57
Kate was frozen in place, watching Scotty walk into the house. A black car sped up the drive, kicking gravel out behind. Scotty. Beth. White sky. Snow. Beth. Lulu chasing Scotty into the house. Beth. Scotty, no. Scotty. Now this car, this black car, coming fast. Kate couldn’t move, couldn’t feel. She was a statue. A sculpture in Mathilda’s garden. Sculpture. Owl. Beth. Beth.
She stared through the windshield, saw Conor’s eyes. Wild eyes. Staring at her. Conor jumping out of the car, door left open. She saw him running to her now, as fast as anyone has ever run, and the ice broke into a million pieces, and Kate stopped being a statue. She flew at Conor, crying now, grabbing him as hard as she could.
“It was Scotty!” she screamed.
“I know,” Conor said, holding her. “I know, Kate. Where is she now?”
“In the house,” Kate said, sobbing. “And Sam’s in there.”
58
Reid walked through the front door and found Scotty sitting on the marble stairs. Lulu stood beside her. Isabel and Julie huddled together, leaning against a grandfather clock. Everyone was very quiet. Sam was nowhere in sight. He sensed Kate behind him but didn’t turn around. His gaze was on Scotty.
She was wearing a heavy wool coat, and the heat seemed to be getting to her. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She didn’t wipe them away. Reid saw her trying to look behind him; he wanted to block her view of Kate.
“Scotty,” he said. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“A misunderstanding,” she said. “My daughter has a disability. She didn’t know what she was saying. I’m sure if I can just explain.”
“Mom,” Isabel said. “Please just tell them you didn’t do anything.”
“Well, of course I didn’t!” Scotty said.
Reid watched Lulu walk over to Scotty’s daughters, bend down, and whisper something. She put her hands on each girl’s shoulder. Isabel struggled, as if she didn’t want to comply, but within a few seconds, Lulu had led Isabel and Julie into another room of the house.
Now Reid could hear Kate breathing heavily behind him. He didn’t want to look away from Scotty, to make sure she wasn’t holding a weapon, that she couldn’t hurt anyone else, but he threw a quick glance, saw Kate looking pure white, like a ghost with fire in her eyes.
“How could you do it, Scotty?” Kate asked.
“Sweetie, don’t even—” Scotty began.
“You can’t call me that,” Kate said. “Not after what you did.”
“Detective Reid, Kate is really upset right now. It makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s Beth’s birthday. We’re all very emotional. I think it’s best if I take my daughters home . . . ,” Scotty said.
“It’s better you stay right there,” Reid said.
“I actually have to get home to my husband,” Scotty said. “He’ll be expecting me.”
When Reid had run back into the Black Whale and told Tom what Harris had said, and that he was going to drive to Hubbard’s Point to arrest Scotty Waterston, it had been Tom’s idea to check to see where she would be—because it was Beth’s birthday, and it made sense the best friends would be spending it together. So Reid had called Nick, and Nick had told him Scotty and the kids would be joining Kate, Lulu, and Sam at Mathilda’s to celebrate Beth’s life. He expected they would all be having dinner together.
“I talked to your husband,” Reid said. “He’s the one who told me you’d be here.”
“Well, I’ve had enough of being here,” Scotty said. “This day isn’t turning out to be at all what I’d hoped. Not a very good way to honor Beth.”
“I also talked to your friend Martin,” Reid said.
“He’s not really a friend,” Scotty said, sounding nervous. “Did he say he was?”
“He said you buy him drinks. And tell him the news.”
“I don’t tell him anything,” Scotty said, her gaze darting to Kate. Reid looked, and Kate seemed spellbound—as pale as before, the fire in her eyes still smoldering.
“You told him about Beth,” Reid said.
“Well, he cared,” Scotty said. “She was important to everyone at the soup kitchen. They wanted to hear how the case was progressing.”
“Scotty, he knew an awful lot about things. And I have to admit—I wonder how you knew them,” Reid said.
“Oh, come on,” Scotty said, with another glance at Kate. “Word gets around. People talk! We all want this to get solved, put behind us.”
Kate cleared her throat. She stepped forward so she was standing next to Reid.
“You know what I want?” Kate asked, staring straight at Scotty. “To know what she said when she saw what you were doing to her.”
“Please, Kate . . .”
“And I want to know,” Kate said, her voice low and calm, “why, after you hit her, after you strangled her, why did you do that with her underwear? Wrap it around her neck?”
Reid needed to know the same thing, and he knew he should stop Kate and take Scotty back to headquarters to question her, but Kate took a step closer to Scotty, stood right beside her.
“Those bruises between her legs,” Kate said, her voice rising. “Did you do that to make it look good? To make it seem like a stranger attacked her? Did you do that, Scotty? Was she still alive when you were making it look as if she’d been raped?”
“Kate, no, I swear!” Scotty said. Reid reached behind to grab his handcuffs from his belt.
“You did it,” Kate wept, crouching beside Beth’s best friend. “You did, Scotty, and she knew it. That’s what I hate to think of more than anything. That Beth knew it.”
Reid watched as Scotty reached for Kate’s hand, and Kate let her hold it for a few seconds before she tore herself away.
59
Kate sat in a chair in the library, West-Running Brook and The Lives of the Artists on the pile of books where she had left them months ago, the day she had come to look for the blood hearts. She leaned to better see out the window, making sure she could see Sam walking through the field with Popcorn.
Conor had arrested Scotty, put her in handcuffs, and taken her to the state police barracks in Westbrook. Nick had picked up Isabel and Julie. Pete had been somewhere; Kate hadn’t cared.
“Why did she do it?” Kate had asked.
“She lost her mind,” Lulu said.
“No, there’s a reason. A clear reason—there has to be.”
“Kate, there’s no way this will ever make sense.”
And Lulu was right about that.
“Staging it all,” Kate said. “With Beth’s underwear. Making her look like that . . .”
“To put the blame on someone else?” Lulu asked.
“I don’t know what went through her mind,” Kate had said. “She went crazy.”
“She was drinking more. A lot. And things weren’t going so well with Nick. Maybe they were falling apart. But what did Beth do, to make her do it?”
Kate was watching Sam out the window. Sam had found an old tennis ball and threw it for Popcorn to chase. He retrieved it and bounded back to her.