“That’s impossible,” Malcolm says, with no conviction whatsoever. His eyes are like glass.
“Think about it, though. If Brooke and your stepfather were having an affair—which, ew, but I guess that’s the least of our problems right now—we’ve been looking at everything wrong. It’s not just about the hit-and-run. It’s about keeping everything quiet.” I pull my own phone out of my pocket. “We need to tell Ryan about this. He’ll know what do to.”
I’ve just opened a new text window when the door flies open. It’s like watching some alt-version of my life to see Peter standing there with a gun pointed straight at us. “Your poker face needs work, Malcolm,” he says calmly. His pale hair glints silvery gold in the dim lighting, and he smiles so normally that I almost smile back. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Malcolm
Thursday, October 10
All these weeks of wondering what the hell was happening around town, it somehow never occurred to me that the guy I trust least of anyone might be involved.
I’m an idiot. And Ellery sucks at solving true crime. But none of that matters right now.
“I’m going to need your phones,” Peter says. He’s still in his polo and khakis, but he’s slipped on a pair of gloves, too. Somehow that’s more chilling than the gun. “This isn’t a drill, kids. Put them on the side table next to the bed. One at a time, please. You first, Ellery.” We both comply, and Peter waves the gun toward the hallway. “Thank you. Now come with me.”
“Where?” I ask, glancing over at Ellery. She’s frozen in place, her eyes trained on Peter’s right hand.
His nostrils flare. “You’re not really in a position to ask questions, Malcolm.”
Jesus. This is bad, colossally bad. I’m only just starting to grasp how much shit we’re in, but I know this much: Peter would never let any of this unfold if he planned on leaving us alive to talk about it. “Wait,” I say. “You can’t— Look, it’s too late, all right? We found the receipt from Dailey’s Auto and gave it to the police. They know something sketchy is going on with Katrin’s car and they’ll figure out you’re involved.”
Peter’s expression flickers with a second’s worth of doubt, then relaxes again. “There’s nothing on that receipt that points toward me.”
“There’s the fact that you’re the only family member who was at home to drive,” I say.
Peter raises his shoulders in a careless shrug. “Brooke borrowed the car and had an accident. Simple enough.”
I keep talking. “I just spoke to Mr. Coates. I asked him about meeting up with you that weekend and he said you never did. He knows you lied.”
“I listened to every word you said, Malcolm. You told him you must have heard wrong.”
“Mom was there when we talked about it,” I say, hating the desperate edge that’s crept into my voice. “She’ll remember. She’ll know something is fishy.”
“Your mother will remember whatever I tell her. She’s a remarkably compliant woman. It’s her greatest asset.”
I want to kill him then, and I think he knows it. He takes a step back and lifts the gun so it’s pointed directly at my chest. I strain to keep my expression neutral as my brain cycles through every possible reason why it’s too late for Peter to get away with another murder. “Officer McNulty was there when Katrin said Brooke snuck out during a sleepover to meet up with somebody in this house. If she wasn’t coming to me, it had to be you.”
“If you’re not here, there’s no reason for anyone to think it wasn’t you,” Peter points out.
Shit. I wish Ellery would snap out of whatever trance she’s in. I could use another brain working right now. “People are going to question another murder. Another couple of murders. Especially if your stepson is involved. First your daughter’s best friend, and now me? This is going to come back on you, Peter, and it’ll be ten times worse when it does.”
“I agree,” Peter says. He looks completely relaxed, like we’re chatting about baseball scores or the latest Netflix series. Not that we’ve ever done either of these things. “Now is absolutely not the time for anything even remotely resembling a homicide. I have to insist you come along, though. Downstairs. You first, Ellery.”
Hope pulses through me, even though the coldness in Peter’s eyes tells me it shouldn’t. I contemplate lunging for him, but Ellery’s already moving toward the hallway and he has the gun trained on her back. I can’t see any choice except to follow, so I do.
“All the way to the basement,” Peter says.
He keeps his distance as we troop down two sets of stairs. The Nilssons’ basement is huge, and Peter tersely directs us through the laundry room and the finished space my mother uses to exercise. The past week flashes in front of my eyes as I walk, torturing me with everything we missed. There’s so much to regret that I scarcely notice where we’re headed until the biggest revelation of all hits me. When it does, I halt in my tracks.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, Malcolm,” Peter says. Beside me, Ellery pauses. I turn slowly, and she does too.
Cold sweat coats my face. “Declan’s class ring,” I say. “You had it. You dropped it near Brooke’s body in Huntsburg.”
“And?” Peter asks.
“Declan never got the ring back from Lacey. She still had it when she died. She hadn’t stopped wearing it. You took it from her. Because you—” I hesitate, waiting for some sort of signal that he’s affected by what I’m about to say. But there’s nothing on his face except polite attentiveness. “You killed Lacey, too.”
Ellery draws in a sharp, shocked breath, but Peter just shrugs. “Your brother is a useful fall guy, Malcolm. Always has been.”
“Did you …” Ellery’s eyes are locked on Peter’s face. She tugs at the silver pendant around her neck, so hard I think she might break it. “Did you do something to my aunt, too?”
Peter’s calm expression doesn’t change. He leans forward and whispers something in her ear, so faint I can’t catch it. When she raises her head to look at him, her hair tumbles across her face, and all I can see is curls. Then Peter raises the gun again so it’s pointed directly at her heart.
“Is this a thing with you, Peter?” I’m so desperate to get his attention off Ellery that my voice bounces off the basement walls. “You hook up with girls your daughter’s age, and kill them when there’s a chance they might expose you? What did Lacey do, huh? Was she going to tell?” A sudden thought strikes me. “Was she pregnant?”