Aimee nods, feeling guilty for dragging Gwen into this. But the desire to hear Cathy out overpowers everything right now.
“Put your phone over there.” Cathy nods toward the basket.
Gwen looks to Aimee.
“Do you want to know where Scott is?” Cathy asks.
“Just do it,” Aimee tells Gwen. “Please.”
Gwen does as she’s asked and takes a seat next to Aimee, just as the kettle begins to screech.
“Tea, anyone?” Cathy asks, pulling a mug down from the cupboard.
“Just tell me where Scott is,” Aimee says.
“I can’t get used to calling him Scott. Michael’s his real name, but he’s fine. He’s running an errand. He should be back soon, and you’ll be able to see for yourself.”
“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe he’s fine,” Aimee says. “If he were fine, he would have gotten in touch with me. He wouldn’t let me worry like this.” She fights the urge to jump up and attack Cathy, to pin her down, pull out her gardening knife and press it against the woman’s throat, get the truth out of her.
“You’re a sweet girl.” Cathy turns, holding the mug. “And you’re a good mother. But if you really love him, if you really care about your children, you need to let him go. Forget about him.”
“Why, so you can kill him?”
Cathy laughs sharply. “Kill him? Now why would I want to kill my own son?”
43
THIS PAST SUMMER
The beginning of August in Washington was a wretched, humid slog. Kai was away at soccer camp, and Marcus had gone to San Francisco for work. As soon as Anton and Lisa returned from Tampa, he sent the email to Scott using a computer at work that couldn’t be traced to him, but there had been no response. Lisa was bored and lonely. If Scott wasn’t going to take the bait and respond, they’d have to up the stakes. One lazy afternoon, when Gwen was at work and Anton’s twins were at camp, Anton came to her house for a change.
“I cannot believe this whole Scott-slash-Michael Finch thing,” Anton said after their second round of screwing. “It has the makings of a movie. Did you know that Michael Finch’s mom and her boyfriend Ray McCready ran one of the largest illegal marijuana operations in the area? Before pot was legalized. The boyfriend’s a real badass. Spent time in prison.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Dex Kohl’s mom. She’s a wealth of information. She thinks this is why the police didn’t look too hard at what was going on,” he said. “Nobody really wants to go up into those mountains and start poking around. They’ve got dogs, machine guns.”
“Wait, you’ve spoken to her?” Lisa sat up, trying to hide her alarm. “When?”
“I told her we worked together on the podcast. No big deal.”
“How did you get her number?”
He looked at her sheepishly. “Your phone.”
“My phone?” Lisa had to bite down on the inside of her cheekto keep from screaming. Her heart galloped wildly. “Why would you do that, Anton?”
“Why? Because she has a story to tell.” He looked up at her with the innocence of a boy showing his mother the earthworm he is sure she will find as fascinating as he does. “She’s very eager to get her side of things out there. I think I can help her.”
“Help her how?” Lisa asked. “We’re not actually going to turn Scott in.” She threw off the covers and stood up.
He sat up as a smile broke across his usually sullen face. “Don’t be mad. I’ve been inspired, Lisa, by this whole thing. For the first time in years, the writing is coming. Every day I have new pages. Do you have any idea what that means after years of feeling like I didn’t have anything to write? Of starting things and having them go nowhere, or sending them to my agent and him telling me it’s not worth pursuing? I finally found my inspiration. I’m going to tell this story, the story of a boy who commits murder and then reinvents himself to become the perfect suburban dad. I’ve already outlined and pitched it to my agent. He loves it, of course. He’s been trying to get me to write something more commercial for years. I told him this is not going to be some popcorn thriller. I’m better than that. This will be an exploration of the dark side of humanity, but I’ll use the mechanism of the thriller to showcase my lyrical writing, my insight into human behavior…”
Lisa turned away from him, repulsion growing inside her. He reminded her of a puffer fish, swollen with his own self-importance, making himself out to be bigger than he was. Didn’t he realize that she knew what a petty, bitter person he really was? But the more pressing issue was that he might be jeopardizing their whole plan. The more he riled up this grieving mother, the more likely she was to take action. What if he slipped up and she found out that Michael Finch was living in Bethesda? It wouldn’tbe too hard. She had Lisa’s cell number. And with Anton’s now, too, a clever person would have no trouble tracking them down.
She looked out the bedroom window at the stillness of the neighborhood. The only movement was a rotating sprinkler on her neighbor’s lawn.
If the police came looking for Scott/Michael, that would be a disaster. Not because they wouldn’t get the money—she didn’t really care about the money—but because it was bound to come out that someone had tipped them off. And that someone was her. Aimee would never forgive her.