We both pause at the sound of the balcony doors opening. Kimber appears, hair disheveled and face red from crying. Without a word, she pads out onto the balcony and takes the chair on the opposite side of the table.
Tess watches her for a moment and then turns back to me to continue her story. Neither of us has to ask why Kimber is crying. We all know.
Parrish.
My stolen crush.
I rub at my face to push back a surge of emotion.
“Anyway, my grandma wanted to write murder mysteries—just like Agatha Christie. It was a hell of a lot harder back then for a woman to write anything but romance, so she tried her hand at that, too. No luck. She had over a hundred rejection letters from publishers.” Tess holds up a hand, running it across the sky like she’s seeing something in her mind’s eye. “Every time she got a new one, I’d help her pin it to the wall until it was papered in them.”
“You’ve never told me this,” Kimber hiccups, looking like a wet kitten, all scrunched up and shivering. If Maxine were missing … ugh, I can’t even imagine. I don’t want to. Kimber’s going through hell right now. Just keep going, I think at her, gathering my strength together.
Today sucked ass. Tomorrow has to be better. It just has to be. I want to believe that: I need to believe that.
“I haven’t told anyone but Parrish this story,” Tess admits, tracing a finger around the rim of her glass. “I’ll admit, I’ve always favored him.”
“Mom!” Kimber chokes out, but she doesn’t seem overly upset by the admission. She tucks some ratty hair behind her ear and stares at her lap. “It never bothered me; he’s the oldest. It makes sense.”
Kimber pauses and then both of them are looking at me like they’re not sure where I fit into this puzzle.
Frankly, I’m not sure either, but that’s okay. Or … it would be if someone we all love wasn’t missing.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” Tess admits, taking yet another drink. Before too long, she’s going to be too drunk to talk. Already, her words are slightly slurred. “But I’m willing to listen and learn. I’m …” She pauses briefly to catch her breath, blinking back tears. “After Parrish comes back, things will be different. I’m canceling my next book and taking some time off.”
My eyes go wide as Kim’s jaw drops open in shock.
“Returned Under the Guise of Night?” I breathe, thinking of that awful, horrible page that I found on her desk. “You’re canceling it?”
Tess lets out a bitter laugh, her gaze back on the lake again. It doesn’t seem like the sound was directed at me though.
“My agent says the publisher’s going to sue me. You know what I say? Have at it. Once Parrish comes home, I’m turning my focus back to my fictional series.” Tess looks back at me, causing all of these strange, conflicting emotions to bubble up inside. “The typewriter that my grandma wrote on, she gave it to me.”
My heart drops, shattering to bloody pieces inside my belly. I feel sick. I feel so fucking sick.
“And I destroyed it,” I breathe, but Tess is already shaking her head.
“No, you didn’t,” she corrects, her lips thinning as she purses them in anger. “He did.” She stares at me as I shift in my seat, wishing I could run away from whatever it is she’s going to say next. I have a feeling that I’m not going to like it. “Your father, Justin Prior, he’s the one that destroyed it. The typewriter that you broke was a replica that I purchased after I sold the rights to Abducted Under a Noonday Sun.” She sighs as the world tilts strangely all around me.
That’s it.
That’s really it.
For the last eight days, I’ve been telling myself that there was a chance Parrish’s kidnapper was just some rando, like a crazed fan or something.
But this information changes everything.
I can’t deny it anymore.
Justin Prior, sperm donor extraordinaire, is the man behind the mask. Or … behind Mr. Volli wearing a mask? I have no idea.
I chew my lower lip, but the move makes me think of Maxx, so I force myself to stop.
If Parrish knows this story, then maybe he told the kidnapper? Maybe … maybe … But no. This whole setup is too personal; it reeks of personal payback, doesn’t it?
“Anyway, I just thought you might want to know why working on the typewriter was important to me.”
“Was?” Kimber queries, and it occurs to me then that Tess hasn’t told any of her other kids what I did.
Tess turns to her daughter and forces a tight smile.
“Why don’t you go inside for a minute, honey? Dakota and I have something to talk about.”
Kimber gives me a strange look, but she doesn’t argue. There isn’t enough fight left in her to push back anymore.
