All the Little Liars (25 page)

“Let me see,” the woman said, without a single hesitation. I could hear the keys clicking on a computer. “I have January third?”

“Great, that's right. I'll let her know.”

“Sure. Thanks for calling.”

I began to make a plan, but it was so risky that I hesitated.

I called Detective Trumble. When the switchboard put me through to her, she sounded distracted. “Hi, Aurora. What can I do for you?”

“Any news?”

“You'd be among the first to know,” she said.

“I figured. Listen, I know you all have searched every nook and cranny around Lawrenceton…”

She sighed heavily. “Believe me, we have.”

“But have you searched the homes of everyone involved?”

“Like whose?” she asked bluntly.

“Like the Scotts, the Finstermeyers, the Harrisons, the Bells. Or even the two other bullies … the Windhams' house, or Tiffany Andrews' place.” I thought I was clever, just easing in the Harrisons like that. But Trumble was suspicious.

The silence she kept had a texture to it. “Do you know something you're not telling me?” she demanded.

“You know everything I know,” I said, which was the literal truth.

“That's good, because I'd really hate it if you didn't give me every little fact you have.”

“Nope, you have all the facts.”
I only have suspicions.

“We've searched the rooms of all the missing kids,” Detective Trumble said. “Josh's, Joss's, Liza's, and Clayton's. Just like we searched Phillip's room. But there was no credible reason to search all the houses. And the little bullies? There was no legal basis at all for getting a search warrant for their rooms, or their homes.”

“I understand.”

“What's on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I said mendaciously, joining the ranks of the liars without a qualm. “I just wanted to be sure that you searched everyone's room, not just Phillip's.”

“For what purpose?”

“To make sure you had no special reason for picking him out,” I said.

“Let us handle this, Aurora,” Cathy Trumble said, after a fraught pause.

“Hmm. Sure thing.”

“Call me if you have any new information.”

“And you call me, likewise.” We both hung up, equally unsatisfied with our conversation. My phone buzzed, and I picked it up quickly, hoping it was Robin. But my caller ID read “unknown.” “Phillip?” I said, my voice wavering.

“Ms. Teagarden?”

I slumped, deflating with disappointment. I didn't recognize the voice, but she was young.

“Yes,” I said.

“This is Marlea. Marlea Harrison?”

“Marlea, what do you want? Why are you calling me?” I really wondered how she'd gotten my number, but I'd already asked two questions. “I thought you were out of town with your mother's family.”

“I am. Kesha was lying to you,” Marlea said. She sounded pretty happy about that.

“Oh, I can't
believe
that,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “And I guess you're going to set me straight?”

“Yeah. She told me that she told you that Phillip was just friends with Liza Scott.”

“And?”

“And he was having sex with her,” Marlea said coolly. “Your brother was having sex with a
child.
”

I thought my head was going to explode. I knew this girl was lying, but the fact that a child could call me and say something so horrible, so calmly … it was disgusting. “You make me sick,” I said, seeing no reason to mince words. “Why are you saying this?”

“All I have to do is tell people that,” she said, clearly drunk on her own power. “And some of them will believe it.”

I was talking to a twelve-year-old who believed she could manipulate the world. Was there any possible thing I could say to puncture the balloon of her ego?

“I wonder what you told your brother,” I said. “You're a small person, Marlea. Mentally and emotionally. You'll always be small. And if I can send you to the juvenile detention center, I will be happy to do it.” I hung up, leaving her to think of that what she would. Could I really charge her with anything, like slander? I didn't know. I doubted it. But I was willing to find out.

I couldn't understand how someone so young could be so twisted. Had her parents beaten her? Had she been molested by a cousin? Had the three girls formed a toxic pool by their very chemistry? Was she born that way?

I didn't have any answer. But now I'd talked to two of Liza's tormentors, and I'd taken their measure. I was older and smarter and meaner—at least, I could be. And I planned to be.

