A Stranger at the Door (A Rachel Marin Thriller) Page 31

  “Which would give him access to families’ financial records,” Rachel said.

  “That’s right,” Serrano said. “We believe that’s how Brice was able to target kids like Tony Vargas and Peter Lincecum. He found applications that noted financial difficulties and other weak points and leveraged them against the families.”

  “Did Alvi know?” Rachel said.

  “At this moment, we don’t believe so. But her career is over.”

  “So Principal Alvi is ruined because a man took advantage of her love and loyalty,” Rachel said. “That makes me sick. And I still don’t see what this has to do with Gabrielle Vargas.”

  “On the morning of June fifth,” Serrano said, “there was a text message chain between Brice and Alvi. Brice asked Alvi about one of the teachers at her school.”

  Rachel said, “Matthew Linklater.”

  “Yes. In the course of their conversation, Alvi told Brice that Mr. Linklater was dating the parent of a student.”

  “Gabrielle Vargas,” Rachel said.

  Serrano nodded. “When we questioned her previously, Alvi claimed not to be aware of any relationship. We believe Bennett Brice told Gabrielle that harm would come to Tony if she didn’t help Randall Spivak gain access to Matthew Linklater’s home.”

  “No. No way.”

  “We obtained a search warrant for the Vargas home,” Serrano said. “In Gabrielle’s closet, we found handgun cartridges. Ballistics confirms they match the ammunition used to kill Bennett Brice.” He paused to let the information sink in. “Gabrielle Vargas was the one who knocked on Matthew Linklater’s door the day he died. She did it to protect her son. But she still did it. And here’s the thing, Rachel—I think you knew all of this. But you wanted to protect Gabrielle. Like you said yourself: what a mother would do for her son isn’t pretty.”

  And there it was. The truth.

  “Randall Spivak maimed Tony,” Rachel said. “If she hadn’t gone along with it, they would have killed him.”

  “I know that,” Serrano said. “And I’m sure the judge or jury will take that under consideration.”

  Gabrielle Vargas came out of the hospital room, her eyes swollen and red. Tony was behind her, his eyes blazing.

  “They made us do it!” Tony shouted. At this point, the entire hospital floor began to notice the commotion. An elderly man walking slowly with an IV stopped to watch. A nurse picked up the phone and asked for security. People peeked out of hospital rooms.

  “Antonio, that’s enough,” Gabrielle said.

  “No, it’s not!” He drew a line across the scar on his neck. “Randall Spivak did that to me! He told me if I didn’t do what he and Mr. Brice said, they’d cut my throat and kill my mom. Why do you think I hit Ms. Marin?”

  Serrano looked at Rachel. “Did he . . . ?”

  Rachel nodded. “He was the one who clocked me after I disarmed Peter Lincecum. And I formally decline to press charges.”

  Tony ran up to Rachel and grabbed her wrists. It was not aggressive, but pleading, remorseful. “I swear to God I never would have done it in a million years. But after what happened to Mr. Linklater, I thought if I didn’t do what they said, they’d hurt my mom. I swear I didn’t mean it, Ms. Marin. I swear it.”

  Rachel took Tony’s hands and squeezed them. Tears spilled down his cheeks, his eyes a mix of fire and fear.

  “This is all my fault,” he said, voice trembling. “Mom, I’m so sorry.”

  “John,” Rachel said, turning to the detectives. “Leslie. Detectives. Do something about this. Gabrielle Vargas doesn’t belong in a cell. They did what they did because they were protecting their family from monsters.”

  “I know they were,” Serrano said. “But nobody is above the law. Not me. Not them. Not you.”

  “Come on,” Tally said, ignoring Rachel. She placed her hand on the small of Gabrielle Vargas’s back and gently pushed her down the hall.

  “Go home, baby,” Gabrielle said, looking over her shoulder. Tony stood there, catatonic. “I promise this will all get figured out. We’re a family, and we always will be.”

  “How do you know that?” Tony said. “How?”

  Gabrielle did not answer.

  “Detective Tally,” Rachel said. She ran to Tally and grabbed her arm. The detective spun away.

  “Ms. Marin, step back.”

