“She said she wasn’t,” Amy answered. “But I don’t know for sure. Ron told her that he wouldn’t allow the stuff in his house. She knew he meant it, but being told what to do galled her, especially considering the way she felt about Ron.”
“What’s wrong with Ron?”
“I think she thought that with Aaron gone, she and I would go back to being big and little sister, the way things were before. Meaning, of course, that she was the big sister and I was supposed to do things her way. It’s been hell. She and Ron were at loggerheads from the moment she moved in, but I just didn’t have the heart to throw her out. She’s the only sister I have.”
“But she was undermining you and Ron when it came to the kids.”
“That’s right,” Amy said bitterly. “Enter Dillon Middleton.”
“Dillon didn’t look like such great shakes to me,” I said. “So what’s the big attraction as far as Molly was concerned?”
“I have no idea,” Amy returned. “Maybe the fact that Ron couldn’t stand him made him that much more interesting as far as Molly was concerned.” She broke off. “Turn left here,” she added. “It’s the building down there at the end of the street.”
I found a visitor parking spot. “Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked as Amy reached for the door handle.
“No,” she said. “This is something I’m better off doing on my own.”
She got out of the car and walked stiffly through the now-misty rain as far as the building, where she soon disappeared from sight in the small lobby. I sat there and considered what could possibly have been Molly’s purpose in doing all she could to wreck Ron and Amy’s relationship. What had she hoped to gain by driving a wedge between these two people, or between Ron and Amy and their children? Was she so embittered by her own unhappiness that she wanted everyone else to share in her misery? That seemed unlikely, and yet what other explanation was there? And what could be the reason behind Molly’s strange obsession with a hopeless gangbanger wannabe like Dillon Middleton? None of it made any sense at all.
Eventually Amy returned. “How’d it go?” I asked.
Her chest heaved. “About how you’d expect,” she returned, brushing tears from her eyes. “Mom, especially, is brokenhearted. She and Molly hadn’t spoken for years. Mom always thought they’d mend the rift eventually. Now they never will.”
I started the car and put it in gear. “Back to the hospital?” I asked.
“Please.”
We drove back to Harborview. Upstairs in the trauma waiting room, Tracy had stretched out on a couch with one arm flung over her eyes. Jared was asleep in his father’s lap. A dry-eyed and distant Heather sat across the room in self-imposed isolation from the rest of her family.
“Now that you’re here, we should probably try to get some rest,” Ron said to Amy. His face was ashen with weariness; his voice strained. Ron Peters had aged ten years in the past week, and he looked as though he was on the edge of despair. “We can’t go to the house. It’s full of detectives. I booked us a pair of rooms down here at the Sheraton.”
“Is Heather coming, too?” Amy asked.
Ron shook his head. “I asked her, but she won’t budge.”
“It’s all right,” I told them. “Take Tracy and Jared and try to get some sleep. I’ll stay with Heather.”
“Are you sure?” Ron asked.
“I’m sure,” I said. “It’s no problem.”
After Ron and Amy left, I went out into the hallway, grabbed a soda from the vending machine, and set it on the table beside Heather. “You look like you could use a little caffeine,” I said.
She looked up at me gratefully and nodded. “Thanks,” she said.
While she popped open the can and took a sip, I sat down next to her. “Any word?”
“He’s still in surgery.”
“What about his father?” I asked, glancing around the room. “Is he here?”
“Not yet.”
We sat in silence for some time while I puzzled about how this young woman, a child who was as close to me as my own children, could possibly be a suspect in a double homicide. No wonder Ron was looking gray and drawn. I probably looked the same way myself.
“I didn’t do it, Uncle Beau,” Heather said finally, meeting my gaze with an intense blue-eyed stare of her own. “I heard what Dillon said. I heard him say we did it-like he and I did it together-but it’s not true. I never killed anybody, I swear.”
“What did Dillon have against your aunt Molly?” I asked. “Why would he hurt her? I thought Molly was his friend.”
Heather shrugged. “So did I,” she said.
A pair of doors swung open on the far side of the room and a man in surgical scrubs strode into the room. He glanced briefly around the room and then settled on Heather and me. The doctor came forward, holding out his hand. “Mr. Middleton?” he asked.
“No,” I told him. “Sorry. I’m a friend of the family. This is Heather Peters, Dillon’s girlfriend.”
“Oh,” the doctor replied and then looked around the room, scanning the other two sets of family members still lingering there. “I was given to understand the father was on his way.”
“He is,” Heather said. “He’s coming down from White Rock, but he isn’t here yet. How’s Dillon? Is he going to be all right?”
The doctor looked at Heather and shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. With the new federal privacy rules in effect, I’m unable to release patient information to anyone other than an authorized relative.”
“But…” Heather objected. “Can’t you…”
“Sorry,” the doctor told her. “That’s just the way it is.” With that he turned and walked away.
“That’s not fair,” Heather called after him. “Just because I’m only a girlfriend…”
But the doors had already swung shut behind the retreating doctor, cutting her protestation off in midsentence.
“Maybe we should go,” I suggested. “You must be tired. Let me take you home.”
“No,” Heather insisted. “I’m staying.”
Which automatically meant that I was staying, too. Lamar Middleton, Dillon’s father, arrived an hour later. He was a man in his mid-fifties, balding, heavyset, and clearly distraught. Heather recognized him as soon as he came through the door, and she hurried forward to greet him.
“I’m Heather,” she said. “I recognized you from your picture. I’m so glad you’re here. Dillon’s doctor came out a little while ago, but since I’m only a girlfriend, he wouldn’t tell me anything.”
Lamar ventured behind the swinging doors and came out a few minutes later. “Dillon survived surgery,” he said. “But he’s in intensive care. He’s stable right now, but they don’t know whether or not he’ll make it. What on earth happened? What’s this all about?”
Heather began relating some of what had happened. It was when she reached the part about Molly Wright that Lamar slumped in his chair and covered his eyes with his hands.
“My God!” he exclaimed. “I should have known!”
“Should have known what?”
“That Molly would be involved in this. Living a lie is always a bad idea. I tried to tell Annette that years ago, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Who’s Annette?” I asked.
“My ex-wife,” Lamar answered.
“Dillon’s mother?”
“Not exactly,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Annette and I adopted Dillon,” he said. “But Molly Wright-she was Molly Fitzgerald then-was his birth mother.”
For me, that was when a whole lot of what had happened finally clicked into focus. No wonder Molly had been so determined to bring Dillon into the Peters family circle. She knew he was her son even if no one else did. Using Heather as bait, she had been able to keep him close to her. If Heather had moved to Tacoma, taking Dillon with her, that connection would have been disrupted; but still, did a distance of forty miles or so justify committing murder?
Heather’s eyes widened. “Did you say Aunt Molly was Dillon’s mom?” she demanded.
Lamar nodded. “Molly had broken up with her long-term boyfriend when she found out she was pregnant. At first she planned to keep the baby. Then she started to date a guy named Aaron Wright. Aaron made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t want to have kids. Not ever. By then Annette and I were already married. Molly came to see us, trying to figure out what to do. For one thing, it was too late to get an easy abortion. When Molly mentioned having the baby and putting it up for adoption, Annette talked her into giving him to us.”