My phone rang again. This time, it was Robin. “Hey, honey. I decided to go Christmas shopping while you were asleep. I want to put something under the tree. Anything you need while I'm out?”

“I don't even know. Isn't that pathetic? Someday we'll be back to normal.” Maybe. “Listen, I've had an idea. When you come home, we'll work it out.”

“Okay,” he said, pleased. “I'll be home in a few minutes.”

I felt better the minute I saw Robin. He had several mysterious bags in tow, and he looked something other than worried for the first time in days.

“Anything happen while I was gone?” he asked, while he stuffed his loot in the extra bedroom.

The nursery.

“I had some ideas,” I said, “and Marlea Harrison called me.”

“The third girl,” he said.

“Yeah. She's a piece of work. She threatened to start the rumor that Phillip was having sex with Liza Scott.”

“She said this to you?” Robin was horrified. “I didn't think I believed in corporal punishment, but I may reconsider.”

“I told her I'd take legal action if she did that.”

“I doubt that's enforceable.”

“Look, Robin, I had to threaten her. She can't keep ruining lives. Someone's got to take her in check.”

“Umm. Well, what's this idea you had?”

I took a deep breath. “To my mind, there are very few places the kids could be,” I said.

He listened to me intently as I told him what I wanted to do.

“That's a dangerous plan,” he said. “Let me.”

“There's no way you'd get in,” I said. “But I can do it. And after I verify they're there, this will all be over. The police can come in.”

We talked some more, and though Robin was reluctant, he finally agreed that if he were nearby, with the police on speed dial, he'd go along with me. With a safeguard or two.

Finally, I had something to do.

That evening, I walked into the local uniform shop, Work Togs, right before it closed. I'd never had cause to go there before, but I'd vaguely remembered it for its location, right by the Hallmark store where I'd bought gift paper and bows. The small shop was absolutely crammed full of smocks and scrubs in all kinds of fabrics and some really startling colors and patterns.

Did any nurses, anywhere, still wear white starched dresses? Or caps?

My mother had described these to me with great nostalgia. But then, she hadn't had to wear them.

There was a young clerk, who was glad to let me search on my own while she attended to the urgent business of filing her nails. I was the only customer. At the back of the store, I found the pale pink smocks I'd been looking for. And there was a small. I tried it on just to be sure it would fit. I felt like I became invisible the minute I put it on, exactly what I wanted.

I paid for it and took it home. The clerk did not look at me the whole time she rang up my purchase.

Robin and I spent half the evening going over and over the plan. I had a hard time getting to sleep, because I felt excited at the prospect of action. I was tired of reacting.

Early the next morning, after Robin had left to get into position, I brushed my wayward hair vigorously, put product on it to slick it into a ponytail, and twisted the ponytail around in a bun. I picked my glasses with care; nothing too frivolous. My little tortoiseshell ones, the most anonymous frames in my glasses repertoire. Since I looked like hell on wheels anyway, I actually did have a natural disguise: big dark circles under my eyes, white as a sheet, drawn and pinched-looking, thick through the middle. Yeah, I was a knockout, all right.

And pink was definitely not my color.

Now that we were doing something, we both felt so much better—as if the very act of
trying
to solve the problem meant we
had
solved the problem.

I knew that wasn't so. I knew I might be completely wrong. But at least I had a plan. Robin had protested the evening before, but he knew better than to try to forbid me to do something. He understood I wasn't going to be reckless. I just wanted my brother back.

My car was a staid color, less notable than Robin's, so we'd decided I'd take it.

On the way up, I passed the Windham house just past the Fox Creek Hills sign. What would the Windhams' Christmas be like this year, in their beautifully decorated house, in this affluent suburb? I had no idea if there were foxes resident, or if there was a creek; but there was definitely a hill, and I was driving up a steep one.

First I went all the way up to the most likely place, the home of Dan Harrison's parents, Tate and Lena. It was supposed to be empty, and I was sure I'd be able to tell if it really was.