  At first Rachel did not move. But when Tally’s hand slid down toward her handcuffs, Rachel relented.

  “I don’t want to fight you, Detective,” Rachel said.

  “Well, then, that makes two of us. Let me do my job.”

  “You know Gabrielle doesn’t deserve this.”

  “That’s not my job to decide. And it’s definitely not yours. There’s a system in place for this, Rachel.”

  “The system doesn’t work,” Rachel said. “The system let the man who tore my family apart back on the street. It let Randall Spivak and Bennett Brice poison children. I shouldn’t have trusted the system then, and I sure as hell don’t trust it now.”

  “Go home, Rachel,” Tally said. “Or I’ll be booking two people today. One of these days, you’ll do that before I have to threaten you.”

  Tally led Gabrielle Vargas away. Tony stood there, shaking, as if the anger and confusion and sadness inside him were all fighting for supremacy.

  The elevator door opened. Serrano, Tally, and Gabrielle Vargas stepped inside. Tally’s face was placid, emotionless. Serrano’s eyes looked haunted. Gabrielle opened her mouth to say something. The doors closed before she could speak, and then they were gone. Tony Vargas sank to his knees. Rachel put her hand on his shoulder but said nothing. There were no words that could comfort him.

  CHAPTER 50

  One Week Later

  “Look at this,” the boy said. He gently placed his crutches on the chair. He then tentatively lifted his right knee in the air, balancing on his heavily bandaged left knee. The leg wobbled, and he had to stretch his arms out for balance, like a tightrope walker high above the ground. “Not bad, huh?”

  “Peter Lincecum, stop that right now,” Evie said. “If you pop your stitches, I’m going to sew your leg back up myself with piano wire and superglue.”

  Peter put his good leg back on the ground and picked the crutches up, inserting them under his armpits. “These things give me rashes.”

  “Stop complaining. I have a butt rash from these sheets. I’d kill to have an armpit rash instead.”

  “That’s gross, Evie.”

  “Mom,” she said. “You can call me Mom.”

  Peter nodded but didn’t say the word.

  “I know,” Evie said. “It’ll take some getting used to. For both of us.”

  There was a knock at the door, and they turned to see Rachel Marin standing there. She had dark circles under her eyes but an easy smile on her face.

  “They haven’t kicked you out of here yet?” Rachel said. The color was returning to Evie’s face, which held a shade of pink just paler than cotton candy. Her arm was in a sling, her shoulder wrapped in bandages. She wore a generic hospital gown with a drab floral pattern. She’d lost a considerable amount of weight, her muscle tone softening, her reddish-brown hair thin and untamed. But she was awake. And she would survive.

  “Funny thing,” Evie said. “When you lose almost half the blood in your body, they don’t let you run off so fast.”

  “Good thing they’re in charge here and not you. How’s the leg?” Rachel said to Peter.

  “Hurts like hell.”

  “That’s because you’re doing too much,” Evie said, sternly. “You’re supposed to stay off it, not perform circus tricks like some teenage seal.”

  “Circus tricks? I was just showing you I could balance—”

  “OK, children, that’s enough,” Rachel said. “Peter, can your mom and I talk for a bit?”

  Peter’s eyes went to Evie.

  “It’s OK,” Evie said. “Go get a snack. There’s money in my purse.”

  “Remember, Mom,
I have my own money,” Peter said. “Oh. Right. Guess it’s too soon to talk about that. Back in a few, ladies.”

  The boy went off, crutches thumping on the floor. They watched him until he turned the corner and was out of sight.

  “Ladies,” Evie said, with a laugh. “He sounds so proper. Like we should be sipping mimosas and talking about our French writers.”

  “Lucky for you I’ve picked Les Misérables as the first official selection of my ‘nearly set on fire by a psychopath and lived to tell about it’ book club. We meet every other Thursday at Applebee’s.”

  “I’m in,” Evie said.

  Rachel sat on the side of the bed and took Evie’s hand. Her grip was weak.

  “How are you?” Rachel said.

