Betrayal (7 page)

“Think what Freddy Krueger would paint if he had paintbrushes stitched on his fingers instead of knives,” she once explained to Hay-Tay.

The picture in front of her that late afternoon showed two figures in the middle of a forest rendered in moody charcoal and black crayon.

Beth took her eyes off the drawing as her mother, Kim, entered her bedroom. Beth's eyes were nearly fused from crying. She hated how her eyes looked when she cried.

“I brought you a Red Bull,” Kim said.

Beth looked surprised—
shocked
, actually. According to her mom, Red Bull was practically a gateway drug. She knew her mother would never have offered an energy drink if she didn't think her daughter was in a bad way. A very bad way.

Beth took the slender blue and silver aluminum can from Kim's out-stretched hand. “Why do the people I care about keep dying, Mom?”

Kim, an impeccably groomed Chinese American woman who almost never went anywhere without heels (mostly because she was just shy of being five feet tall and hated being asked if she and her daughter were sisters), moved her head sadly.

“Don't say that, Beth,” Kim said. “It isn't true.”

Beth was close to tears, but she wasn't about to cry again. Tears did nothing for anyone other than the Kleenex manufacturing company, in her opinion. There had been so much death in her young life. “Christina,” Beth said, her voice splintered with emotion, “then Dad and Katelyn, now Olivia.”

Kim considered listing all the names of people who were among the living, but she thought better of it. It seemed a little too defensive.

“I have no answers, baby,” she said, finally. “No one does. Tragedy isn't a stalker. It doesn't come looking for someone. There's no reason for it. It just happens.”

Beth didn't care much for her mother's platitudes. She'd heard them over and over, whenever something terrible happened. It didn't matter if it was a catastrophic event like 9/11 (“We can be grateful that there were only four airplanes”) or something smaller, like a house fire in Bremerton that killed a little girl (“Her little sister got out alive, a real blessing”). Kim always had some kind words that she wrongly assumed could help her daughter get through the hard stuff.

“Then why does it happen to us every few years?” Beth asked.

That was, Kim Lee knew, a good question. She pondered it while she watched a flock of seagulls hover and drop a discarded bag of Doritos in the backyard. Orange triangles like mini-road-warning signs scattered on the messy, wet grass.

“Christina . . . The bus crash was an accident,” Kim said. “Your father died in a—” she paused a moment, her throat catching a little, “in an accident. There was nothing anyone could have done. No one could have done a thing differently.”

“And Katelyn, too,” Beth said, adding the name of her friend who'd died in a bathtub accident the previous Christmas.

Kim nodded. “Right, Katelyn's death was another accident.”

“Accident, not so much, Mom. Not really. That one could have been prevented.” Beth looked into her mother's damp brown eyes. “You know, if Mindee Larsen wasn't such a bitch.”

Kim let the b-word slide. She'd read in
O
magazine that venting was good, cheap therapy. While it had been only the two of them for almost a decade, they'd never been able to dig into the hurt. Kim would try, but Beth would shut her out with sarcasm or a cold shoulder.

“Maybe so,” she said, finally. “Changing one little thing can change everything.”

Beth sipped the Red Bull. “What happened to Olivia wasn't an accident, Mom.”

Kim nodded. “You're right. What happened to Olivia was evil and it should never have happened. This time there will be someone to blame. It won't make anyone feel any better, Beth, but at the end of the day, someone will be held accountable.”

Kim picked up the drawing. She held it by the corners and turned it into the light from the window for a better view.

“I like this one,” she said, trying to shift the conversation to something pleasant.

Beth sucked down the rest of her drink and looked back at her drawing.

Kim put down the artwork, her eyes, soft and full of worry, lingering on it.

“You need to get some rest. Olivia's parents will be here tomorrow.”

Beth could see her mom starting to crumble and whenever she did, it only made Beth mad. She wasn't sure where the anger came from, or if it was really anger at all.

Beth looked sceptical. “Some rest? Then why give me an energy drink?”

Kim took the empty can. “It was the only thing I thought would cheer you up.”

