Part 27 (2/2)

Ron looked at me for confirmation. ”Is that true?” he asked.

”We don't know for sure,” I said. ”Not this soon, but Molly's body was found in Dillon's trunk. From the amount of blood, I'd say he stabbed her repeatedly.”

”But why?” Ron demanded. ”I thought Molly was Dillon's friend. When he showed up at the house with his knife last night and threatened us if we didn't tell him where to find Heather, I never doubted for a moment that he'd use it on me, but I don't understand why he'd go after Molly.”

Amy roused the sleeping Jared and handed him over to his father. ”I've gotta go,” she said. ”I have to go tell the folks.”

Without a word, Ron took the child into his arms. I would have expected him to say something conciliatory, but he didn't. There was no word of comfort or condolence from Ron as Amy stood up and smoothed her skirt. That surprised me.

”If you'd like some company, I'll be glad to drive you,” I offered.

”Thank you,” she murmured. Seemingly struck by some kind of indecision, she stood staring at Tracy and Heather, who were sitting halfway across the room. ”Would you please tell Heather, Beau?” Amy asked. ”I can't do it. I just can't.”

I didn't want to tell Heather any more than Amy did, but not for the same reason. Dillon's d.a.m.ning ”we” had placed Heather firmly in the enemy camp. And if she had been a part of her own mother's murder, it didn't seem likely that Molly's death would come as a surprise to her, either. But I didn't say any of that to Ron and Amy. I simply got up and walked over to the table where Heather and Tracy were sitting, their heads bent together in quiet conversation. When I got there, I could see that Heather was crying.

”What do the doctors say?” I asked.

Heather raised her teary face. ”Nothing,” she said. ”They haven't told us anything at all. He could be dead by now for all I know.”

”What do you know about your aunt Molly?” I asked.

”Molly?” Heather repeated. ”Nothing. I've tried calling her. I left messages on her machine. I thought she'd be here. She's the only one who knows Dillon's mother's cell phone number. His dad's on his way down from White Rock right now, but he doesn't know the cell number either.”

”There's a reason Molly isn't here.” I said the words deliberately, examining Heather's every expression as I spoke.

”What is it?” Heather asked. ”Is something wrong?”

”We found Molly's body a little while ago,” I said. ”She was...crammed into the trunk of Dillon's Focus.”

”No!” Heather breathed. ”That's not possible. It can't be true.”

Heather's histrionics didn't impress me, and I was in no mood to pull punches. ”Well, it is true,” I shot back. ”I was standing right there when the trunk was opened. And don't try to pretend you know nothing about it.”

Heather's outburst quieted as quickly as it had begun. ”But I don't know anything about it,” she declared. ”And I didn't kill her. I didn't kill anybody. You believe me, don't you?” When I didn't answer, Heather turned beseechingly to Amy. ”Mom?”

”We have to go,” Amy said. And we left.

We rode down in the elevator and went out through the lobby without exchanging a word.

I had met Amy's parents, Carol and Arthur Fitzgerald, but I didn't really know them. I knew that after selling their Queen Anne home to Ron and Amy, Carol and Art had moved into a water-view condominium project in Madison Park.

Art, an old-fas.h.i.+oned wheeler-dealer, had made a small fortune as a building contractor. It was his loving care and expertise that had transformed what had once been a derelict Queen Anne mansion into the s.p.a.cious home where Ron and Amy now lived. Art had figured out a way to install the tiny but effective elevator that made several levels of the home accessible to Ron's wheelchair. Art was easygoing and garrulous-a guy who got things done. Carol struck me as quiet, ladylike, and dignified. I hated to be going to their home late at night on a mission to deliver such devastating news.

”You'll need to give me directions,” I said when we were both belted into the Taurus.

”Up and over the hill on Madison,” she said. ”I'll tell you where to go. Sorry it was so frosty back there,” she added once we were under way. ”It's been like that around our house lately.”

I had noticed, but I hadn't planned on mentioning it.

”What did he expect me to do,” Amy continued, ”throw her out into the street?”

”Who?” I asked. ”Heather?”

”No, Molly, of course. She burned her bridges with our parents long ago, and when she had nowhere else to go, I agreed to let her stay with us. It was the least I could do. I mean, we had the house. She had nothing, but I had no idea how bad it would be.”

”What do you mean, she burned her bridges?”

”Molly and Aaron went through money like it was water. That happens when people insist on putting every dollar they can lay hands on up their noses.”

”As in c.o.ke?” I asked.

Amy nodded. ”My parents bailed them out time and time again. The last time, when they wouldn't, is when Aaron started embezzling company funds. By selling Ron and me the house at less than market value, the folks thought they were simply keeping things fair. But Molly didn't see it that way. To her way of thinking, the house should have been half hers. That being the case, she automatically thought we owed her a place to stay.”

”Was she still using?” I asked.

”She said she wasn't,” Amy answered. ”But I don't know for sure. Ron told her that he wouldn't allow the stuff in his house. She knew he meant it, but being told what to do galled her, especially considering the way she felt about Ron.”

”What's wrong with Ron?”

”I think she thought that with Aaron gone, she and I would go back to being big and little sister, the way things were before. Meaning, of course, that she was the big sister and I was supposed to do things her way. It's been h.e.l.l. She and Ron were at loggerheads from the moment she moved in, but I just didn't have the heart to throw her out. She's the only sister I have.”

”But she was undermining you and Ron when it came to the kids.”

”That's right,” Amy said bitterly. ”Enter Dillon Middleton.”

”Dillon didn't look like such great shakes to me,” I said. ”So what's the big attraction as far as Molly was concerned?”

”I have no idea,” Amy returned. ”Maybe the fact that Ron couldn't stand him made him that much more interesting as far as Molly was concerned.” She broke off. ”Turn left here,” she added. ”It's the building down there at the end of the street.”

I found a visitor parking spot. ”Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked as Amy reached for the door handle.

”No,” she said. ”This is something I'm better off doing on my own.”

She got out of the car and walked stiffly through the now-misty rain as far as the building, where she soon disappeared from sight in the small lobby. I sat there and considered what could possibly have been Molly's purpose in doing all she could to wreck Ron and Amy's relations.h.i.+p. What had she hoped to gain by driving a wedge between these two people, or between Ron and Amy and their children? Was she so embittered by her own unhappiness that she wanted everyone else to share in her misery? That seemed unlikely, and yet what other explanation was there? And what could be the reason behind Molly's strange obsession with a hopeless g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger wannabe like Dillon Middleton? None of it made any sense at all.

Eventually Amy returned. ”How'd it go?” I asked.

Her chest heaved. ”About how you'd expect,” she returned, brus.h.i.+ng tears from her eyes. ”Mom, especially, is brokenhearted. She and Molly hadn't spoken for years. Mom always thought they'd mend the rift eventually. Now they never will.”

I started the car and put it in gear. ”Back to the hospital?” I asked.

”Please.”

We drove back to Harborview. Upstairs in the trauma waiting room, Tracy had stretched out on a couch with one arm flung over her eyes. Jared was asleep in his father's lap. A dry-eyed and distant Heather sat across the room in self-imposed isolation from the rest of her family.

”Now that you're here, we should probably try to get some rest,” Ron said to Amy. His face was ashen with weariness; his voice strained. Ron Peters had aged ten years in the past week, and he looked as though he was on the edge of despair. ”We can't go to the house. It's full of detectives. I booked us a pair of rooms down here at the Sheraton.”

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