All the Little Liars (29 page)

Authors: Charlaine Harris

BOOK: All the Little Liars

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“It had a lock already on it?”

“Yeah. The Harrisons kept their extra liquor in there, and they kept it locked because Clayton had thrown a party once and his friends had drunk up a lot of it, Josh told me. But Clayton knew where the key was, and he locked us in. Later, he put another lock on it, a padlock. So there we were, in the little room, and Joss was, you know, crying like hell because of Tammy and she was bloody, Liza was scared and missing her mom and dad. Josh and I didn't know what to do. Josh didn't feel good, because he'd taken a smack with the gun.”

Phillip looked ten years older by this time. “And there we stayed,” he said eventually. “Clayton would throw in some McDonald's bags every now and then that his parents brought him, I guess. He could hardly go out to get them, right? Or there would be homemade sandwiches.”

“Can you remember when you ate the McDonald's food?”

It was evident to me that the FBI agents were trying to pin down the Harrisons' involvement in the crime. They were anxious to be able to prove that the couple had known exactly what their son was up to. Surely, buying a large bag of hamburgers and fries meant that they'd known there were other people to feed.

“The day after we got there, and a couple of days after that,” he said, after some thought. “There was bottled water in the room, too, so we drank that. But food, we didn't get enough, and he'd only let us out twice a day, one by one, to go to the bathroom. Pretty horrible.”

“When did Josh get injured?”

“Oh, the day I called you,” he said to me. “We had it all planned out. We were going to rush him, and then I'd make it up the stairs to a telephone while Josh and Joss pinned him down. When he unlocked the door, we went for him.”

“He had the gun?” I said quietly.

“Oh, sure, he had it all the time. But we had to get out. So I plowed past him, and Josh and Joss jumped him. I made it up the stairs and saw a cell phone on the kitchen counter. I dialed you, and I heard your voice.” Phillip closed his eyes. “I don't even remember what I said to you, Roe. I saw the gun in Clayton's hand, and I had to hang up. Clayton was yelling, telling me that he'd shoot Joss if I didn't come back.”

“Did you think about running out right then?”

“I never wanted to do anything more in my life. But I believed Clayton. So I went back downstairs. That was the worst moment.” He nodded, definite. “The worst.”

Robin patted Phillip's shoulder. Phillip sat forward and put his head in his hands. “How is Josh?” he said, his voice muffled. “Clayton took his shirt for something.”

“His parents, I assume, planted it out in the country to draw attention away from town. Josh has an infection from the gunshot,” Crowley said. “But since it grazed him instead of lodging inside his body, the doctors are pretty certain he'll recover after some stitching and a lot of antibiotics. He has a mild concussion, too.”

“And Joss?”

“She's bruised, but otherwise doing okay.”

“Liza?”

“With her mom and dad. Physically fine.”

“Clayton?”

“Being questioned, with a lawyer present, and his parents in other interview rooms with their own lawyers.”

“What about Connie? Why hasn't she been arrested? She knew what he'd done. She
helped
him.”

There was a long silence. I said, “Honey, I have to tell you something. Connie killed herself.”

Phillip dropped his hands and I could see his face. “Good,” he said. “She murdered Tammy. She should have felt bad about it. I'm glad she did.”

I tried not to look shocked, though I was, a little. But how could I blame him? He'd seen something awful.

“What about Clayton's car?” Crowley asked. “Do you know where it is? We haven't been able to find it yet.”

“No idea,” Phillip said. “He was upset at having to get rid of it, though.”

Van Winkle said, “I think it must be close, Bernadette, because it's so conspicuous they wouldn't risk driving it far.” (In fact, a very surprised fisherman found it in a pond about three miles from the Harrison house the next week.)

Phillip talked a while longer, giving the agents some more details and elaborating on Clayton's threats. And his plans to leave the country, because his dad had a cousin in Europe. Clayton didn't ever tell Phillip what country, he was canny enough for that. “He tried to keep us quiet, telling us that he'd be gone, and his parents would pretend to be shocked we were in their own basement.” Phillip shook his head. “I didn't know if he was telling us the truth or not, but I tried to believe he was. I don't know if the Harrisons would have let us go.” He looked too bleak for a teenager, and I ached for him.

“Did you know his parents claimed they paid ransom for him?” Van Winkle said.

“Oh, sure. I heard him talking to his parents about it. Sometimes if he got bored, he'd call them, though he was in the basement and they were upstairs. They all used burner phones to talk to each other, so it wouldn't be traceable. They told Clayton if they claimed they'd paid ransom, Clayton would have the cash to take with him. Untraceable.”

We hadn't seen Dan Harrison go through a rehearsal for delivering the ransom money. He'd been doing the motions in case he was being watchedâwhich he was, but not by law enforcement, but by a librarian and a mystery writer.

“Did Clayton ever say explicitly that his parents knew you were downstairs?”

Phillip thought. “No, but when he said âdiscover' he practically said it with quote marks, you know?”

