Two Can Keep a Secret (26 page)

Ellery

Thursday, October 10

“But none of it makes any sense.”

I’m at Malcolm’s house Thursday evening, curled up on his couch like on homecoming night. He has the
Defender
movie on again, but neither of us are watching it. He texted me half an hour ago:
I need your true-crime brain.

I’m not sure why he trusts me after my Kyle-Liz theory imploded so spectacularly. But here I am. I don’t think I’m helping, though. Declan being Lacey’s killer has always made sense to me. But being Brooke’s? Never even crossed my mind.

“What connection is there between Declan and Brooke?” I ask.

Malcolm’s eyes flash. “None that I know of. Except that he was in town the night she disappeared. If the police had ever looked at my phone, they’d have seen his text.” He takes out his phone and clicks it on, then swipes for a minute. He holds the phone out to me and I’m looking at a message.
In town for a few hours. Don’t freak out.

I read it twice, and when I look back up at Malcolm, his face is the picture of misery. “I thought that … I was trying to help Declan out by not, you know. Telling the police,” he says haltingly. “I thought it was just bad timing. But what if … Christ, Ellery.” He slumps back against the couch, rubbing a hand so hard across his bruised face that it has to hurt. “What if it was more than that?”

I study Declan’s text again, wondering why I don’t find it more disturbing. After all, I’ve had him at the top of my suspect list for weeks, and this puts him at the scene of the crime. “Okay, but … Declan was in the process of moving then, right? Or he had moved? So he had a perfectly good reason for being here,” I say, handing the phone back to Malcolm. “And why would he send you that text if he was planning something? You’d think he’d be more subtle.”

“Subtle isn’t how Declan rolls. I get what you’re saying, though.” Malcolm brightens a little, then jiggles his phone as though he’s weighing it. “I should let my mother know what’s up. But she’s having dinner with a friend, and she’s hardly done that kind of thing since she and Peter got married. I feel like I should let her have a few hours of peace before everything goes to hell again.”

I think back to my one lunch at Echo Ridge High with Brooke, when she’d said that Malcolm was cute but couldn’t compare to Declan. “Do you think— Could Declan and Brooke have been secretly dating or something?”

“What, while he was
also
secretly dating Daisy?”

“I’m just trying to figure out how the ring could’ve gotten there. Would he have given it to Brooke?”

Malcolm’s voice is ragged. “Maybe? I mean, you’d think somebody would’ve noticed him sneaking around with a high school girl, but maybe not.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have left Declan’s place. Me and him—I don’t know. It’s always been complicated. We’re not close. Sometimes I’ve almost hated him. But he’s not a … serial killer.” He almost chokes on the words.

“If he were—and I’m not saying he is—do you think Daisy knows?”

“Do
you
?”

I’d had Daisy in mind as a potential accomplice right up to the day she clocked Mia in the head with a candlestick, then spilled her guts after. She’d seemed so sincere and heartbroken that I couldn’t picture it anymore. “No,” I say slowly. “I mean, why would she go through the trouble of looking for Lacey’s bracelet if she were? The case was ice cold at that point. If she were involved, the last thing she’d want to do is get the police thinking about it again. And Declan helped her, didn’t he? Although … well, I guess he’s not the one who gave the bracelet to Lacey, right? Daisy said as much. So maybe he figured it didn’t matter.”

Malcolm rubs his temple and sighs, deep and weary. “I want to believe him. So much.”

I’m a little surprised to realize that I do too. “I have to say … look, I guess you know I’ve always had questions about your brother.” I rest my chin in my hand, thinking. “But a dropped ring at a murder site is a little too convenient, isn’t it? And none of it fits with Katrin’s anonymous messages, or what we think might’ve happened with Brooke and her car.”

“Too many puzzle pieces,” Malcolm says moodily.

We lapse into silence for a few minutes, watching
The Defender
until a light knock on the doorframe startles us both. It’s Peter Nilsson, looking casually handsome in a polo shirt and khakis. He has a tumbler in one hand, filled with ice and amber liquid. “You two all right? Need anything?”

Malcolm is silent, so I speak up. “No, thank you. We’re fine.” Mr. Nilsson doesn’t leave immediately, so I feel like I should make more conversation. Plus, I’m curious. “How is Katrin doing, Mr. Nilsson? We miss her at school.”

“Ah. Well.” He leans against the door with a sigh. “She’s devastated, of course. It’s good for her to have some time away with her aunt.”

