I ASK FOR SATURDAY OFF work and head straight to Richmond. I have no intentions of doing anything to Marji. Not today at least. But I do want to see her and where she lives. I want answers.
I keep an eye on my rearview on and off the whole way and am confident j_d_l is not trailing me. Traffic is hit or miss, and my GPS brings me to Marji’s townhome some two hours later.
I park in the visitor section and sit for a bit just staring at her unit number. What exactly am I going to say to her? I found a box of pictures. I saw you in the kill room. How many were you there for? Did you make me hurt that cat, or did I willingly do it?
So many questions float in and out of my brain that I wish I had a pad and pen to write them all down.
Someone pulls into the spot beside me, and I blink out of my thoughts. I have no clue if she’s home, but I get out of my Jeep and stand for a few more seconds as I continue staring up at her door.
I inhale a few nerve-fortifying breaths, and when I feel ready, I cross the parking lot and walk up her short driveway. Her garage door has a bank of windows, and I peek inside to see if a car is home.
A dark blue BMW stares back at me.
Son of a bitch. She’s the one who has been following me? She’s j_d_l? She’s my copycat? That makes no sense at all.
I charge straight up her front stairs and ring the doorbell. A couple of seconds pass, and with each one my heart rate spikes.
Click. The dead bolt flips.
The door swings open, and my gut clenches at the sight of her. Immediately I’m filled with hate. Yes, it’s the same woman as in the pictures, just older now. If she’s my copycat, the cops are way off on the profile.
She gives me a long study before her lips curve up into a smile. “Lane.”
Hearing the casual way she speaks my name unnerves me. “Marji.”
She smiles even bigger. “I was wondering if you’d ever find out about me.”
“You sent me a card. Obviously, I would.”
She steps back and lets me in her house. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I know I do.”
She leads me down a long hallway and into the kitchen. It occurs to me I should be scared, but I’m not. The hate is driving me. And the curiosity.
I sit down at the kitchen table, and while she pours me a cup of coffee, I notice her knife rack. She catches the glance and her lips twitch in amusement.
She hands me the coffee and takes a seat herself.
“Why have you been following me?” I launch right in.
She shrugs. “I’ve been following you all for quite a while now. Couple of months or so.”
My jaw tightens.
“Daisy looks just like your mother.” She takes in my angry expression and holds her hands up. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt anybody. I’m just curious.”
“Well, stop it,” I hiss. “Just stop it.”
Marji nods. “Okay.”
A few tense seconds go by, and I don’t take my furious gaze off her. I want her to know I’m pissed. I also want her to know I will protect my family.
“I found a box of pictures and some letters,” I tell her.
Marji brightens. “The letters?” She laughs. “Your mom and I got a kick out of being old-school pen pals.” She laughs again. “Did you bring them with you?”
I’m repulsed. “No, I burned them.”
She sighs, obviously upset over this statement.
“How did you know my parents?” I ask.
“Lane, I’m family. Your mom and I are sisters. I’m older by a year.”
Sisters . . .
It takes me a second to wrap my brain around that.
How is it possible there is so much about my mother that I didn’t know? How did I not know she had a sister? I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. Hide in plain sight. That’s what Dr. Issa had said. It’s exactly what my mother did. It’s exactly what I’m doing.
Marji takes the cream and stirs it into her coffee. “I actually dated your father for a while. I introduced him to your mom.”
My lip curls. If circumstances had been different Marji could’ve been my mother.
“Your mom and I used to talk all the time. I even babysat you on occasion, and then after she got married to Victor, I kept up with you through her. I have every one of your school pictures but this year, of course. Maybe you can send me one?”
She’s got to be kidding.
She taps her spoon and sets it aside.
“Did you have any interaction with Daisy?” I ask.
Marji smiles again. I hate her smile. “Yes. It was all very sweet.”
I don’t believe her. “Did you think me and you skinning a cat was sweet, too?”
She chuckles and says, “Oh, Lane,” and takes a sip of her coffee.
I want to grab her cup and smash it into her face.
“How did your mom really die?” she asks.
I choose to answer that question with one of my own. “How many of the killings were you there for?”
“About half of them.”
“Did you participate or did you just watch?”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh, I definitely participated. I was even there for that one you witnessed too.” She gets this faraway look on her face like she’s remembering, and that look, almost one of fondness, sickens me. “Who knew all those animals we tortured when we were kids would transform into the greatness your mom became.”
I stand up. I’ve heard enough. “You make me sick. What do you think this is? A friendly visit?” If only she knew what I’m capable of doing to her.
Marji reaches out and tenderly takes my hand. “Your mom was so quick to embrace things when we were kids. Just like you did.”
I yank my hand from her creepy grasp. “I am nothing like my mother.”
“Oh, but you really are.”
I get right in her face. “You’re part of this. You helped make me into who I am. I hate you.”
“I don’t care who you are. I fully accept you.” Marji closes the one-inch gap between us, and she kisses me on the cheek.
I rear back and punch her in the face.
My cell rings and it startles me. I don’t know why, but I pull it out of my pocket and look. It’s Dr. Issa. “What?” I snap into the phone.
“I heard you took the day off. Are you okay?”
“No.”
He doesn’t immediately respond, then, “Where are you?”
I look straight across the kitchen at Marji, my aunt, as she stares right back at me, smiling again.
Ugh.
“I’m fine.” I click my phone off. “Are you JDL?”
She blinks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” I shove my phone in my pocket and walk straight past her out the front door. She’s either lying or there are two people following me.
“See ya later,” she yells after me, and I ignore her and whatever game she thinks she’s playing.
As I peel out of her parking lot, I glance up to see her waving from her doorway.
I’m coming back for you, bitch.