going. Be grateful for what you have. God only knows where you’d be if it weren’t for me.”

“So, this is how it’s going to be for the rest of my life? You’re just going to solve every one of my problems?”

“If I have to, yes. Now, will you let me help you?”

I rise from my chair and walk over to the porch railing, placing my hands on the cool wood. The lake sways, reflecting an endless gray sky. It makes me feel small, like I’m trapped in a snow globe. Like there’s a giant world out there swirling around without me, and I’m helpless, stuck inside.

I watch the fisherman. There is something familiar in his slouch. I squint harder, and that’s when I see it. The plume of pipe smoke.

It’s Russ Neuman.

He’s watching us.

I need to tell Gonzalez about him. About the notes. But I can’t do this alone.

I turn to my mom. “Okay. I’m in. What’s your plan?”

She joins me at the railing and stares out at the lake. “Today? Nothing. I want you to stay in the house, to lie low. Don’t talk to anyone about the Adwanis. Not even the Parkers. Tomorrow, we’ll sit down with Tom and tell him our side of the story and let him run with it.”

A light drizzle begins. I extend my hand into the rain. “That makes sense. I can do that.”

“Good.” She turns to me. “But there’s one more thing.”

“Anything.”