The Deadly Sister (19 page)

She was trying to console me—but only to spur me to confess. “Maya,” I said. “I don’t know what to tell you. You’re the most important person in my life. But at the same time, it’s not like what you’re saying is true. I’ve spent huge chunks of my life worrying about you. I…I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“You loved me and wanted to be rid of me at the same time.”

Yes. Of course. No one ever accused you of stupidity, Maya.

It was inevitable that our family would lose you, anyway, so why not nudge you to run away? If you suddenly went missing, you’d automatically become the main suspect. You’d hit him—and hard enough that you’d have to doubt your role in his death. You were totally high, anyway. If you disappeared, I’d be safe. We’d both be safe.

“If it wasn’t self defense, then maybe you’d had it planned for days. That you’d kill him—or maybe you had someone else kill him, like Cheyenne, I don’t know—and then you’d get me to run away.”

I hadn’t planned it for days. I hadn’t planned it at all. But once it all started, there were two crucial steps: first, to implicate you. And second, yes, to get you to run away.

The implicating…you’d lost your sweatshirt during the fight with Jefferson. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I felt around until I found it, threw it in the backseat. I also kept the bottle you’d struck Jefferson with, careful to handle it only with the sweatshirt sleeve. Rock, bottle, sweatshirt. I started up the car and headed out.

I’d figured you’d call a friend to pick you up; I didn’t know yet that you’d lost your phone.

Maya went on. “All that mattered to you was that I wouldn’t turn to Mom and Dad for help. I’d have to depend on you.”

I stopped home, making sure I parked down the block so I wouldn’t wake our parents, and took a long shower. I hid the whiskey bottle and rock in the cluttered garage so that I’d have Jefferson’s blood sample to plant once I’d figured out how I wanted to do it.

“Ernie and the police were wrong about who they thought they saw in the footage at the gas station. That whole video thing was some random girl in a car that looked like Jefferson’s. That was all pure luck for you.”

Oh, Maya. I put your sweatshirt on and drove to Ernie’s gas station. I faced away from the cameras. I pretended to vacuum. Everyone always said we had the same body type. If I’d ever been a real suspect, the police might have realized that it could have been me dressed up as you. But at that point, you were the only one on their radar.

I drove the car downtown and left it in one of the areas where I knew you loved to hang out. Near Medusa’s Den, where all the downtown street kids killed time. I got a cab home. I hid the key to Jefferson’s car—I figured it would come in handy one day.

I couldn’t personally come forward with any of the evidence against you, of course, without looking suspicious myself. So I had to let it be discovered in the course of other people’s lives. Let the police come to Ernie, or wait for him to look over his security footage himself. Let Jefferson’s car turn up a few days into the investigation, with your sweatshirt in the back—the same one from the footage.

Up until then, I’d been treating Maya’s accusations as unworthy of any consideration. But I had to know: “Do you have any evidence for any of this?”

Her eyes narrowed. “We’ll get to that.”

I didn’t sleep that night. How could I? By morning it was destroying me, the fact that I’d never seen Jefferson’s dead body. What if he’d survived, if I was risking your freedom for nothing? I
had to know. So I went for a run. I went to the place I most dreaded and was most drawn to.

I found the body. I confirmed to myself that he was dead. Seeing his corpse was horrific. Having been the one to kill him didn’t lessen the shock.

Your cell phone was a wild card. I didn’t know you’d lost it that night. I guess I could have left it there for the police to find. But since the phone was missing, I had no way to contact you. I needed your friends’ numbers.

“I never set out trying to get you jailed. So drop it,” I said.

And it’s true. I wanted you to be long gone by the time the police put the case together. You’d be nailed, sure, but hidden away and untraceable. To get everything started, though, I’d have to locate you and convince you to run. So I started calling your friends.

“Once you managed to track me down,” Maya said, “you realized I wasn’t sure about how badly I’d hurt Jefferson. You tried to make me believe that I might have done it. You’d always been my responsible older sister, so I was totally open to your suggestions. You played me so easily.”

“That’s too much. Really.”