“Is that her mother’s sister, or yours?” I ask.

“Mine,” Peter says. “Eleanor and her husband live in Brooklyn. We don’t see them as often as we’d like, but she and Katrin had a nice visit last month.”

Malcolm stirs beside me on the couch. “They did?”

“Sure. Katrin went to New York, did some shopping.” Peter’s brow creases slightly. “That was my interpretation, anyway, by the number of bags she brought home.”

“I don’t remember that,” Malcolm says.

“You and your mother were on vacation,” Peter says. “It was a last-minute thing. Eleanor’s husband was out of town for business so she flew Katrin down for the weekend. Although she almost didn’t make it. That was the night of that hailstorm, remember? The plane was delayed for hours.” He chuckles and sips his drink. “Katrin kept texting me complaints from the runway. She has no patience.”

I’m sitting close enough to Malcolm that our arms are brushing, and I can feel him tense at the same time I do. My entire body goes numb and my pulse starts to race, but I manage to speak. “Oh, that’s so frustrating. I’m glad she made it there eventually.”

Mr. Nilsson’s eyes wander to the screen. “
The Defender,
huh? That’s your mother’s movie, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. She only had one line, though.” I don’t know how I’m still talking normally when a million thoughts are zipping through my head. “ ‘That does not compute.’ ”

“At least it’s a memorable one. Well, I won’t keep you from it. You sure I can’t get you anything?”

Malcolm mutely shakes his head, and Mr. Nilsson turns and retreats back in to the dark hallway. We sit in silence, my heart hammering so loudly that I can hear it in my ears. I’m sure Malcolm’s is doing the same. “Fuck,” he finally breathes.

I keep my voice to the lowest whisper possible. “Katrin wasn’t here on Labor Day weekend. You and your mom weren’t here. There’s only one person in your house who could’ve driven Katrin’s car that night.”

“Fuck,” Malcolm says again. “But he—he wasn’t here either. He was in Burlington.”

“Are you sure?”

Malcolm gets to his feet wordlessly and motions for me to follow. He leads me upstairs to his bedroom and shuts the door behind us, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “He said he had dinner with a guy who used to live here. Mr. Coates. He was my Scout troop leader. I’ve got his number in here somewhere.” He scrolls for a few minutes and presses the screen. I’m standing close enough to him that I can hear a faint ringing sound, then a man’s voice. “Hey, Mr. Coates. This is, um, Malcolm Kelly.” He laughs self-consciously. “Sorry about the blast from the past, but I had a question for you.”

I can’t hear what Mr. Coates is saying, but his tone is welcoming. “Yeah, so,” Malcolm continues, swallowing hard. “I was just talking to my brother, you know, Declan? Right, of course you do. He’s majoring in political science and he’s interested in doing, like, an internship or something. I’m probably not supposed to be doing this, but Peter mentioned he had dinner with you last month and there was a chance you might have some kind of opening in your new firm.” He pauses and waits for Mr. Coates to speak, his cheeks staining a deep red. “You didn’t? On Labor Day weekend?” Another pause. “Oh, sorry. I must’ve heard wrong. I was just, you know, trying to help my brother out.”

Mr. Coates talks for a minute. Malcolm nods mechanically, like Mr. Coates can see him. “Yeah, okay. Thanks a lot. I’ll have him call you. It really— That’ll be really helpful. Thanks again.” He lowers the phone and meets my eyes. “You hear that?”

“Enough.”

“Peter wasn’t there,” Malcolm says. “He lied.”

Neither of us says anything for a beat. When I raise a hand to tug at my necklace, it’s trembling so hard that my fingers knock against my chest.

“Let’s think about this,” I say, in a voice I have to fight to keep steady. “It sounds like Peter was probably here, driving Katrin’s car the night of the hailstorm. But if Katrin wasn’t in the car when it hit something—or
someone
—why would Brooke be involved? Why would she help get the car fixed if she …
Oh.
” I grab hold of Malcolm’s arm. The pieces are falling into place, and this time I might actually be right. “Oh my God, Mal. Katrin said Brooke took off during a sleepover once, remember? She thought Brooke was slipping out to hook up with you. What if she was with
Peter
?”

“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?”

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?”

Peter snorts. “This isn’t a soap opera, Malcolm. It’s not your business what happened between Lacey and me. She overstepped. Let’s leave it at that.” The gun swings toward me. “Move a few steps backward, please. Both of you.”

