Broken (26 page)

“Another,” she said to the hovering bartender.

“Berg?”

She looked up and there he was, in all his handsome, blue-eyed, long-legged glory, and she felt like crying.

Why can’t I get away from him? Did he follow me just to torture me?

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, turning back to slump over her drink.

“Well, you weren’t at home and you weren’t running, so I figured . . .”

“Well, you can get back to your date. I’m totally fine,” she said.

“Really?” He picked up her shot and sniffed it. “Ugh,” he said. “Then why are you trying to kill your brain cells with cheap tequila? Lighter fluid would be more palatable.”

She had nothing to add since she’d just asked herself the same question.

“Look, Berg, I—”

“Don’t say it,” she said as she pointed a finger at him and shook her head. She was incredibly bored with the whole fucking thing and keen to avoid this particular conversation for the umpteenth time. “Really, I’m fine. It’s good you’re moving on. It was just a shock seeing you both, that’s all. Carla’s great, she’ll be good for you. She’s the woman you should be with.” She nearly choked on the words, but they were true. He didn’t deserve to deal with her and her particular problems—he deserved a perfect life with a perfect woman.

“Berg, if you’re having second thoughts . . . about us, then—”

“I’m not,” she said, shooting back the fiery liquid and slamming the glass down. It burned down her throat and made her want to retch, but she resisted the urge. Puking on Jay’s shoes was the only way this situation could get any more humiliating.

“Leigh was right. I’m broken, Jay. And you can’t fix me, so stop trying.” She held up her hand when Jay attempted to argue. “I wanted to be all right—for you. You deserve that.
More
than that. But . . . I can’t. There’s only so many times you can be broken before you just don’t heal anymore.” She paid for her drinks and walked out, her head down.

Jay didn’t follow.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Don’t underestimate the things that I will do.

There’s a fire starting in my heart,

reaching a fever pitch and it’s bringing me out the dark.

–Adele, “Rolling in the Deep”

B
erg wiped her mouth with the toilet paper she had taken from the roll in the ladies’ bathroom and grabbed onto the sink. She was dizzy again, and had just violently lost the one piece of toast she had managed to choke down for breakfast. Her stomach still churned—not even coffee was staying down this morning.

It’s not fair. I didn’t drink enough to warrant this.

Three shots had been all she could stomach last night. Certainly not enough to provide the relief or amnesia she had been seeking.

The picture of Jay striding into the restaurant hand in hand with ASA Maroney had been all she’d seen when she had closed her eyes last night.

It was all she saw now.

The tequila certainly hadn’t held up its end of the bargain.

She took a deep breath, rinsed out her mouth, wiped her sweaty face, and walked out of the bathroom, running smack into Arena, who had clearly been waiting for her.

“We going or what? Whoa! You smell like puke.”

“Thanks. You smell like shit, too. Where are we going again?”

“The Youngs’ neighbor again, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, Mrs. Keating. Sure.” She knew that. It had been her idea, after all. Given her suspicions about Alex Young, she had hoped to get some more family background. “Give me a second.” She ran a hairbrush through her long hair and popped a mint into her mouth. “Let’s go.”

For once, she let Arena drive, unsure that her upset stomach could handle being behind the wheel. She sat in the passenger seat and concentrated on taking deep breaths.

“That’s some hangover you have there. Good night last night?” Arena smirked.

“No. And I’m having an even worse morning,” she said.

Taking the hint, Arena moved on to safer topics. “So you seriously think Young was doing his own kid?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “DNA proved that Tim Hudson is the father of Emma’s baby, but it doesn’t mean incest wasn’t happening.”

Arena shook his head.

“Think about it. Both those girls were living at home, despite having jobs. Alex dominates them all—I have yet to hear Marilyn Young say more than a handful of words! His reaction when he found out about Emma and Hudson was just plain weird. And poor Elizabeth is obviously desperate for his attention.” Berg had shifted slightly in her seat and ticked the points backing up her argument off on her fingers. Wiggling those same points in Arena’s face, she released the seatbelt just as they pulled up outside the tiny Pullman home.

“Detectives?” Mrs. Bernie Keating looked a bit shocked to find them on the other side of the unexpected knock. It had been months since they’d last interviewed her, so she was understandably confused by their visit. “How can I help you?”

“We were wondering if you had a few moments to talk with us about the Youngs?” Berg asked. “You mentioned last time that you’d known them since the girls were born. I was hoping you could just fill us in on their family life?”

“I thought the case was all stitched up? Marilyn said they were hoping to deliver the baby within a month. They’re so excited!”

“Yes. This is just for . . . my report,” Berg said, flicking an inconspicuous glance toward Arena. “It will just take a few moments.”

“Well, of course. Come in,” Mrs. Keating replied. “Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, a cookie?”

“A cookie for me,” Arena said before Berg could decline for the both of them.

Berg shook her head and swallowed back the nausea.

Mrs. Keating disappeared behind the swinging door only to reappear with a homemade chocolate chip cookie placed carefully on a doily-covered plate. “So what did you want to know?”

Berg hesitated while Arena munched.

She really had no idea what she wanted to find out, or if there was anything to find out at all. She hoped that her suspicions about Alex Young were way off base, but Hudson had become a dead lead, and she had to start somewhere.

Tim Hudson’s computer had been clear, his phone records and e-mail had given no indication that he had ever contacted Buchanan. They already knew Buchanan’s had indicated the same. Hudson’s money was all accounted for. He had even kept his word when told his wife about the affair and approached the Youngs to work out a joint custody arrangement.

