Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Half a room away, Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the kitchen counter. “It’s okay,” he said, frowning.

She shook her head. “No, it’s not okay. You’re upset with me, too. I can tell, just by looking at you. You don’t even want to come near me. Talk about unresolved anger. . ” She blew her nose again. The tissue started to fall apart in her hands. “You know, I have some anger issues, too,” she admitted. “I’m so mad at your father right now. He was a good man, and he loved you and Erin very much. But he — he made some foolish decisions as far as women were concerned. I guess you heard enough about that from your mother. But I can’t help being mad at him for letting this woman — whoever she is — set him up that way. I don’t care what the police say, or what you hear on the news, he was not in that hotel room alone.”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, I heard you talking to that cop yesterday, the one you seem to know so well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing, forget it.” He started to turn toward the basement again.

“No, I won’t forget it,” Molly retorted, unsteadily getting to her feet. “And you can’t just say something like that, and then leave the room. . ”

Stopping, Chris turned around and frowned at her.

“If you’re insinuating that anything at all has gone on between Detective Blazevich and me, you’re way off. And if you’re trying to blame me — or — or justify why your father. .”

Molly couldn’t finish. She felt sick to her stomach. She shook her head and retreated for the stairs. She made it up to the master bathroom, where she sat on the floor by the toilet until the nausea passed. Then she staggered back to bed and climbed under the covers.

She wished she’d never gotten up.

Chris stared at the big yellow X scrawled across Molly’s unfinished painting. The X had finished it — for good. It was just as Molly had described it to him hours ago. Too bad, because what Molly had created so far was pretty cool, like something out of Mad Men with all these different characters through the century. Chris could tell she’d used a photo of him as a model for the 1940s sailor who was drinking a cola with this sexy blond woman with a peekaboo bang over one eye. She’d made him look handsome.

He glanced over at the elephants that were broken and splattered with yellow paint. It was the third shelf up — just at Erin’s eye level. He’d seen the yellow splotches on Erin’s door — and on her clothes. He’d talked to his kid sister after dinner tonight, and she’d denied any wrongdoing. She’d insisted she never came up here to “Molly’s stupid old studio.” But it reminded him of when Erin was a toddler and not totally potty-trained. She’d occasionally wet her pants and then insist that a lion had come along and splashed her with a glass of water. Why a lion, he wasn’t sure. But she’d tell the lie and stick to her guns — even when the evidence was stacked up against her.

He knew she was upset, confused, and angry. He felt exactly the same way. He gazed at Molly’s ruined painting and those elephants she’d had since she was a child — and his heart broke for her. Yet he kept thinking back to what Mrs. Hahn had said a few nights back, about how when Molly moved in, that was the start of all their troubles.

Every person he’d come to depend on had died within the last few months — starting with Mr. Corson, then his mom, and then his dad.

Molly had told him earlier today that she was mad at his father for getting himself killed. Chris was angry at him, too, but he also missed him. He had to remind himself this wasn’t one of his dad’s business trips. He wasn’t coming back.

He plodded down the attic steps to the second floor. He glanced toward what was once his mom and dad’s bedroom. Now it was Molly’s room. The door was closed. She was probably sleeping. He knew why she was so sick and run-down lately. He’d heard her tell that cop that she was pregnant. So he was going to have another kid sister or a kid brother. He couldn’t get all that excited about it, at least not right now.

Down the hall, Erin was asleep with her door open and her night-light on.

He went downstairs, where his Aunt Trish had some new age music playing on the iPod station while she prepared food for a brunch tomorrow. A medley of vegetables, bottles of olive oil and cooking wine, and packages of tofu were spread over the counter. His mother’s younger sister had long, wavy gray hair, glasses, and a buxom figure she covered with loose, billowy, earth-tone clothes that always looked secondhand.

Heading toward the refrigerator, Chris worked up a smile. “Hey, Aunt Trish, what are you cooking?”

She was doing something with grape leaves. “We’re making vegetable kabobs, tofu wraps, and meatless meatballs.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that most of his parents’ friends probably wouldn’t touch that vegan stuff. He took a Coke out of the refrigerator.

“Chris, I need to talk to you about something,” she said, glancing up at him for a moment.

Sipping his Coke, he leaned against the counter. “What’s up?”

His aunt started cutting the tofu in cubes. She looked down at her work while talking to him. Or maybe she just couldn’t look him in the eye, he wasn’t sure. “I need to make it clear to you — and Erin — that this is just for the next day or so,” she said. “I can’t stay here permanently — and I won’t be able to look after you two. I don’t know if you were thinking that or not. But I have my own life in Tacoma. I’m still planning to go to India for three months starting in February. I don’t know exactly how well you and Erin get along with your stepmother. I suppose it doesn’t matter much to you, because you’ll be going off to college next year. But — there’s Erin to consider. Have you — have you talked to Molly about her plans?”

“Not really,” he murmured. He was stumped. For some reason, he’d imagined his aunt moving into the house — and Molly leaving. Part of him thought whatever bad luck Molly had brought to this house and this block might disappear along with her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he didn’t want to get close to her. Hell, she had a brother who was mentally ill — and a murderer. Was it something hereditary that could be passed on to his half sibling? And that night they’d waited up for his dad, he’d watched her smuggle a steak knife into the bedroom. What was that about?

Now, with a baby on the way, Molly would probably stay on with them. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t want to stay on.

“What are you thinking?” his Aunt Trish asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing, I hadn’t really considered anything past tomorrow and the funeral and all.”

“Well, you need to talk to Molly, Chris,” she said, blotting the tofu cubes with a paper towel.

He nodded, sipped his Coke, and wandered toward the front of the house. He stepped into his father’s study. For the last few days, he couldn’t set foot in this room without crying. But for the moment, his eyes were dry.

He glanced out the window and noticed a man walking his dog past the house. Chris could only see his silhouette.

He was thinking about Molly and the bad luck that followed her around. He wondered how many days would go by before someone else was hurt or killed.

He studied the Dennehy house — from the street this time, rather than from the woods in back. He had a dog on a leash, a mixed-breed stray he’d picked up yesterday. He’d let it go fend for itself again after this slow walk up and down Willow Tree Court.

He had used the dog-walking routine before to scope out different homes. It was a good ruse. People didn’t worry about someone lurking in front of their home at night if the stranger had a dog on a leash. All they worried about was the dog crapping on their lawn. That older couple with the boy in college, he’d cased their Queen Anne home for six nights while walking some dog, a corgi, if he remembered right. No one ever noticed him.