Seriously?
Beth thought.
Our exchange student is murdered and the best you could come up with is a Red Bull. A Red Bull? If I didn't hurt so bad, I'd so be tweeting that.

The doorbell rang, and a moment later Taylor and Hayley rushed into Beth's bedroom and threw their arms around their friend.

“I'm so sorry,” Taylor blurted out. “I know you were close to Olivia. She didn't deserve this.”

“Yeah, Beth,” Hayley said. “How are you holding up?”

Beth shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though her cried-out eyes told a different story. “Oh, you know. Not great, but what else is new? Nasty hangover. Oh, and Olivia's parents will be here tomorrow.”

“You want us there?” Hayley asked.

Beth nodded. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”

“School was weird,” Taylor said, switching to full report mode. “Everyone was talking about what happened. All the kids, anyway. The school still hasn't officially acknowledged Olivia's gone. Brianna skipped today, of course. Drew too. Don't worry. We'll be there tomorrow.”

Beth knew she could count on them, and that was a good feeling. They never let her down. Yet, as much as she loved Hay-Tay, Beth was also envious of them. They had each other. In some ways, they
were
each other. Beth was alone. She looked over at her drawing. She wondered if she had drawn a picture of herself and Olivia.

Or maybe it was two other girls she knew?

ONCE AGAIN THE DOORBELL CHIMED at the Lee house. Kim Lee emerged from the third bedroom, which she'd converted to an office, and went to the door. Like her daughter, she'd also taken the day off, knowing she would have been too distracted to focus on her job in the accounting department at the Port Gamble mill. The day had started with tears and high anxiety, and it was about to end with something even worse.

Fear.

In the emerging light from the porch lantern, a tall figure in a dark-blue Macy's Woman suit loomed on the front steps. It was Annie Garnett, the only police chief who could wear her badge like a Tiffany brooch. Her dark eyes, underscored by the circles left by a sleepless night, met Kim's.

“Annie,” Kim said as she opened the door. The two had talked on the phone several times throughout the day as Annie gathered up information about Olivia and her family, and how to contact them.

“May I come in?” Annie asked, tamping her oversized feet gently on the Lee's jute welcome mat. “It's more about Olivia and the Halloween party. I need to talk to you and Beth.”

Kim motioned the police chief inside.

“Beth!” she called down the hall. “Chief Garnett is here to talk to you.”

Kim offered tea, but Annie declined. She was jittery from endless cups of coffee, and one more drop of caffeine would make her unable to focus. She smiled when Beth emerged. Annie sat down in Park Lee's favorite recliner. Kim joined her daughter on the sofa.

“Have you caught whoever killed Olivia?” Beth asked, wondering what Hay-Tay were up to in her room and if they could hear what was being said.

Annie shook her head. “No, not yet. We will. I know you and your mom are quite understandably upset.”

“Yes, we are devastated by the loss,” Kim said, starting to cry. “I should never have let Olivia and Beth go to the party—on a school night, no less. This is my fault. I know it is.”

Annie put up her hand to stop her. “It isn't your fault, Kim. I'm sure you thought she was safe.”

Kim, still crying, looked at her daughter who she now knew had lied to her about Brianna's parents' whereabouts during the party. “I thought there was an adult present,” she said.

Beth deflected her mother's gaze. “Olivia was almost like a sister to me,” she said, her eyes gliding over the urns that held the remains of her sister and father above the TV. It was a reflex more than anything, but Annie followed the trajectory of the teen's eyes. Everyone in town knew that half of the Lee family was on a shelf in the front room.

“You had a fight with Brianna last night,” Annie said, a touch abruptly. “I just want to know more about what happened at the party.”

Beth looked at her mom, then back at the police chief.

“It wasn't really a
fight
,” she said. “It was just over-the-top banter. I might have gotten a little bit out of line.”

“You hit her?” Kim asked.

“No, Mom!” Beth said. She turned to Annie. “Absolutely not. I just told her off. She made some remark about my costume.”

“What kind of remark?” Annie asked.

