All the Little Liars (23 page)

“Hi,” she said, trying to give me a welcoming smile, but failing.

“Sandra,” I said. “Sorry about this.”

“I know.” She stood aside to let me in.

I hadn't realized that Sandra was an antique buff, but most of the pieces of furniture clearly had some history. I'd expected neutral chic, but I got an eclectic blending of ages and designs. “Gosh,” I said. “Sandra, this is so pretty. I bet you decorated it yourself?”

She looked pleased. “Yes, I did,” she said. “I tried to use an interior decorator, but she aggravated me so much that I had to fire her. She kept telling me what I couldn't do. I disagreed.”

I almost laughed, and only the serious nature of my errand stopped me. “I'd love to have you tell me the history of these pieces sometime,” I said. “When we're all happier.”

“I'd be glad to.”

“Your house is so sparkly. I haven't felt like cleaning, and boy, can you tell it.”

“Oh, I use that maid service. Helping Hands. Just about everyone in this development does. Give them a call. They're great about trying to work people in.”

We walked together into the huge family room, which had a ceiling extending up through the second floor. Kesha was sitting on the couch, looking like she'd been called to the principal's office. She was a pretty little girl, with huge brown eyes and toasted-almond skin. Her ears were pierced, but she wasn't wearing makeup, and her clothes were age-appropriate, at least as far as I could tell—bright aqua slacks and a cream-colored sweater, and UGG boots.

“Kesha,” said Sandra, and Kesha got up and said, “Hello, Ms. Teagarden.”

“Hi,” I said. “Kesha, I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

She nodded glumly and sat down on the couch again. I perched on the matching ottoman so I could sit directly opposite her. Sandra hovered.

“Kesha, can you tell me exactly what you saw the afternoon the kids went missing?” I tried to sound sympathetic and warm, and to my relief, she responded to that.

“We were hanging around at the soccer field,” she said.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why were you hanging around at the cold soccer field, when school had just let out for Christmas vacation? I remember not being able to get away fast enough.”

Kesha looked sullen. “Because we knew Liza was going to be having her lesson with Joss.”

The words
And you wanted to torment her some more
were stillborn on my lips. No accusing, her mother had stipulated.

“What happened during the lesson?” I couldn't help it: my voice was less friendly.

“Well, Liza wasn't doing too well, and Marlea said something about it.” Kesha smiled. It was much more genuine than her pretense of sorrow.

I did my best not to look at Sandra. My jaw tightened.

“Joss tried to tell us to leave, but we had a right to be there. It's our school, too. And Marlea told her no big old lesbo was going to tell her what to do.”

I literally had to hold my breath. I could feel my hands shaking. I glanced over Kesha's head at Sandra, but she'd turned her back and her face was to the wall. I didn't blame her.

“After Marlea insulted Joss, what happened?” I said, when I could keep my voice level.

“Joss said she might be gay, but we were bitches, and she'd rather be gay than be like us.”

I made a “go on” gesture when Kesha stopped dead.

“Well, then that new guy, Phillip, and Josh pulled up. They were there to pick up Joss. But Liza was scared to be alone with us,” Kesha said with some pleasure and some scorn. “She begged them to take her with them.”

“Was anyone else there besides the people you've told me?”

She looked surprised. She actually gave it some thought. “I saw Coach Smith walked by,” she said. “But he didn't talk to them. I think he was making sure the equipment shed was locked up.”

“No one else? While you were in the parking lot?”

Kesha looked confused. “Marlea called her mom to come pick us up.”

“So you were waiting in the parking lot. And no one else walked by.”

She nodded, giving me a look that showed me how dumb she thought I was for asking.

“Did anyone else
drive
into the parking lot after Joss left with Liza?”

“Yes,” she said promptly.

“Who?”

“Clayton, Marlea's brother. He's so cool. And his girlfriend was with him, that Connie who just killed herself.” For the first time, Kesha looked genuinely unhappy.

“You didn't tell me that,” her mother said, turning around.

“That FBI lady asked me. You were out of the room,” Kesha said.

“Did Clayton talk to you?” I asked.