Only one thing was clear now: there was something screwy about the Young family.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning—when Elizabeth was born?” Berg said, turning her cell phone on to record.

Mrs. Keating tilted her head as if she didn’t understand but started talking nonetheless. “Well, Marilyn had had a hard pregnancy and birth with Lizzy, so they were very happy when they got home with their healthy little girl. I got the impression the birth left them believing Marilyn couldn’t have any more children, but not even two years later Emma came along. They were thrilled with their girls.”

“And they all seemed to get along?” Berg asked.

“Of course, yes. Particularly Emma and her parents. They were very close.”

“Closer than Elizabeth? Why?” Berg hoped Mrs. Keating would elaborate on what she had witnessed.

The woman wrung her hands and a flash of worry passed over her face. “I don’t really want to say anything critical. They’ve been very good to me over the years, particularly Lizzy . . .”

“I’m not asking you to tell me anything untrue. It’s just your opinion, after all.” Berg smiled, trying to reassure her.

The woman nodded. “Well, it’s just that . . . Emma was somewhat of a miracle baby, you see. They always looked at her like she was the sun in their lives. There was nothing they wouldn’t give their special girl, especially Alex. I think sometimes poor Lizzy got left out in the cold.”

“How so?”

“There was never anything I could put my finger on, but Lizzy started to spend a lot of time here with me when she was quite young. I got the feeling she felt left out at home. She never said anything, mind you. Bless her.”

“Left out?” Arena mumbled in between bites of the huge cookie.

“Oh, she mentioned quite by accident one day that any money they had left went into Emma’s whims. One month Em’d want to be a ballerina, the next a pageant queen. She was so flighty but so delightful and fun to be around that you forgave her instantly.”

“But it upset Elizabeth?”

“Not really, she was always gracious about it, but I found her in my yard crying one evening. She had asked her parents for money for some special weight loss program, but they had instead given it to Emma for acting lessons. The year before, Elizabeth had needed braces, but Emma got professional portfolio shots taken for a modeling career that never happened instead. That’s when Lizzy started coming over here even more.”

“What about Emma and her father? Anything strange happening there in your opinion?”

The woman looked shocked at the mere idea.

Berg rushed to smooth it over. “I don’t mean anything
bad . . .
I just . . . I mean, was there anything different?”

Mrs. Keating paused, as if carefully framing what she was going to say. “Alex doted on Emma, of course.”

“And Elizabeth?”

“I think poor Elizabeth would’ve loved to receive even half the attention Emma did, but . . . like I said, she never said anything to me.”

Berg got an uneasy feeling at the back of her neck. She shook it off, putting it down to the nausea. “So they seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be a fairly normal family?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“Just checking. Do you think her parents’ favoritism of Emma made Elizabeth angry?”

“No.” Mrs. Keating said without hesitation. “I think she resigned herself to it quite early in life. I always thought it was such a shame that her parents never appreciated how wonderful she is. Smart as a whip, that Elizabeth. As a child, she would do my crossword every Sunday without any trouble, even though it was well above her years. I wasn’t surprised when she showed an interest in studying law. Of course, they couldn’t afford her college, so she became a paralegal instead.”

“And you developed a strong friendship with her over time?”

“Oh, yes. I don’t know what I would have done without Elizabeth after my poor Oliver died. She really became my rock.”

“Oliver . . . your cat.” Arena hadn’t completely hidden the sarcasm in his voice.

Mrs. Keating flashed him a dark look. “After my husband died, I got Oliver from animal rescue. He became my whole reason for being. He got me through the grief. I wouldn’t have survived when he was killed if it hadn’t been for Lizzy.”

“He was killed? The cat, you mean?” Berg asked.

“Yes. I’ll never understand it. I don’t know how he got out of the house, but we found him in the front yard. The vet said he had been kicked to death.” The woman got up to grab a tissue and wipe away the tears the memory had pulled out of her. “He never left my side. I couldn’t bring myself to get another cat. Still can’t.”

Click.

“Did you find out who did it?” Berg asked, frowning.

“No,” she said, wiping her face.

“Did you find him?”

“No, Lizzy found him. She was devastated for me. Anyway . . . since then, Lizzy has become my best friend. She still visits regularly, even though she no longer lives in the area. Last time I saw her, she looked so wonderful! With the weight coming off, she looks more and more like Emma every day.”

Berg felt the blood drain from her face and remembered the picture of Elizabeth’s head on Emma’s body and felt sicker with every word the woman was saying.

Click. Click. Click . . .

“Thanks, Mrs. Keating. We’ll leave you be.” Berg motioned for Arena to follow her.

He tilted his head, the unasked question clear, but followed without comment.

“Oh, Jesus,” Berg mumbled as they climbed back into the car. “Jesus . . . fuck.”

“What?” Arena asked.

“Fuck. I really want to be wrong, but I don’t think I am.”

“What?” Arena asked again, still confused.

“Look, I don’t know how she did it. But I know in my gut that she did—fuck!”

Arena huffed and smacked the steering wheel with annoyance. “
Who?
You’re babbling like a potty-mouthed toddler.”

“Elizabeth. She did it. She had her own sister killed. Fuck!”

“What? I thought you thought something was off about Alex. Since when are you suspicious of Elizabeth?”

“Since about five minutes ago.”

“That’s a stretch, don’t you think?” Arena asked as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Just get us to the station. I have phone calls to make.”