Beth shrugged a little. “Something catty. I can't even remember what it was.”

“What was your costume?” Annie asked.

Beth fired off her response a little too rapidly, a clear indicator that guzzling a can of Red Bull before meeting with the police chief would never fall anywhere on the list of good ideas. “Geisha. Nothing special. Just a costume.”

Annie asked, “May I see it?”

“I guess so.” Beth got up, ducked into the hall closet, and returned a moment later with the kimono on a platinum gray Huggable Hanger she'd purchased from QVC.

Kim shook her head. “Something else I didn't know about, Beth. You should have asked.”

“You would have said no,” Beth said.

Kim didn't answer. Her daughter was right.

“Pretty,” Annie said. The silk folds of the kimono swirled as Beth turned the hanger.

“It was a gift from my father when he went to Japan,” Kim said.

Annie took the hanger and spun the garment around. “I see some loops here for a belt. Do you have that?”

Beth glanced at her mother, and then turned to face Annie. “No,” she said. “I used a couple of neckties from my dad's closet.”

“You what?” Kim asked, trying to keep her cool. While Beth's mom could conjure a poker face when needed, this was not one of those times. She was mad.

Beth knew what was coming, but she didn't feel like backing down. Her mom treated the remnants of her sister's and father's lives like they were precious artifacts. She didn't see it that way. She didn't understand why she couldn't use Christina's Holiday Barbie for an art project or why her mother hung onto her dad's clothes as if he were going to come back one day and wear them.

“It isn't like Dad needs them,” she said. “They were skinny ties anyway. In style for about five minutes then back out again. Besides, I put them back.”

“Can you get those for me, too?” Annie asked.

Beth left the living room and returned with two silk ties. Her eyes were downcast, and her hands were shaking a little. She stood there, not saying anything.

“What is it? What happened?” Kim asked, rejecting the urge to add “now” to punctuate the litany of disappointments hurled at her daughter since Annie's arrival.

“I can't find the third one,” Beth admitted. “I used three.”

“What color was the third one?” Annie asked.

“Pomegranate,” Beth said.

Annie looked a little confused. “Pomegranate?”

“Deep red.” Beth reached over and pressed a fingertip to a frilly chrysanthemum painted on the bottom of the right sleeve. “This color right here.”

Annie's eyes swept across the hem of the kimono's sleeve. She felt sick to her stomach, and it had nothing to do with her all-protein diet. A speck of dark red pigmentation, a different shade from the chrysan-themum, stood out against the garment's silk pattern. Port Gamble's police chief recognized the color and shape: blood spatter.

Oh no, Beth, not you.

Trying to maintain her composure, Annie kept an even tone to her questioning. “I see. Can I borrow all of these? I promise to return them, but it might take a while.”

Kim Lee's anger dissipated. Something bigger was afoot, and she knew it. “Why do you want them?” she asked.

“We need to examine all the evidence,” Annie said.

“What kind of evidence?” Kim stopped and waited, but Annie didn't answer right away. “Is Beth some kind of a suspect?”

Annie, who'd known Kim through the worst possible times—the bus accident that killed Christina and her husband's suicide—looked down at the floor. It was a moment of awkwardness that sucked the air out of the room.

“I can't really say,” she said.

Beth wondered if she was in trouble. If so, it had to be big trouble. The police chief didn't come around collecting evidence because she had nothing better to do.

Beth stood up. “You didn't answer my mother. Am I a suspect here or something?” she asked with both force and fear in her voice. “I admit that I drank. I admit that I had a fight. But that's it.”

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Annie took the garment off the hanger, carefully folded it, and slipped it into a large, clear bag that she retrieved from her eco-friendly canvas tote. “Just procedure,” she said, her eyes fastened on Beth's worried stare with a look she hoped conveyed reassurance.

“I wasn't even there when Olivia died,” Beth said. “I got sick, and we left the party early. Hayley, Taylor, Colton, and me. She was alive when we left. She was having a blowout with Bree.”

“Just procedure,” Annie repeated.

Annie tried to diffuse the drama by asking Kim how things were going at the mill.