Page 29 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

Pemberton let go. I scrambled under the barricade and threw myself into my father’s arms.

“Maggie, are you okay? I thought you were upstairs sleeping. Jesus H. Christ, you smell like a goddam distillery. Where the hell were you?”

“I had a bad day, okay?” I snapped, pulling away from him. “After you went to sleep, I snuck out and went to the quarry. I had a few drinks. Same thing you and Mom did when you were seventeen. What’s going on here? I was with Misty, but the detectives took her away.”

“Misty’s okay?” my father said.

“Stupid drunk,” I said, “but yeah.”

“Thank God. We were... we were worried. I’m glad she’s safe.”

“Please tell me what’s going on,” I said, my eyes tearing up.

“It was late. I was watching TV, and I hearbang-bang,” Dad said. “Two gunshots coming from outside. No question.”

“Oh my God,” I said. Lizzie put a hand on my shoulder, and I pulled her close to me.

“I called nine-one-one, and I slipped onto the porch to see if anyone was wandering the street with a gun. Ten seconds later, there were two more shots, only this time I could see the muzzle flashes in the second-floor bedroom window of Arnie Sinclair’s house.”

I put my hands to my mouth. In my head, I could hear Officer Pemberton on her radio.I’ve got the girl from eight-two-two.

“I ran back inside, grabbed my gun, and just as I came out, there were two more shots. The lights were on in Arnie’s house, so I ran across the street. I tried the front door, and it was unlocked, so I pushed it open, and yelled out, ‘Arnie, Lois, it’s Finn. Are you okay?’ And Arnie yells back from upstairs, ‘Go away, Finn.’

“I figured some maniac must have broken in, and I think maybe I can scare him off, so I yell, ‘I called 911. Help is coming.’ But Arnie screams, ‘It’s too late for help. Don’t come up. Go away.’ And then I can hear the sirens. They get closer and closer.

“And then...” His big chest was heaving as he spoke. “And then... Arnie yells, ‘God forgive me,’ and bang—one more shotgun blast. I called upstairs to Arnie, but there’s no answer. I start to put the pieces together in my head, and I backed out to the street. Thirty seconds later the cops got there.”

“Mr. Sinclair shot himself?” I said, half deduction, half question.

My father looked at the two cops at his side.

“As far as we can make out, Mr. Sinclair took his own life,” Officer Montgomery said.

“What about Mrs. Sinclair and Charlie?” I asked. I was trembling, and Lizzie held me tight.

“I’m sorry to tell you this Maggie,” Officer Montgomery said, “but they were both shot. They’re gone.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “If Misty had been home...”

“She’s a very lucky girl,” my father said. “I didn’t go in there, but Kip did. Arnie’s body was on the floor in Misty’s room. The pillows that were under her sheets were blown apart.”

I collapsed into his arms, buried my head in his chest, and sobbed.

And then I heard the piercing wail cutting through the night as the two detectives finally broke the news to Misty.

SEVENTEEN

I woke up the next morning to the sound of Misty puking her guts out in my bathroom.

I cracked my eyes open just wide enough to see the time. Ten fifteen. I closed them again and rubbed my head. It didn’t help. At seventeen I wasn’t a very experienced drinker, and this was my first full-blown, I-swear-to-God-I’ll-never-do-this-again hangover.

I let out a long, low moan, and the wreckage of the past forty-eight hours flooded back. Dumped over the phone by my boyfriend in Korea, meaningless retaliatory sex with my drug dealer, sneaking off to the midnight rave, the drunken drive home, and the unimaginable, unforgettable scene on Crystal Avenue. And then finally, holding Misty in my arms, while she railed at her dead father, “Why Charlie, Daddy? Why Charlie?”

My father had offered her the guest room, but she was too petrified to sleep alone, so we spent the night huddled together in my bed.

“Maggie...”

I opened my eyes again. She was standing in the doorway wearing my green bathrobe.

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