Ashley’s expression turned cold. “And in return, she cut us.”
Sin swallowed, or tried to, but her mouth was suddenly dry. Speechless, she waited for Ashley to continue.
“I was in first grade at the time, so she couldn’t just let me go to school cut and bruised. That’s when she started what she called ‘art class.’ ”
“She made the ugly, beautiful,” Sin thought out loud.
All eyes turned to George. He sat in the chair, his legs pulled up, knees to his chest, head slouched forward, and repeated in a barely audible voice, “She made the ugly, beautiful.” He raised his head and stared straight ahead.
Sin stared back at his blank expression. Christ, it looks like he just saw a ghost.
“George, are you okay?” Sin asked. “Would you like a glass of water?”
His eyes fixated on the far wall.
Ashley was out of her chair and leaning down in front of her brother. She combed her fingers through his hair and sent a glare at Sin. “This is what I have been trying to avoid.”
“You and I need to talk,” Sin said. “We can either do that with your brother, or Mr. Freitas can drive George home and you and I can discuss this further all alone. Ball’s in your court, Ashley. You tell me how you want to play this.”
“I don’t want to go home,” George muttered.
“I think it’s best if Anthony takes you home,” Ashley responded.
Her brother shot out of his chair. “You have been telling me what to do since we were kids,” he yelled. “No more. I don’t know what the hell is going on around here, but I have a right to know!”
It’s about time you grew a pair, Sin thought. “How about we order a bite to eat and we can continue this conversation?”
“Fine,” Ashley agreed, looking at her brother. “I’ll agree to anything if it helps get me home quicker.”
37
Sin and Jack left the Stoklers with their attorney while they waited for Chinese food to be delivered. It gave everyone, especially the over-emotional George, time to decompress. Sin used the time to check her texts and ignore a call from Frank Graham.
Once the food arrived, the five of them sat around the conference table. And as the cartons of cuisine were passed around, Sin opened the discussion.
“Tell me everything. What details do you know about Vincent Ash,” Sin said.
“Let’s eat while it’s hot,” Ashley remarked, lifting a fork to her lips.
“We’ve wasted enough time, don’t you think?” Sin wasn’t going to cut her any slack.
Ashley covered her full mouth with her hand and mumbled, “Is there anything to drink that’s a little stronger than coffee? Maybe a glass of wine?”
“Stop procrastinating.”
Ashley sat back, folded her arms, and crossed her legs. “Fine. You want details. I haven’t got any. I don’t know anything about Vincent Ash, but before you ask, I’ll tell you what it was like growing up with Satan’s spawn. It was pure hell. From the age of six to fifteen, I—we—lived in complete fear.”
“What happened when you were fifteen?” Sin asked.
“The crazy bitch died.”
“What was your mother like before?” McGuire asked. “Before she found you with the news clippings?”
Ashley’s posture relaxed when she thought back to that time. “From what I can remember, she was a typical mother. She was a single mom, so she worked a lot, but she always made time for us.” A wisp of a smile crept onto her face. “She even let me name George when he was born.” She looked over at her brother. “I named him after Curious George.”
“I need to know what you can tell me about your father.”
“Nothing,” Ashley responded quickly. She moved her hand back and forth between George and herself. “I know we have different fathers, neither of which stuck around after dear, old mom got knocked up.”
“So where does your last name fit in?” McGuire asked.
“It was Miranda’s last name,” Ashley said.
“At least that’s what she told us,” George said.
Sin took a sip of her water and put her glass down. “That’s an odd statement. What do you mean by that?”
“It’s just that we learned early on not to question anything she told us, so we don’t really know if it’s the truth.”
Ashley nodded her agreement.
Sin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “We’re sorry for your upbringing and the hell you went through, but we have a bigger problem at the moment. Assuming that neither of you is the killer,” she said facetiously, yet pausing in order to see if any slight change could be seen in the siblings, “there is someone else out there who was probably under Miranda’s influence. Can either of you think of anyone who might fit that description?”
Silence engulfed the table.
“There was an older boy,” Ashley finally said. “He hung around Miranda a lot. He was her assistant.”
“Wow,” George mouthed. “I haven’t thought of Joel in years. I stayed as far away from him as possible.”
Sin’s interest was piqued. “Let’s back up. Who was Joel? What assistance did he give exactly? And why did you avoid him?”
“Joel seemed harmless,” Ashley said. “All of the students at Water’s Edge had to take art lessons, and he just happened to have been Miranda’s special project.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning…his art showed promise so Miranda kept him around.”
“What else can you tell me about him? Where did he live? What was his last name?”
“I never knew his last name,” Ashley answered.
“Me neither,” George said.
“Was he a student at Water’s Edge? Maybe he lived there?” Sin pushed.
Ashley shook her head. “Yes and no. He did live at the school, but he wasn’t a student. Miranda said he was homeless. I remember her mentioning that his parents had died.”
McGuire had been jotting notes down on a pad. He stopped and looked at Ashley. “How did his parents die?”
“I don’t know. Like my brother said, we learned early on not to question Miranda. It only led to another lesson.”
“You said he lived at the school. Where?”
“There was a room
