The Borrowed and Blue Murders (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) (21 page)

Oh God—Bonnie Osterman. That’s what she had done—eaten up babies. Literally. But there was no connection between the way I felt and what she’d done. I would never really bite Luke. I might nuzzle him and rub my face into his tummy, but I’d never actually nip him, much less chew on him. Still, I wondered. That urge— the almost primal compulsion to clamp my jaws around my infant’s body—was it the same one that had compelled Bonnie Osterman? Had her impulse to devour babies merely been a perversion of a basic maternal drive? And if so, were her crimes somehow more understandable? Less grotesque?

No. I wasn’t going to think about Bonnie Osterman. Nothing about her or her crimes was understandable, and there was no connection between us. I would not remember her squat form darting after me, questioning me at the Institute, asking about my pregnancy; nor would I consider the possibility that she’d run a car into Bryce Edmond. I closed my eyes, refusing her image access to my mind, and I ran a finger along the curve of Luke’s cheek, trying to absorb the peace that embraced him. But commotion interrupted. Oliver ran down the steps, barking, and footsteps pounded and furniture scraped the hardwood floors, being moved.

“Mom!”

“Coming.” I pulled myself away from Luke and started down the hall.

“Mom—where are you? We’re ready!”

“Coming,” I repeated, but Emily spoke at the same time.

“Molly, no, we’re not either ready.” She sounded panicked.

“Come on, Emily. Yes, we are.”

“No—if one of us says she’s not ready, then the other one has to listen.”

Oliver was running in circles, yapping, as I approached the living room. The girls stood in the hallway, face-to-face. They wore matching pink leotards from gymnastics class, and they’d put glitter in their hair and green shadow above their eyes. Emily wore a chiffon scarf around her neck; Molly held a baton.

“Okay, Emily. How are we not ready?” Molly put a hand on her hip.

“Because we didn’t rehearse enough.” Emily was adamant.

“But remember, Em? That’s why we picked these routines. Because we did all of them before, so we already know them,” Molly urged her. “It’s just a different order.”

“But wait. Your mom’s not even here—”

“Yes, I am. I’m here.” I hurried past them into the living room.

Emily turned to me, pouting.

“Come on, Em. We’re ready.”

Emily sulked, not moving.

“Come and sit, Zoe. Have a snack.” Susan moved over, making room for me on the couch. Apparently, while I’d been with Luke, Susan and Anna had been to the kitchen. The coffee table, moved to the side of the room to make way for the “stage,” displayed bowls of store-bought salsa and artichoke dip, a basket of chips and several cans of soda.

“Emily, get it moving.” Susan clapped her hands. “It’s now or never. We’ve got to get home.”

“But Mom, it’s going to suck.”

“Emily Cummings,” Susan scolded. “Language.”

Emily muttered words we couldn’t hear as Molly told her, “Start the music, Em.” The music was on a CD that they had accidentally miscued. So it took a while for them to find the right cut. Finally, we heard strains of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” As the girls began dancing, Oliver went berserk, nipping at their heels, trying to herd them. I scooped him up and held him on my lap, and while he strained to jump off and Emily whined that she’d warned us it would suck, they recued the music and started from the top, again.

They danced and Molly twirled her baton, to much applause. Emily juggled three balls, dropping one only twice, and the audience went wild. Molly and Emily did cartwheels and flips back and forth across the living room floor with much clapping and cheering all around. And then, they turned the music off. The two stood side by side, and Emily announced a duet. Each of them picked up “microphones,” which looked to be jump drives from my computer. I’d have to discuss that with Molly later; she knew better than to touch anything in my office, let alone to take anything out of there. It disturbed me that she’d so blatantly break the rules. But the talk could wait until Susan and Emily left; for now, I sat with the rest of the audience, watching the show.

“Stop!” Each girl holding her microphone in one hand, they gestured the word by holding the other out in front. “In the name of love.” Their free hands each outlined half of a heart shape in the air. “Before you break”—they moved as if snapping a stick—”my heart.” They folded their hands over their chests. They were singing one of my favorite oldies, and their voices were pretty much on key. Emily was a year older, a head taller and more self-conscious than Molly. But, no question, the two were crowd-pleasers. They did almost matching footwork while singing the verses into their microphones, repeating the hand movements for the choruses. At the end, they got a standing ovation.