“If you find all the burner phones, surely you can prove they were talking to each other,” I said. “One of those phones must have been on the counter, and that's what Phillip used to call me. And if the Harrisons withdrew the false ransom money, they had to know all about what Clayton had done.” I would be very, very angry if the Harrisons were not punished for their complicity.

Van Winkle and Crowley left soon after, without committing to any certainty that Clayton's parents would stand trial. They told Phillip he'd been really brave, and that they were relieved he was okay. No sooner had we turned away to clear the dishes from the breakfast bar, than the doorbell rang.

This time it was my father. And his wife.

Betty Jo was defiantly dressed in a long black skirt and a fuchsia and black blouse. Phil wore his usualâkhakis and a plaid shirt. They were both angry with me, of course.

“I had to find out from a reporter that my son had been found,” Dad said to me, venting some of his anger before he even looked at Phillip, who was standing back and looking unhappy.

He was justified, this time. He should have been the first person I called. In my defense, I can only say that it had been years since I'd thought of calling my father with any news at all.

“She saved me,” Phillip said. “So don't get onto her. Mom, where have you been?”

Betty Jo looked self-conscious. “Well, I haven't been with a man, if your dad told you that. Honey, I couldn't live with the humiliation your dad had dealt out. There was a lot of other stuff wrong, that I can tell you later.”

“You mean Dad's gambling habit? I picked up on that a long time ago.”

My father looked away, angry.

“I tried to call you once along the drive north,” Betty Jo said. “You didn't pick up. I just had to take the time to put my life back together. At the commune, we couldn't use electronics.”

Phillip was pretty angry, himself. “Ever think about writing me a letter?”

This family drama was eclipsing Phillip's homecoming, and I wouldn't have it.

“Shut up,” I said to Betty Jo and Dad. “This is not your day to hash out your mistakes and your differences. This is Phillip's day, because he was lost but now he is found. Tell him how glad you are about that.” I spun on my heel and walked away, washing my hands of them. I had to put physical distance between us.

Robin kept a tight watch on the reunion, while I put dishes in the dishwasher and listened to some phone messages I'd gotten. One was from my mother, who sounded genuinely delighted that Phillip was safe. “We're ready to throw a party over here!” she said. I called her back right away.

“As soon as we can get your first husband to leave,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice. “And Betty Jo, too.”

My mom commiserated with me some, and then hung up. Beth Finstermeyer had called next, to rejoice with me. She told me that Josh would have to stay in the hospital on IV antibiotics, but he was already eating and talking about Christmas Day. Joss, she added, was glad to be out of the basement, but she was grieving over Tammy. “I've never had to console a child about the death of someone they loved,” she said heavily. “It feels a little strange, talking to Joss about her girlfriend. But as long as she's homeâ¦”

“Yes, as long as she made it home,” I said. “I'll see you soon, and we'll both be happier.”

“George says thanks,” Beth said, and hung up before I could ask what for.

A couple of hours later, I got a similar call from Aubrey Scott. He was gracious enough to tell me how much Liza had depended on Phillip's kindness to get through her imprisonment. “I know Phillip is a lot older than Liza, especially as kids reckon it,” he said, “but I know they're fast friends now, as strange as other kids may think it.”

“I don't care what anyone else thinks,” I said. “I only care that they all came through it well. The law will take care of the rest. But I'm afraid the Harrisons won't get convictedÂ â¦ if they even get charged.”

“From the questions the woman detective asked when she interviewed Liza, I think the same thing,” Aubrey said grimly. “There is no way in the world they didn't know what was going on under their roof.”

“I agree,” I said, and on that angry note, we hung up.

I heard later that Aubrey's Christmas Eve service was very emotional, that many tears were shed, that despite the absence of Emily and Liza, who stayed home, it was a very touching event.

I didn't go. I couldn't stand one more emotional passage. I thought maybe Liza just didn't want all the attention.

I'd never wrapped gifts on Christmas Eve before, or tried to imagine what I'd have for Christmas dinner the night before. I gave myself yards of slack, and we had a beautiful and peaceful morning after Phillip finally woke up on Christmas Day. We opened some presents. We enjoyed being together. My mother renewed her invitation to Christmas dinner but we turned that invitation down with little regret. None of us were in the mood for a barrage of questions, nor yet for ignoring what had happened the past few days. Ham and sweet potatoes out of a can and some traditional green bean casserole, plus biscuits, made a perfectly adequate meal, as long as we were together.

“How's the baby?” Phillip asked. “How are you feeling?”

He seemed a little shy, as if there was something a little embarrassing about having a pregnant sister.

“I feel so much better now,” I said honestly. “The doctor is going to check me over tomorrow, she's coming into the office specially so I can have some peace of mind, but I think I'm right as rain.”

“That's what I want,” Phillip said. “I was scaredâwhen I had any time to be scared of anything besides Clayton killing usâthat you would be so upset that something would go wrong with the baby.”

“I can't believe you could spare the energy to think about me,” I said. “You had plenty to worry about.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I did, didn't I? But it's like that play,
All's Well That Ends Well.
”

You couldn't say it better than that.

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