“He said hi,” Kesha said with a smile, basking in the remembered coolness of talking to Clayton Harrison. “His car is red. And Connie was driving.”

“Did he talk to you?” I was holding on to my patience with a thread. “Did Clayton say anything else?”

“He talked to Marlea. He wanted to find out where Joss was. Marlea said they'd just left, and told him Josh and Phillip were with Joss. And said Joss had a hair appointment. Then Marlea asked him if their mom had told him to pick us up. He said no, he needed to talk to Joss. And Marlea said…” Kesha abruptly cut off her narrative. After a second, she said, “Well, Clayton told us to keep cool and he'd see us around, we should call someone else.” Kesha smiled a secret sort of smile. “Connie didn't say a word.”

I cast around trying to think of some way to get Kesha to tell me what she'd just withheld from her narrative. “No one else came after that?”

“Sienna's mom,” Kesha said. “We called her, and she came quick. She was going to take all of us to Sonic to get a milkshake. She'd already called my mom and Marlea's. Ms. Tiffany wanted to know why we'd stayed after school and what we were doing at the soccer field, and we told her, and she laughed and told us we really needed to quit teasing Liza.”

“Teasing,” I said.

Kesha shifted. “Well, yeah.”

I tried to think of anything else I could ask her, while I could still stand to speak with her. “Kesha, tell me,” I said, “why did you three decide to target Liza?”

“Because she told on us last year for taking some makeup from Walmart,” Kesha said. “And our parents made us take it back and apologize to the manager. It was so embarrassing. What kind of girl tells on other kids?”

I rubbed my hand over my face. “Well, I guess you showed her,” I said.

“Yeah,” Kesha said, with simple satisfaction. “We did.”

So much for Kesha being contrite and learning from her mistakes. I felt sorry for Sandra and Webster, and sorrier still for the people Kesha would encounter throughout her life. I looked at the girl bleakly. She met my eyes for a minute, but then she looked down. Really, there was nothing to say to her that would put a dent in her armor. I'd never had my own twelve-year-old; I didn't know whether or not Kesha was retrievable.

I couldn't bear to look at Sandra's face. It must be one of the worst things in the world, to see your child revealed as a selfish little sadist.

Being a mother scared me, suddenly, the huge responsibility of making sure your child did not turn out like that. Sandra and Webster had not taught these values to their daughter. Was Kesha bad by nature? Had the other two girls polluted her with this gross selfishness, this lack of empathy?

“Good-bye, Kesha,” I said, trying to sound neutral. I stood up. “Thanks, Sandra, for letting me come over and talk to your daughter.”

I nodded at Sandra without looking at her directly, and went to the front door. She came up behind me in a flurry of steps, and her hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to face her. “I'm so sorry for your troubles,” she said. “If I can help, I will.”

“You've already helped,” I said. “I hope … well, I hope that…” I struggled with an ending to the sentence that wouldn't be overwhelmingly negative. “I hope things get better,” I said, and then I left.

Kesha was a liar. I was willing to bet good money that there had been more conversation between Clayton and the girls. Otherwise, why would Clayton and Connie follow Josh's car? But at least I knew that Marlea had not been with her brother behind Shear Delight.

I was left wondering why Clayton had wanted to catch up with Josh. I felt I had taken a baby step farther to getting the big picture, but it was still far from clear.

Maybe if I could talk to Clayton's parents, I would get a better idea. But I was confident that the Harrisons were not in any mood to speak to me. And it made me feel weird to remember that we'd followed Dan. I hoped he never knew about that.

It was making me desperate, knowing that Phillip had gotten the chance to talk to me, and had not been able to let me know where he was. My brother was being held hostage by an armed and dangerous person. Phillip had asked me to help, and I had failed him.

I was so worried it made me sick. Literally. My stomach lurched like a ship in rough waters, and I thought about pulling to the side of the street and trying to vomit discreetly. I made it home, just barely, and sped by Robin on my way to the bathroom.

He gave me privacy for upchucking. I appreciated it.

After I brushed my teeth and scrubbed my face with cold water, I made my way to the living room. I lay down on the couch, and Robin regarded me from one of the armchairs. “Tell me about it,” he said, and I did.

“There's no way we could have a child like that,” he said immediately.

