Chapter 4
Julian said Merrick was lying.
Of course he did.
“He was eighteen months old.”
“Two,” Cecily corrected.
Julian glared at her.
“Close enough.”
“No.”
I held out my hand.
Cecily gave me the pin.
Old silver.
Black enamel.
One corner bent inward.
Julian wore a newer version now.
I remembered asking him about it after Elena died.
He told me he'd lost the old one at a hotel.
I believed him.
Back then, grief made lies easier to swallow.
“Where did Merrick keep this?”
Cecily answered.
“In a wooden box in his room.”
“For eighteen months?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't I know?”
Her face broke.
“Because I didn't know what it was.”
Julian laughed.
“Convenient.”
Cecily turned on him.
“He called it Mommy's star.”
My chest tightened.
She continued.
“He found it after the crash. I thought it was from the car.”
Agatha scoffed.
“This is pathetic.”
I looked at her.
“A three-year-old kept your son's pin for eighteen months.”
“So?”
“You're not curious?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because children collect garbage.”
Her tone sharpened.
“Merrick would sleep with broken glass if Cecily called it special.”
Cecily clenched her jaw.
Agatha looked at her.
“What? Did that hurt?”
She smiled.
“You should try crawling around on the floor. Apparently that earns sympathy in this house.”
I had never wanted to hit a sixty-six-year-old woman before.
Agatha knew it.
That pleased her.
Cruel people love discovering where your restraint ends.
I turned to Julian.
“Tell me why your pin was in Elena's car.”
“It wasn't.”
“You just heard where it was found.”
“A child said so.”
“Merrick.”
“Yes.”
“Use his name.”
Julian leaned back.
“The cripple.”
The room changed.
My bodyguard moved before I did.
I raised one hand.
No.
Not yet.
Julian smiled.
He wanted me angry.
Wanted this to become violence instead of questions.
I sat.
“Good.”
His smile faded.
“What?”
“You're frightened.”
“Of you?”
“No.”
I placed the pin on the table.
“Of him.”
Julian laughed.
“Merrick?”
“Yes.”
“He can barely cross a room without help.”
“And somehow that terrifies you.”
Silence.
Agatha stepped in.
“Nobody is afraid of him.”
“You tried to remove his emergency button.”
“Because he abuses it.”
“You threw him out of his chair.”
“To teach him independence.”
I almost admired the lie.
Almost.
“You kicked the chair away.”
“He needed motivation.”
“He was crying.”
“Children cry.”
“He was afraid.”
“Fear is useful.”
There.
Agatha believed it.
That was what made her dangerous.
She didn't think she had abused Merrick.
She thought she had improved him.
“Tell me about Blackwood Road.”
“No.”
“Then I'll tell you what I know.”
I stood.
“Elena left the estate at 10:47.”
Julian's eyes shifted.
“Her car reached Blackwood Road at 11:16.”
Agatha remained still.
“The crash happened approximately two minutes later.”
Nothing.
“Merrick says Julian was inside the car earlier.”
Julian interrupted.
“Merrick says whatever Cecily feeds him.”
Cecily stepped forward.
“You told him his mother died because he cried.”
Agatha smiled.
“And look how well he remembers it.”
Silence.
She realized.
So did I.
I repeated it slowly.
“How well he remembers.”
Agatha said nothing.
“You've been testing his memory.”
Her expression changed.
Julian looked at her.
I finally saw it.
The cruelty wasn't random.
The insults about Elena.
The repeated references to the crash.
The questions disguised as torment.
They were checking what Merrick remembered.
“How long?”
Agatha crossed her arms.
I stepped closer.
“How long have you been asking my son about the night his mother died?”
No answer.
Cecily whispered:
“Since he started talking about the red car.”
Julian went still.
I turned.
“What red car?”
Cecily looked confused.
“Merrick started drawing one about two months ago.”
Agatha closed her eyes.
I looked at her.
“What is the red car?”
She said nothing.
Julian did.
“It wasn't supposed to be there.”
The sentence escaped before he could stop it.
I stared.
May you like
He stared back.
And the eighteen-month-old accident suddenly stopped looking like an accident at all.
