Page 58 of The Lies I Told
“That’s what he said,” I said.
“And then he draws the short straw when Clare died.” No missing the suspicion.
“He already had a connection to the family.”
“Still, feels a bit incestuous.”
I let her comment pass. “When Detective Richards interviewed you after Clare’s death, you said you’d been at home that evening.”
“That’s right. Stomach bug. You saw me the next morning. My eyes were beet red from all the vomiting.”
“All I remember is you standing in the kitchen. You looked pissed.”
Brit’s head tilted. “I was worried about Clare and you. I could never sleep if something was off with either of you two.”
That New Year’s Day morning, her eyes had been bloodshot. “I guess.”
“You guess?” Brit’s eyebrows lifted, like when she was exasperated. “Suggesting I lied? That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You told him you were just out for a drive.”
“I was driving. And then I bought drugs, pulled into a parking lot, used, and fell asleep.”
Brit stilled. “You were using?”
Hearing this well-practiced lie breathed life into it. “That’s old history.”
“I lied for you. I backed up your story to Richards.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Family sticks together. You might’ve been out there doing something stupid, but you wouldn’t hurt Clare.” Brit traced the handle of her mug with her thumb. “I’ve asked around about Richards over the years. He comes off as the heavy and then can turn on a dime and be your best friend. His version of bad cop slash good cop. He might have been tough on you back in the day, but it sounds like he’s your new friend.”
“Why wouldn’t he be helpful? I want this case solved as much as he does.”
“If he shut you out, then he’ll never get the chance to watch you slip up.”
I thought about the copies of Richards’s notes in my desk. Interesting observations but nothing shocking. Was it just enough to bait the hook?
Brit’s backward ring clinked against the stoneware mug. “He’s playing you. He’s about to retire, and he has one last shot to solve a case that’s hung over his head for thirteen years.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about the trust fund before last year?” I asked.
“Because you were high or drunk for most of the last decade. You couldn’t touch the money until you were thirty, so why open myself up to you pestering me about the money? I wish I had a nickel for all the hours of energy you sucked out of our family. Marisa broke a vase. Marisa wrecked the car. Marisa overfed the goldfish and killed them. Marisa overdosed ... again. Every time there was harmony in the house, you found a way to spin everyone up. You weren’t ready to hear about the money.”
Brit wasn’t off base. I’d been high maintenance growing up. If I wasn’t sleeping, I was searching for something to help me burn off the excess energy buzzing in my body. It wasn’t until the last overdose brought me to the abyss that I stopped.
“I turned it around. I’m sober.”
Her gaze softened. “Yes, you did, and I told you about the trust. My little girl, my second-favorite twin, has found her footing, and it’s very gratifying.”
“Why do you say I’m your second-favorite twin?”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Freudian slip.” It felt good to be on the other side of the analyst couch now. “You said the inside part out loud.”
“I loved Clare and you equally. Yes, as wicked as you could be, she was just as good. But she was so good, it could be trying. Goody Two-shoes wear thin quickly.” Brit shook her head. “You’re making me say things I don’t mean.”
“You thought Clare was perfect.”