“I'm sure Sandra and Webster felt that way, too.” I sounded as dismal as I felt.

“Roe, I have a little news. It's not good.”

My heart actually stopped for a moment. “Tell me,” I said.

“Less than a half mile from where they found Josh's car, they spotted a shirt in the ditch. It was Josh's. It was really bloody,” Robin said. “They're testing the blood to find out whose it is.”

“Phillip said Josh was hurt.”

“Yes, he did. The spots of blood in the car were Joss's. So maybe this blood is hers, too. But since the shirt is Josh's…”

“Not so much blood that he might die?”

Robin shook his head. “Not that much. But not a few drops, either.”

“I don't want to sound like a coward, and I know I don't have an alternative to handling this,” I said. “But sometimes I don't believe I can take any more. That's stupid, I have to.” I sighed. “Where was the shirt found? In relation to Josh's car?”

“Just out of the first search radius, whatever it was. It was thrown down in a shallow ditch. And since it was a dark-colored shirt, it didn't stand out until the search widened,” Robin said.

Why not in the car? I shook my head. “Robin, like everything else about this, that doesn't make sense.”

“I know.”

The doorbell rang. I'd never thought I'd hate that sound. Lately, I had not wanted to see anyone who came in through our door. And today was no exception. Betty Jo Teagarden bustled into our house, with an airplane carry-on bag hanging from one shoulder.

“Why didn't you take better care of your brother?” she demanded, dropping the bag on the floor and stepping toward me, completely ignoring Robin, who was staring at her with his mouth open. I saw the moment when something in him snapped.

He came around to stand between me and Betty Jo, and he said, “You apologize to my wife, or you turn around and leave.” I'd never heard him sound so angry.

Betty Jo's eyes opened wide and she stared at Robin as though she'd realized he was green. “Who might you be?” she snarled.

“I might be Roe's husband, and I might be the one who agreed with Roe that we should take Phillip in and support him, because his parents weren't doing a very good job.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“All right,” Betty Jo said. She straightened up, and her face ironed out. “All right. I'm sorry. I had the whole plane ride to think about Phillip and how scared I am, and I tried to find someone to blame.”

“Okay,” I said wearily. Robin moved aside. “Excuse me for not getting up, but I'm nauseated.”

“Do you have the flu?”

“No, I have a baby.” She looked puzzled. “I'm pregnant,” I said, with none of the joy I'd had initially.

“Oh, that's wonderful!” she said, but then the weight of the burden of Phillip's disappearance descended on her shoulders. “Roe, what's happened to my boy?” She sank down onto the ottoman, her shoulders slumped.

It had been a long time since I'd seen Betty Jo. She'd never been what you would call a pretty woman—she was built for endurance rather than style—but she'd always been healthy and energetic. The woman I was looking at now was haggard and thin.

“You've been living at a commune?” Robin said, since there was no way I could answer Betty Jo's question.

“Yes.” She sighed heavily. “The day after Phillip caught his dad with the whore on our couch, two men showed up at our front door. Phillip was at school—or so I thought, but he was actually on his way over to you. Phil had gone to work, to get away from our epic argument, of course. Why stay and try to talk to me, to patch things up? I was doing laundry and trying to figure out what I would do next.”

“Two men?” I said, to get her back on track.

“It was so scary, Roe. They were really bad men, and they were really determined that Phil repay them.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “They were like Mob men? Really?”

“They were,” Betty Jo said. “And they told me that if Phil didn't get them what he owed them, they'd come back and rape me and make Phil watch.”

“Good God almighty,” Robin said. “Did you call the police?”

“I did not,” she said. “And I've regretted it ever since. Instead, I decided I would just leave, because then I wouldn't be there and they couldn't use me to leverage Phil into doing something stupid. Well, stupider. And I sure didn't want to be at their mercy. But I couldn't watch out all the time, you know? I have to go out sometimes. So leaving seemed safest. Then I found out that Phillip hadn't been to school, and I knew he'd run away. I had to stay around so I could find out where he was, if he was safe. When you called, I was so relieved. So I packed my bag and took off, because by that time I was so scared I could hardly stand being in the house.”