I do it automatically, my thoughts tumbling and swirling so much that I barely notice we’re standing inside a room. It’s in the farthest corner of the Nilssons’ basement, piled high with sealed cardboard boxes.

“This is the only room in the house that locks from the outside,” Peter says, one hand gripping the edge of the door. “Convenient.” He slams the door shut before I can react, plunging the room into darkness.

I’m at the door seconds later, first twisting the doorknob, then pounding so hard that my bruised ribs flare with sharp pain. “You can’t just leave us!” I yell against the thick wood. “People know Ellery is here. Her grandmother dropped her off!”

“I’m aware,” Peter says. There’s a sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, and I stop pounding so I can hear better. “Are you familiar with how a portable electric generator works, Malcolm?” I don’t answer, and he continues, “It should never be turned on inside a house on account of the carbon monoxide it emits. It kills quickly in a concentrated area like this. I’m not sure how this got switched on, but oh well. Maybe you and Ellery knocked against it accidentally while you were down here doing who knows what. We may never know.”

My heart plummets to my feet as I twist the knob again. “You locked us in here, Peter! They’ll know it was you!”

“I’ll be back in a little bit to open the door,” Peter says casually. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay long, though. Wouldn’t want to meet the same fate. Plus, I need to head to the grocery store. We ran out of popcorn.” A humming noise starts outside the door, and Peter raises his voice. “I’d say it was nice knowing you, Malcolm, but quite honestly you’ve been a nuisance from the start. All things considered, this has worked out fairly well. So long.”

His footsteps recede rapidly as I stand at the door, my head reeling and my heart pounding. How did I let it get to this point? Declan wouldn’t have gone into the basement like a lemming. He would have tackled Peter in the bedroom, or—

Light blazes behind me. I turn to see Ellery standing by the far wall with her hand on a switch, blinking like she just woke up. She goes back to the center of the room and kneels down in front of a box, ripping a thick strand of tape from its top. She turns the box upside down and dumps its contents on the floor. “There has to be something in here I can use to pick the lock.”

“Right,” I say, relief flooding through me. I join her in tearing through the boxes. The first few are full of books, stuffed animals, and wrapping paper. “I’m sorry, Ellery,” I say as we tear open more boxes. “I’m sorry I invited you over here, and that I let this happen. I wasn’t quick enough.”

“Don’t talk,” she says shortly. “Save your breath.”

“Right.” My head is starting to pound and my stomach rolls, but I don’t know whether that’s stress or deadly gas. How long has Peter been gone? How much time do we have?

“Ah-ha!” Ellery says triumphantly, seizing a box of Christmas ornaments. “Hooks.” She yanks a couple free and heads for the door. “I just need to straighten it and …” She’s silent for a few seconds, then lets out a grunt of frustration. “These aren’t strong enough. They just bend up. We need something else. Do you see any paper clips?”

“Not yet.” I open more boxes and root through their contents, but my head is pounding in earnest now and I’m so dizzy that my vision is starting to fuzz around the edges. I struggle to stand up, and look around the room. There are no windows to break, nothing heavy enough to use as a battering ram against the door. I upend more boxes, scattering their contents across the floor. At least we can make a mess, I think hazily. If nothing else, people might question what the hell happened in here.

But my movements are sluggish, and slowing by the second. All I want to do is lie down and go to sleep.

I can’t believe I’m thinking that already.

I can’t believe I finally learned what happened to Lacey and Brooke, too late to give any kind of closure to their parents.

I can’t believe I won’t get a chance to apologize to my brother.

My eyes are drooping, so heavy that I nearly miss it glinting on the floor. One small, solitary paper clip. I dive for it with a strangled cry of triumph, but it’s almost impossible to pick up. My hands feel rubbery and unwieldy, like I’m wearing giant Mickey Mouse gloves. When I finally get hold of it, I turn toward Ellery and the door.

She’s slumped in front of it, motionless.

“Ellery!” I grab her by the shoulders and pull her into a sitting position, cupping her cheeks in my hands until I see her release a breath. I shake her as hard as I dare, until her hair spills across her face. “Ellery, come on. Wake up. Please.” She doesn’t respond. I lay her carefully on the floor and turn my attention to the paper clip.

I can do this without her. I just need to unfold the clip and get to work. If only my hands hadn’t turned into inflatable gloves, it would be a lot easier.

If only my brain wasn’t about to pound out of my head.

If only I didn’t have to stop to throw up.

If only I could see.

If only.