After the girls had sodas and chips and dip, Susan took Emily home and I took Molly to my office, so we could have a talk.

“Let me see your microphones.” I expected her to be embarrassed or guilty for taking what wasn’t hers, maybe even to apologize. But she didn’t.

“Why, Mom?” She seemed genuinely confused.

“I want to see them.”

Shrugging, she went back to the living room and returned with the two jump drives. “Here.”

I took them. “Where did you get these?” I was annoyed that she didn’t even seem sorry.

“I found them.”

“You found them.” Was she going to lie to me? “Where?”

“Oliver had them.”

Great. Now, instead of taking responsibility for her actions, she was blaming the dog. What was happening to Molly?

“He was chewing them.”

“Do you know what these are?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Key chain thingies.”

“No, Molly. They’re on chains. But these thingies hold memories for computers.”

She seemed unimpressed.

“So, you’re telling me that Oliver had them?”

“Uh-huh.” She seemed uninterested. “Mom, what’s for dinner?”

“Wait.” I ignored her question. “How do you think Oliver got hold of these?”

She shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

“Do you think he went into my office and took these from my desk?”

Her eyes met mine, wounded. “How should I know?”

“Well, I thought you might want to rethink your story about how you got them.”

“What? You don’t believe me?” Her mouth dropped in shock and indignation. “You think I’m lying?”

“I didn’t say that. But it’s difficult to believe that Oliver could have—”

“Fine.” She stomped her foot. “Don’t believe me. Why don’t you just call me a liar?” She spun around and ran out of the room, and I heard her stomping up the steps, the door of her room slamming.

I closed my eyes, felt them burning. In all the six years since I’d adopted her, Molly and I had never had a conflict like this one. Never before had I caught her in a lie.

For a while, I sat with the jump drives in my hands, oddly paralyzed, my heart hurting. I didn’t want to call Molly a liar, didn’t want to believe she’d lie to me. But I held the evidence in my hands. What was I supposed to do? Molly and I had always been honest with each other, but then, Molly had changed. She was getting older, would inevitably have secrets from me. And she must have feelings about Nick joining our family, some of which she couldn’t or wouldn’t articulate. And Luke. She was jealous. But could she be so angry with me for having him that she was getting even by stealing my stuff? Oh Lord. It all made a sad, twisted kind of sense.

Okay. A few days ago, I’d promised to spend more time with her; now was a good time to start. I’d go to her, reassure her, remind her how important honesty was. We’d talk it out. Sighing,

I stood to go, setting the drives on my desk. Then, glancing at them, I sat back down.

The jump drives were a different brand than mine. Not only that. They were on navy blue chains; my chains were black. And, looking more closely, I could see that they were damaged, dented with what looked like tooth marks. In fact, one looked like it had been gnawed by a dog.

“I
’M SORRY.”
I
’D KNOCKED
, but she hadn’t answered.

“Okay.” Her voice was small.

“Can I come in?” Odd, I’d never asked permission before. But then, she’d never shut me out before.

“Okay.”

Molly sat on the floor, surrounded by the outfits she and Emily had tried on for the show. “You think I lied.”

“No, Molls.”

“Yes, you do. You didn’t believe me.”

I sat beside her. She wasn’t looking at me; she focused on sorting her leotards and tights. “I was wrong, Molly. I thought those things were mine. They’re called jump drives, and they look just like mine, but they aren’t mine. I was wrong to assume you took them.”

“But why would you think that?”

“What, that you took them?”

She nodded. “Do you think I’m a stealer? A liar and a stealer, too?”

Oh God. What had I done? “No, Molls. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“But if you don’t think so, why did you say what you said?”

She turned to me, and I saw her chin wobbling, refusing tears. I reached over to hug her, but she stiffened, rejecting my arms. She wasn’t going to forgive me easily.

“Molly, I made a mistake.”

She bit her lip, not letting herself cry.

“I thought I was the only one in the house who had those drives. I thought they’d come from my office. But they didn’t. Maybe they belong to one of your uncles.”

“But you thought I stole them.”

