Page 45 of Killer Knows Best

Fallon places a finger to my lips before I can finish. “I’m sorry to put a pin in your balloon, Stone. But if we were together back then, I would’ve used right along with you. We would both be struggling with addictions to this day—had we survived. And I’m guessing we’d have had a few kids along the way, most likely born in our teens. They would have been taken away by social services, of course. Sure, we’d see them now and again, maybe even get them back for the five minutes we managed to stay clean. But you’d be strung out on something to take the edge off of the chaos, and I’d have mommy guilt on top of that. With no marketable skills, no real schooling, and zero hope, I’d turn tricks in the alley to keep my addiction going—first and foremost. You and the kids would be an afterthought.” She gives me a knowing look. “Hope you enjoy a family dumpster dive for dinner.”

I chuckle, even though there’s nothing funny about it. “Wouldn’t be my first time.”

We fall silent again, the weight of our imaginary mess of a life hanging between us.

“The story never changes,” she says. “It always stays thesame. Addiction is a curse straight from the pit of hell. And it just gets passed down, one generation after another.”

“You are a ball of sunshine,” I say with my gaze fixed on the silver horizon of the lake.

“So I’ve been told.”

The sound of the door creaking open steals our attention, and soon my mother stumbles our way with her arms wrapped around herself as she falls into the seat across from us.

Fallon dips her lips next to my ear. “Maybe I should try talking to her,” she whispers, and her hot breath sends shivers rippling through me.

“Good luck,” I mutter.

“Sandy”—Fallon starts with a curt yet friendly tone—“can I ask you something? Do you know a man down in Elmwood by the name of Gunther?”

I’m almost amused she chose to frame it as a question. I think we both know my mother either knows of him or utilizes his so-called protective services. Although the definition of the wordprotectionin this scenario is debatable.

My mother’s eyes flicker with recognition, but her body twitches, jerking with small movements, tweaking from whatever drug cocktail she’s high on.

“Yeah, I know him.” She lifts her chin with a hint of pride, and that singular motion terrifies me. Ithumiliatesme. Makes me want to strangle the life out of every man in Elmwood who may have even looked at my mother sideways.

“He takes care of me,” she slurs while clawing at her arm. “And there’s this woman... she helps with the placements sometimes.”

“Is her name Kiki?” I ask, suddenly interested in what my mother might have to say.

I feel as if I was just hit on the head with a two-by-four. Howcould I have not thought to quiz my mother on the dirty dealings of Elmwood when that dirty town just so happens to sit square in the nexus of this case? Most likely because I hate that my mother sits squarely in the nexus of it. She could have been killed. It could be her body we were viewing at the morgue.

“Kiki?” Mom’s eyes narrow and she shakes her head a little too fast, a little too erratically. “No, no, it’s not. I think I know who you’re talking about, but it’s not her.”

I don’t believe her for a second. My mother loves attention as much as she loves a good high. She’s not that different from me in that respect.

Jet appears to our right, glowing like the tall, pale, and haunted ghost he is. “Mom, come back in. It’s freezing out here,” he says with a note of frustration in his voice. “Jack, you know she gets pneumonia easy. What are you thinking?” He wraps an arm around her shoulder and hoists her out of her seat. “Come on, Mom. Let’s get you inside.”

No sooner do they disappear than Fallon wraps her arms around me and lands a lingering kiss on my lips.

“I’d better go, too,” she says, pulling back with a mournful smile. “We’ve got a full day ahead of us. Nikki said something about meeting us at the lab before she left. We’ll even let you bring pizza.”

“You are generous,” I say, giving her ribs a tweak and she jumps slightly in my arms. “Thank you,” I say it solemnly and I mean it. “For putting up with all this.”

“For you, any day.”

We indulge in another kiss, a little deeper with more body parts wanting to get involved before she and Buddy head back to their place.

I head for the door and try my best not to let the weight of the night pull me down.

But I don’t get two steps into my cabin when I see it.

Jet and my mother are knocking back beers while laughing at something on television.

And I am livid. But not surprised.

I don’t see why I should be. This is my life.

31

---