  “Physically, like I got run over by a tractor. Like I got run over by a tractor and then doused with battery acid. Plus I have eight pins and a steel plate holding my collarbone together, and I’ll never be able to do a full jumping jack again. Otherwise, I’m doing peachy.”

  Rachel looked down, then said, “Why didn’t you tell me about Peter?”

  Evie shifted in her bed, grimacing in pain.

  “I’ve only trusted one person in my life,” Evie said. “My brother, Bennett. When Peter was born, I was a mess. I drank, smoked, injected, and inhaled anything and everything I could get my hands on. I had no money. I was already taking care of one son, and not very well at that. I was ready for a second kid like I was ready for a cannonball to the face. I suppose I could have done something about that before I told my ex not to bother with protection. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?”

  “So you gave Peter up for adoption?”

  “It was the best thing for him. I couldn’t afford a sandwich. You know who saved us? Bennett. He visited my crappy shoebox of a home. I was drunk off my ass, using my TV as a babysitter for my preschooler, with an infant crying in the other room like he was being tortured. I was too out of it to even comfort my own son. When Bennett saw what was going on, he told me the baby needed a new home. I told him to go to hell. He said I didn’t have a choice. He said he would make sure the baby would be taken care of.”

  “So he arranged for Peter to be adopted by Lloyd and Stefanie Lincecum.”

  “When you have enough money, it becomes a whole lot easier to dictate the terms for adoption,” Evie said. “But the Lincecums were crap parents too. When I sobered up, I told Bennett I wanted Peter back. But by that time, the Spivaks had brought Peter into YourLife. And Bennett had put enough money aside for Peter so that he’d never have to want for anything ever again. So I pretended that the universe knew better than I did when it came to my son’s well-being. Funny thing about the universe: it doesn’t know squat either.”

  “I have to ask . . . Why did you try to kill Raymond Spivak?”

  Evie laughed, then coughed into her hand. “I wasn’t actually going to kill him. Well, maybe. Bennett was in deep with the Spivaks. I didn’t like them. I’m a good judge of character; can’t you tell?”

  Rachel smiled but said nothing.

  “Anyway, I told Bennett to cut ties with the Spivaks. They knew I was trying to pry Bennett away, so Raymond told me he was going to gut my son like a fish if I didn’t mind my own business. I just went to Raymond’s place to let him know that if anyone’s entrails were going to wind up on the floor, they would be his. And then I end up killing his brother with a pitchfork. Go figure.”

  “So what now?” Rachel asked.

  “Weirdly enough, nearly dying can bring people closer together. Kind of like you and me, Blondie, right?”

  “Yeah. We’re peas in a messed-up pod.”

  “So I’m going to give it a go. Try to be a mom again. My oldest doesn’t need me—he’s got life figured out. Unlike his mom. But Peter does need me. So I guess it’s time to see how Ashby fits this old broad.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Finally Evie spoke.

  “What you did or didn’t do to Stanford Royce,” Evie said, “will never pass these lips.”

  Rachel nodded. “You’ll understand if I don’t believe you.”

  “I understand. But you saved my boy. You came back for me. I might be an asshole, but I’m a loyal asshole.”

  “That would make a heck of an epitaph.”

  “Thankfully, I’m not going to need one anytime soon.” Evie paused. “So what’s happening with the Gabrielle Vargas case?”

  “Gabrielle got a pretty good lawyer. They’re going to push self-defense. Given all the terrible things the Spivaks did to her family, she can legitimately say she believed their lives were in danger if they didn’t comply. I talked to Serrano. He thinks the DA will offer a plea. She might even avoid jail time.”

  “She killed my brother,” Evie said.

  “And your brother nearly got her and her son killed,” Rachel replied. “You loved Bennett. But you know what he did.”

  “You’re saying my brother had it coming. That he deserved to die.”

  “I’m saying you can only push someone so far before they push back.”

  “Is that how you live your life, too, Blondie?” Evie said.

  “I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Ask Stanford Royce.”

  Rachel closed the front door, kicked off her shoes, and sank into the living room couch like it was a warm bath. She could feel the exhaustion in her bones.

  She could hear beeps and blips coming from upstairs; Eric was slaughtering a thousand pixelated space blobs. She knocked gently on his door.

