Page 64 of 4th Silence
My heart hammers. This isn’t going according to plan at all. It’s a train jumping the tracks, and we’re still on board. “That’s not why we’re here.”
“Save it. You broke into my house to plant evidence. Jesus Christ.”
What? That’s not only wrong, it’s dangerous. I tug my arm from his grip. “You invited us in, remember? And we’re not trying to frame anyone.”
“Then what do you call that?” Alex gestures at the purse. “Some kind of sick joke?”
“I found it there,” Meg states. “And I haven’t touched it.”
“If your mother is innocent, then this might prove it,” I say. “After all, why would it be hidden in the table? Work with us, Alex. If nothing is connecting Mary to the crime, we’ll clear her name together.”
Alex laughs, a brittle, humorless sound. “You two are just like your mother—obsessed with this, and destroying people’s lives for your twisted entertainment.”
A slap in the face. My mother’s legacy always cuts deeper than it should.
“That’s not fair,” Meg interjects. “We’re trying to find justice for Tiffany. You should be, too.”
“At the expense of my mother?” Alex’s voice echoes off the concrete walls.
Mother and son. A bond we’ve seen both of them honor above all others.
What if Mary is innocent?
What if Tiffany pushed one too many of Alex’s buttons when they were kids and…?
I’m only a few feet from the table. “If the Sherman doesn’t contain evidence against your mother, Meg and I will walk away.” I meet his eyes.
“Let us examine the purse properly,” Meg adds. “If there’s nothing there, your mother is cleared. If there is...” She lets the sentence hang.
Alex’s jaw works, the muscles in his neck standing out like cords. “I’ve had enough. I’m calling the police.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, fingers trembling as he jabs at the screen.
This isn’t the righteous anger of a son defending his mother—this is the desperate panic of someone with everything to lose.
“Go ahead,” I tell him. “Call them. I’m sure they’d be very interested in examining that purse, too. Probably with a forensics team.”
He hesitates, his thumb hovering. He lifts his gaze to me, and the basement suddenly feels twenty degrees colder.
Meg and I are facing down Tiffany’s killer.
“You’re not worried about your mother at all.” I force Meg behind me as I take another step closer to the purse. “You’re worried about yourself. You’re not protecting her. You’re trying to save you.”
Meg gasps, understanding dawning on her. She pinches my arm. Hard. Sending me a message.
Alex’s voice is as hard as her pinch. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
Too late to turn back now. “I’m not implying anything. I’m stating a fact.” Meg pinches me again, a warning. I keep talking. “Tell us how it happened. Did Tiffany start with the hockey stick and then lock you in here? When you got out, were you so traumatized that you went after her? The photographs of the body’s position show it facing away from the door, suggesting she was walking away from this room. Possibly running.”
His eyes widen fractionally—just enough for me.
I see it play out in my mind. “You snapped. You jumped her, grabbed the first thing you could reach, and held her down while you beat her with it.”
Meg peers around me to ogle him. I’m hoping she has her phone recording all of this. “Oh, Alex. Is that true?”
“You’re insane.” But his hand holding the phone drops to his side. “Both of you. I never touched that girl.”
That girl. Signifying a mental and emotional distance he’s put in place.
“Prove us wrong,” I challenge. “Let the police examine everything. Let’s settle this once and for all.”