Robin had preceded me in his car. As I drove past the mansion at the top of the hill, one of three on a cul-de-sac, he was parked at the Harrisons' front door, knocking patiently, a large folder under his left arm. He waited, and knocked again.

No one was going to answer the door, but I hoped someone inside was pretty alarmed. I made a slow circle and passed by again, this time seeing Robin get in his car.

I'd expected that. I was sure this was the more likely place to conceal the missing kids. My heart began beating faster.

I drove down the other side of the hill, circled around, and drove up again. This time I turned in to Tate Harrison's driveway and drove to the back, where a garage and a back door were on the same level. I left my car and walked unhurriedly to the back door, which had some glass panes. As I knocked lightly on the doorframe, I looked in. I saw an empty kitchen. There was absolutely no sign that anyone had been using it. No dishes, nothing out of place. Total order. I glanced around, but I didn't see a soul out in one of the tidy yards who might be watching me, even in the grounds of the houses below me, though the day was warm enough to be tolerable. So I opened the garbage can, a large rolling one that could be wheeled out to the curb. It was not only empty, but clean. (Whose garbage can was
clean
?) Just as I was considering going part of the way around the house to peer in a window, a thin man in a blue long-sleeved jumpsuit walked around the corner of the house.

It took every ounce of self-control I had not to shriek.

“Hey,” he said, and I could tell he was startled. Maybe not suspicious, but he was waiting for an explanation.

“Hi,” I said. “I was supposed to come check on the job my cleaning team did yesterday, but this house seems to be empty. I need the Harrisons' house?”

“There are two Harrisons living up here,” he said readily. He was glad to help me. “This place belongs to the older couple, Tate and Lena. The place down there,” and he pointed to a roof below and to the west, “is the other Harrisons, Dan and Karina. That help?”

I did my best to look embarrassed. “Dang it, I'm supposed to be at the other one,” I said. “I'm glad you came along. Otherwise, I wouldn't have anything to fill out on my form.” I lifted the arm cradling a clipboard. There was indeed a form clipped to it, one I'd designed and printed out on Robin's computer last night. There were boxes to be checked, and lines for signatures. It looked very real.

“Gotta fill out those forms,” he agreed. “Well, I'm glad I was able to set you straight.”

“Same here. Thanks a lot. I'll see you,” I said and climbed back into my car. I maneuvered the car into facing the opposite way, and I zoomed out. As I stopped at the mailbox to check for oncoming traffic—of course there wasn't any—I saw the yardman's pickup parked at the front of the property. Sure enough, it was labeled “Garcia and Sons.”

I drove down to a 7-Eleven at the foot of the development and waited in the parking lot to get the green light from Robin. I only had to wait for thirty minutes before Robin called to say he'd seen the Harrisons leave. I turned my key in the ignition, with a rush of excitement. But my cell rang again.

“Another car just pulled in,” Robin said. “I don't know the driver. She's a middle-aged woman in a uniform. Not a pink one.”

I decided to risk it. I said, “I'm coming up.”

Dan and Karina's driveway led down at a sharp angle and then split in two. The right-hand section swept in a semicircle around the front yard, while the left descended to a paved apron outside a three-car garage. It was the first time I'd seen the back of the house. I got out of my car on the apron. The windows in the garage doors faced west, and would get some evening light. I didn't see how there could be any windows, for that floor, to the east. It would be part of the hillside. There were two stories above that. Of course, the ground level would be the public floor, for family and entertaining, and the next level would be the bedroom floor. I glanced over at the garage again. All the doors were down, which wasn't a surprise.

There was another car parked on the apron, a neatly kept but aged Malibu. I pulled my jacket almost closed to hide the fact that I didn't have a name embroidered in black on my left chest, since all the women employed by Helping Hands wore their names on their chests. With my clipboard in my hand, I went across the apron and up the steps to what should be the kitchen door, and I knocked.

The Harrison cook opened the door. She was a brawny woman in her forties; I'd never seen her before. No one else in Lawrenceton had a cook, either full-or part-time.