  “Come in,” he said, without hesitation.

  When she entered, Eric paused his game and swiveled around. That alone made her heart full. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually paused a game for her.

  “What’s new?” she said. He shrugged.

  “All anyone can talk about are Tony Vargas and Benjamin Ruddock,” he said. “Rumor is Ben is getting expelled. Like weeks before graduation. I heard he’s going to take a plea and testify all about Bennett Brice and his business with those Spivak creeps. Probably stay out of jail. People are saying he’s got a ton of cash squirreled away and as soon as this is over, he’ll leave Ashby and never come back.”

  “Probably best for everyone,” Rachel said. “What about Tony?”

  “Tony’s actually a pretty good dude. We’ve been talking a bit.”

  “He is. Never hurts to have friends. Especially ones with moms who are a little . . . different.”

  “You’re different in a good way,” Eric said. “But I know Ms. Vargas is too.”

  “Do you think they’ll fire Principal Alvi?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Rachel said. “She lied to the cops. But I don’t think she really knew how dangerous Bennett Brice was. She couldn’t have known what he would do.”

  “Even if she didn’t, a lot of people think she did.”

  “Sometimes what people think is very different from the actual truth. Learning to spot the difference is a valuable life skill.”

  Rachel sat on his bed. She smoothed out the covers as if by habit.

  “I was thinking,” she said, “that it’d be a good idea for you to talk to someone. Professionally. About your dad. About anything you want. You can always talk to me, but even though I think I’m kind of smart about some things, I can be very dumb about others. And I’m smart enough to know that there are other people who are trained to help in ways I can’t. I’ll always be here for you. But I know I can’t be the only person you rely on. What do you say?”

  “All right.”

  “Wow. Really? That quick?”

  “Yeah,” he said. His voice grew soft. “I don’t want to feel this way forever. And I know you’ve been messed up, too, right?”

  “I have been,” Rachel said. “Maybe more than I’ve let on. And I should do a better job of talking to you and your sister about how I feel. I love you more than the earth and stars, and I don’t want to ever seem as distant as they are.”

  “Me either.”

 
“You know, maybe I should talk to someone too,” Rachel said.

  “I think that’s a really good idea.”

  “And if you want to talk to me about what you talk about in there, you can.”

  Eric said, “Is it OK if I don’t?”

  Rachel smiled and said, “Of course it’s OK.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Hey, are you free this weekend?”

  “I think so, why?”

  “I planned a little family trip. Keep your schedule clear.”

  “OK. Should I be worried?”

  “Only if you like fun,” she said with a smile.

  She went to hug Eric, and to her surprise he opened his arms and let her in. Tears came to her eyes.

  “Look at me,” she said, embarrassed. “You’re not supposed to cry in your son’s arms.”

  “You can cry wherever you want,” Eric said. “Sometimes crying is good for you.”

  Eric’s cell phone vibrated with an incoming text. The ID read Penny Wallace. Eric looked up at her, blushing.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Text her back.”

  Eric smiled and picked up the phone. Rachel left and closed the door behind her.

  The door to Megan’s room was open a crack. Inside, she could see her daughter hovering over reams of paper, no doubt a forthcoming Sadie Scout adventure. Rachel knocked.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, without looking up. “I’m kind of busy. Sadie is getting ready to swing over a moat filled with really hungry crocodiles in a bad mood, and we really need to concentrate.”

  “We?” Rachel said. She stepped into the room and looked at the page. “I hope Sadie plans on changing her shoes. I imagine it would be awfully hard to swing over a crocodile-infested lake in heels.”

  “Not for Sadie Scout,” Megan scoffed. “She rescued the Prince of Cheetonia from the evil Dr. Blurg while she was wearing heels.”

  “Well, if she can rescue the Prince of Cheetonia . . . ,” Rachel said. “Hey, this weekend. You, me, and Eric are going to take a little trip. That all right?”

  “Sure!” Megan said, looking up with an expectant smile. “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret,” Rachel replied, “but it’s something we should have done a long time ago. And when we get back, I’m going to help you get your stories together so we can maybe look to get your Sadie Scout books published.”