The fact that you’d had your Jefferson tattoo covered up before going to meet with him was a revelation, too. But it was a very welcome one—once that fact came out, it would only make the case against you stronger. I nabbed the bloody bandage Cody found in the trash. Having a blood sample for you would prove useful later. I’d considered keeping your cell phone, too, but realized giving
it to you would prove my loyalty even as it allowed me to keep closer tabs on you.

I hadn’t predicted you’d want to stay with Veronica, but that suited me fine. Veronica wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you remain there, but would move you to some other isolated location. And she was a distant enough relation to our own family that I didn’t have to worry about the police knocking on her door before we’d figured out where to hide you permanently.

At that point, it was a matter of getting anyone but me (thank you, Cheyenne) to place the tip to the police, and let the ball start its inevitable roll toward you.

As if hearing my thoughts, Maya said, “Our parents, Cheyenne, and Veronica—it didn’t take much to keep them all pointed in my direction, did it?”

“If you’re not going to give this up and start talking to me as you should to a sister who’s been looking out for you all year, I’m leaving.”

She looked up at me slyly, like this was the latest in a series of entirely predictable reactions. “Don’t you want to know what else I’ve pieced together?”

“You’re ridiculous,” I said.

“You won’t guess who’s been to see me recently,” Maya said. “Brian.”

I never would have predicted Brian would enter the story. But after I discovered him skipping school that day, I soon realized what a perfect suspect he would make. More likely than you, even. Those creepy weapons, that cold-hearted attitude to his own brother, expressed so publicly at the assembly. And if the police
turned toward him, I wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of having framed you.

“Who cares that Brian’s been to see you?” I said. “People are even less inclined to believe him than they are you.”

“I care about Brian,” Maya said. “And he actually believes that you care about him, too.”

I’d worked on Brian. But in the meantime, it was in my best interest to keep you a crazy runaway in everyone’s eyes. Because then you were dependent on me. The more control I had over you, and the lower everyone’s opinion of your mental state, the more chance I had of stopping you from coming back and getting yourself captured.

While I was tracking down your location, I discovered the message from Blake, trying to get you to come meet her. Blake, of course, was trying to get her drug money back. Keith hadn’t told her about Jefferson’s death, I guess because he knew she would go as ballistic as she eventually did. That you’d been running money for them came as a shock—your life was more complicated than I’d thought, and from then on, it would take all my concentration to keep the variables in order.

By then, my friendship with Brian was in full swing. That laptop picture of Jefferson and you together—I showed it to Brian and then wrecked the laptop, because I knew there had to be other evidence on that computer that could incriminate me. Let Brian’s suspicions aid the case against you, and let the destruction of Jefferson’s laptop prevent the police from linking him to me.

The first interrogation with Alcaraz and Jamison, I sent our parents away so I could talk more freely, fudge whatever minor
truths I needed to in order to better position you. I also wanted to steer the police into making me their main communication link to you, instead of my parents—that way, I could control the information you received as conditions changed. I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve of my taking on that kind of responsibility—good thing I’d kept them from being there to hear about the offer.

As for our parents, I had to keep them thinking of you as guilty. If they started to suspect you were actually innocent, they’d stop at nothing to free you. But I could also rely on their sense of justice. If their daughter really had killed someone, they’d do their best for you, but they’d also be sure you went to trial.

“You’re not looking into my eyes,” Maya said. “I’m going through hell facing you with all this, and you won’t even look me in the eyes.”

Oh, poor Maya.

But yes, poor Maya. I felt a sudden surge of sympathy and looked at her. “If it’s so hellish, why don’t you stop putting us both through this?”

“I hid those drugs so good. You moved them so Dad would find them easily. At least admit that much.”

“Do you honestly think, in the middle of a murder investigation, that I would go around handling your drugs?”

I’d been loud, and the word
drugs
rang out in the hall. The guard glanced over. Maya made a motion for me to keep my voice down.

You’re right, Maya. I could have gotten rid of your drugs for you, but instead I moved them under the bed, where our father would be more likely to find them. It was another nail in the coffin.

