Page 64 of Strangers She Knows

She handed him the bottle of scotch again. “Swallow it! That’s a boy.” She stood up. “You need to go explain to Jamie that she needs to honor and obey you, like your marriage vows said.”

He mumbled, “We didn’t do those—”

“It doesn’t matter what you really vowed. That’s what marriage is, right? The man is in charge. You’re the head of the family. You shouldn’t have to do anything.”

“She’s not all bad. Tonight she’s making me apple cake. I like apple cake.”

“Is she making it for you? Or for the folks up at the big house?”

Abruptly sullen, he said, “She’ll give them some of my cake, won’t she?”

“You bet she will. She should do all the work and whenever you want, she should go down on you and suck you until you come in her mouth, and she should like it.” Mara leaned down and put her face near his. “That’s what I would do if you were my husband.”

As Dylan stared at her, she saw him changing. The booze and the weed and the drugs took effect. The promise of sex created a spark, and the flames kindled in his eyes. Easygoing Dylan Conkle changed into a self-important man on a mission.

“Go.” Mara gave him a push in the direction of his cottage. “It’s time to make a change.”

Dylan walked a straight line, all the way up from the beach to the grasslands and along the path toward the cottage he shared with Jamie.

Backpack in hand, Mara followed.

The drugs worked exactly as they should. He never faltered. He never lost his way. He pushed his way into the well-lit cottage, and almost at once, Jamie screamed.

Mara stayed on the hill overlooking the cottage for a long time, until the crying stopped, and thought how much she enjoyed setting scenes in motion.

When Dylan appeared, carrying a limp Jamie over his shoulder, she wondered briefly what he’d do with the body, then went in to scope out the scene.

Wow. That was a lot of blood and that gray matter… Yes, he’d finished the job.

She breathed deeply. The house smelled like brutality and spices: broken bones, cinnamon and cloves.

Oh, look. Cupcakes on a cooling rack. Must be Dylan’s apple cake.

She picked one up. A little bloody. But the oven was still on. She opened it, rescued a dozen slightly over-baked cupcakes, and turned them out. She picked one up, tossed it from hand to hand until it had cooled, and bit into it. Apples, nuts and spices.Good choice, Dylan.She ate that one, then tossed the rest into a paper bag, then into her backpack—all except the ones with a bloody frosting. She left those.

Jamie had begun assembling tomorrow’s basket to be delivered to the big house. No reason to leave it for the Di Lucas to find. Once they stepped inside here, they would never eat this stuff. Mara flung the produce in with the cupcakes.

She turned off the lights and shut the door behind her, knowing the satisfaction of a job well done.

25

That evening, Kellen, Max and Rae lovingly stashed the leftover pizza in the refrigerator, then cleaned the kitchen. The cleaning took longer than they thought it should. They might not have liked Olympia, but they missed her.

Then they hustled into the library and took their places, Kellen in a small overstuffed chair with an ottoman that weighed a ton, Max in the large overstuffed chair.

Rae sat down at the desk, picked up a pen, opened her brand-new journal—and stared at the blank page. And stared. And stared.

To give her privacy, Kellen opened Ruby’s diary and started reading aloud what they’d read this afternoon.

After a few moments, Max interrupted her. “What’s wrong, Rae?”

Rae looked up, vaguely alarmed. “What should I write?”

“I never kept a journal, but my sister did,” Max said.

“Aunt Irene has a journal?” Rae asked.

“Shebeggedfor a journal. She got it for Christmas, then she wrote in it for about a week and that was that.” Max rolled his eyes, all disgusted older brother.

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