I bite hard on my lip to stop from crying out. How did this happen? The doctor’s increasingly obscure jargon blends into the rhythmic beating of the rain against the windows.
“Do you have any questions?” He glances at the clock above me, tapping one foot in a not-so-subtle reminder that he’d like to get back to work.
“I’d like to know how antifreeze got into my mother’s system.”
He holds his hands open and shrugs his slender shoulders. “I cannot answer that for certain. Along with the ethylene glycol, we did find a substantial amount of what appear to be undigested gummy candies in her stomach. But that is going to be a question for the police.”
“The police?” The word reminds me that at any moment I could hear from Artie Zucker that the police have filed a warrant for my arrest.
“Yes.” He nods. “This is being referred to the Montgomery County police as a matter of procedure.”
“Can I see her?”
“Soon, but I’m afraid not right now. She’s in the process of being transferred out of the ER, and I know the nephrologist wants to run a few tests on her kidneys. It may be a few more hours before you can see her.”
He gives me a little bow of his head and then disappears behind two large double doors. I stare out at the rain, which has slowed to a drizzle, trying to process what he has told me. They found poison, along with undigested gummy candies, in my mother’s stomach. I think of that box of Dots—the one I am sure I did not buy her.
I need to call Lydia at Morningside to see what they know. I have to reach Krystle, too. My stomach growls. I have not eaten anything all day, and I’m not thinking straight. The doctor said it would be a few hours. Maybe I should leave, get some food, and come back.
A text comes in from Dustin.
Wi-Fi network named EastLove. Mean anything?
EastLove. I frown. Could be any parents of an Eastbrook student.
No, I text back. Why?
Whoever made your Tinder account did it from EastLove.
A few seconds later, he sends me an address. I know the street; it’s about four blocks from my house.
49
Wet leaves lie flattened against my windshield. I push them off and climb in my car. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I wind my way back from the hospital toward my neighborhood.
I know I should be by my mother’s side, but the urge to find out who has been torturing me is overwhelming. I promise myself that I will return to the hospital as soon as I can. But I have to go—learning the truth could keep me out of jail.
A quick glance at a map on my phone tells me that 304 Glenview sits about a quarter mile from my house, just on the other side of the community pool.
The pool where that photo of me in the blue bikini was taken. I can feel it in my bones—I’m finally going to find out who has been behind all this.
Glenview is one of a handful of short streets that make up a corner of our neighborhood untouched by the wave of demolitions and McMansions that has plagued the area. The houses here are original—modest redbrick ramblers set back from the street with identical black wrought iron railings on either side of white cement steps. Daisy had showed us a house here, a “starter” home in her vernacular, unlike our “forever” home.
I slow down, peering at the numbers as I drive. Past a house with a pumpkin flag flapping in the breeze, and past one with pots of faded purple mums outside the front door.
As I pull the car to a stop in front of 304, my phone rings. It’s Artie Zucker—I have no choice but to answer.
“Don’t panic, but a warrant has been entered into the system for your arrest. First-degree murder.”
I gasp as if I’ve been sucker punched. I knew this was a possibility, but to hear it out loud still comes as a shock. A kid around Cole’s age wobbles by on his bike, his father jogging after him. Stinging tears flood my eyes. “I can’t go to jail.”
“Take a deep breath. Calm down.”
“Calm down? I’m going to be arrested for a crime I didn’t commit. What the hell is going on? How can they do this?”
“Look, this is just the first step in the process—”
“I don’t give a shit about the process!” I slam my fist onto the steering wheel, sending a wave of pain radiating up my arm. “I’m sorry, Artie. It’s not your fault.”
“I’ve arranged for you to turn yourself in,” Artie continues as if my outburst had never taken place. “At seven a.m. tomorrow morning.”
“I can do that? Turn myself in?”
“Absolutely. Police prefer when you turn yourself in, and frankly, the courts look fondly on that. Nobody wants to scoop you up in front of your kids.”
I think of Cole, grateful that he is not in town to see his mother arrested. The news will devastate him. We won’t be able to keep it a secret very long. My efforts to protect him from the kind of chaos I endured as a child have failed.
“I think we ought to meet later today and go over a few things,” Artie says. “Like what to bring and not to bring and what you can expect. Lay out what your day is going to look like because it’s going to be a long one.”
I nod.
“Allie, you there?”
“Yup. I’m here.”
“The good thing about turning yourself in early is that you will almost certainly be arraigned on the same day. So if bail is an option, we’ll know tomorrow.”
“You mean bail might not be an option?”
“We’ll talk about all that later today. Does five work? It won’t be a long meeting. Can Mark be there?”
“He’s out of town.”