What was I supposed to say? “I didn’t exactly think you stole them. I thought you might have borrowed them without asking, but I was wrong. I know you didn’t do that. I do not think you’re a liar or a stealer. I love you, and I think your show was fabulous. And I hope we can make up. Can we?”

She nodded. I tried again to hug her and she allowed it, but she didn’t return my embrace with any enthusiasm. I removed my arms and put a hand under her chin. “Molly, I trust you. I do. I value your opinions. And I really am sorry I doubted what you said.”

“I know. It’s okay, Mom. Let’s just forget it. We all make mistakes.”

I was speechless, relieved. Not certain how to move on. For a while, I sat with her, silently helping her straighten her room up, replacing the glitter in her crafts box, putting unworn costumes into a drawer.

“So then, whose are they?” She finally spoke.

It took a minute to figure out what she was referring to. “I don’t know. Maybe Sam’s or Tony’s.” They left everything else lying around, why not jump drives?

“Maybe they fell out of Uncle Tony’s pocket.”

Why would she say that? “You think?”

She shrugged. “You know that corner where Uncle Tony dumps his clothes? Well, that’s where Oliver was. He was sitting on top of Uncle Tony’s gray sweatpants, chewing on them.”

My heart did a double take. “When was that, Molls? Do you remember?” Was it before or after the house was ransacked? Before or after Agent Harris’ death?

Molly’s face was blank, fearful. Not wanting me to get angry again. “I’m not sure.”

“Was it after the lady died out back?”

Molly nodded, positive. “Yes.”

“And what about the time Uncle Tony got his black eye? Was it before that?”

She cocked her head, thinking. “No. I think maybe it was the next day, the day right after the lady died.”

“The next day?”

She nodded slowly, unsure. “Maybe. I think.”

“Try to remember, Molls. It could be important.”

“It was. It was the next day.” She beamed, elated. “Because I remember. I slept at Emily’s because we didn’t have school. Remember? Because it was Saturday.”

And because our house was a crime scene. “And what happened when you got back from Emily’s?”

“Uncle Tony was mad because our house was in the newspaper, remember? I can’t figure out why he was so mad about that.”

Neither could I. But I hadn’t known that she’d been aware of that. Did anything get past Molly? “I think he didn’t like his picture.”

She giggled. “Why? He didn’t look pretty enough?”

Wait. Pretty? Did Molly know Tony was gay? Did she even know what “gay” was?

“And then you took Emily and me to the park, and when we got back, we saw Oliver was chewing on something. Emily and me—we thought they’d be good microphones, so we took them away from him and brought them up to my room, and we kept them in my prop box for the show.”

Oh. She put them in her prop box. A cardboard carton, elaborately decorated with cutouts and glitter, stuffed with a baton, a dozen hats, a witch’s broom, a cane, pompoms, streamers, a juggling kit, magic tricks, masks and who knew what else. No wonder, I thought, that whoever had ransacked our house hadn’t found the drives. No adult would willingly venture into the tangle of miscellany contained in that box.

“Mom? Why do you care when it was? What’s the difference?”

I didn’t dare lie to her, but I didn’t want to tell her the truth, either. “I’m trying to figure out who they belong to, Molls.”

She nodded soberly. “You think the person who lost them wants them back?”

“Probably. The information they saved on those things could be important.”

In fact, very important. Important enough to kill or die for.

“Will Uncle Tony be mad?”

“No, Mollybear. Why would he?”

“Because maybe—I mean if they fell out of his pockets, they might be his. Maybe he’ll think I stole them and then he’ll be mad like you were.”

“Don’t worry.” I pulled her to me and held her tight. “Uncle Tony would understand. He could never stay mad at you. And neither can I.”

She nodded, agreeing with me, as if I’d just stated the obvious.

We went downstairs together to make dinner but found Anna already in the process of preparing meat loaf, asparagus, tossed salad and mashed potatoes. Molly and I got to work setting the dining room table. I folded napkins, replaying in my mind what Molly had told me, convinced that she was right: The jump drives had probably fallen out of Tony’s sweatpants soon after Agent Harris’ death. And so, the question was: Why had they been in Tony’s sweatpants?