“You waited until you had the trap set perfectly, and then you suggested I come back. And I believed you. You must think I’m such a fool, don’t you?”

“You offered to come back, remember?”

It wasn’t a trap. For the longest time, I wanted you never to return, to keep you far away so we both could be safe. But at the same time that I was getting to know Brian better, you started hinting that you wanted to come back. I couldn’t talk you out of it. All I had were those sporadic online conversations, and you kept cutting them short. I realized I’d have to start burning the candle at both ends, implicate you and Brian simultaneously. If you stayed away, I could keep you as the prime suspect. If you really came back, though, I’d have to throw all my weight into directing the investigation toward Brian. If worse came to worst, I’d have two suspects the police would turn to long before thinking of me. It only made my position safer, even as it made my maneuvering that much more complicated.

“How you got your hands on Brian’s pictures, I have no idea.”

I sneaked in his room to get my bracelet back from Jefferson’s box of treasures, so no one would link me to him. That’s when I found the drawings. For Mrs. Andrews to suspect her own son was an ideal turn of events.

Of course, I had my compunctions. If my plan succeeded, Brian would wrongfully go to prison. So I hesitated. But telling Mom about the pictures was so simple, so natural. I couldn’t resist. And then Brian was suddenly suspect number one. And I thought you were safe again.

With Brian the police’s main target, I could bring you back. As long as you returned quietly and didn’t let too many people know too soon, it would be safe.

My position wasn’t as safe as I’d thought it was, though. Brian leveled those “ridiculous” accusations in the park, claiming I could have been the killer. Veronica brought up that story about the toucan, that I sometimes did the immoral thing in the name of good. I started getting nervous. The edges of the tale I was weaving had begun to unravel.

But then things started to look up. Veronica admitted that she really believed you did it. And Ernie contacted me about the video.

I’d imagined he’d send the recording to the police, or that they would have asked him for it during their investigation. That would have been fine. But Ernie called
me.
When he offered to destroy the recording, I smooth-talked him into giving it to me. Right then, Brian was still the main suspect, so I didn’t plan on doing anything with the recording, but I knew it’d be essential to have that evidence at my disposal. So I got it from Ernie, to send to the police once it was necessary. Which I eventually did, of course.

“Abby!” Maya said. “Admit it: You had a trap set for me when you talked me into returning.”

“It’s like I explained at the trial. I brought you home because I thought you were innocent.”

Which is true—I
knew
you were innocent. But once you were back, Dad, realizing that having you home without telling the police would only make the situation worse, called in Alcaraz.
They interrogated us, and then I realized it—it would always be dangerous to have you around; you were inevitably going to remain a suspect…and I had the perfect opportunity to get you back on the run. That night, when I got up, I came back and told you Dad was outside waiting for the police to come arrest you. But he hadn’t betrayed you—after the day’s drama, he simply couldn’t sleep and was pacing the house. He wasn’t out front at all. I woke you up and we fled. I made sure we were noisy enough that Dad found us. Seeing him staggering toward us only confirmed your fear. We ran away, along the creek.

Keith and Blake’s was as safe a sanctuary as I could imagine. It was their whole aim in life, after all, to stay under the police’s radar.

But then it took a turn for the worse. Alcaraz was onto me. That meeting I had with him at Veronica’s was horrifying. That Cheyenne had turned me in. That the police knew I had hidden you away with our stepgrandmother. That they were onto something fishy in every single thing I’d been involved in.

I panicked. The protectiveness I’d started feeling toward you vanished. After I left Veronica’s and before I went back to find you, I picked up the rock from its hiding place. The blood from your tattoo bandage was hardened and black, but by mixing it with water, I was able to smear some of it on. I brought it to Alcaraz, saying I’d found it in your bedroom and had been too intent on protecting you to turn it in earlier. I could have used the bottle, but Brian had already let slip that the police thought Jefferson’s fatal wounds had come from a rock. I said I was willing to face the consequences, but Alcaraz said having the murder weapon was the most
important thing and he’d overlook my having withheld evidence. That was when I told him about your tattoo cover-up, too. Through it all, he never suspected I could have been the one to kill Jefferson.