CHAPTER THREE
The house is dark and quiet when I get home from the carnival, with only a single light shining in the living room. I’m about to shut off the lamp when I notice another, fainter light through the sliding glass doors leading to the back patio. Like the glow of a cigarette.
From down the hall, gentle snores come from Julian’s room. He really needs to get his sinuses checked. My mom, who’s usually asleep well before now, doesn’t smoke. Even if Suri’s awake, no way is my eight-year-old sister out there sucking in nicotine.
The security bar isn’t latched. If I make a break for the door, I could probably jam the bar in place before the smoker can get inside. By the time I get through to 911, though, he’d be long gone. And Max and I would be no closer to solving the many mysteries of Midway Beach.
Something long and thin leaning against one of the walls catches my attention. A bat! Saying silent thanks that Julian leaves his toys everywhere, I reach for it. The bat has no heft. It’s made not of wood but of hollow plastic. If I’m going to confront the smoker, though, the wiffle bat is the best thing I’ve got. In the dark, it might pass for the real thing.
Adrenaline rushes through me as I close the distance to the sliding door. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I slide open the door and lift the bat above my head.
There isn’t only one person on the deck. There are two. The second is my mother.
The smoker’s hands raise, the tip of the cigarette still glowing in the dark. It’s Uncle Landon. “Whoa! Don’t swing!”
“Put that bat down, Jade.” Mom sounds lethargic but more with it than when her words ran together at the carnival earlier tonight. “What’s wrong with you?”
She asking that of me? After she tracked me down to say the voices in her head warned that I should be careful of who I trusted, that the people in this town aren’t who I think they are. I actually believe that last part, but still.
The wiffle bat is poised above my head. I lower my arms and let the bat drop to the floor of the deck. “What are you two doing out here in the dark?”
“Talking,” Uncle Landon says. “I baby-sat tonight.”
Mom had told me that. Uncle Landon’s car is probably parked out front, but I didn’t notice when Max dropped me off. Some detective I am. If I’m going to figure out how the Black Widow switched bodies, I need to step it up.
I still can’t believe I’m going along with this body-swap theory.
Uncle Landon grinds out his cigarette in the ashtray on the patio table. Beside the ashtray is an empty beer can. Until tonight, I’ve never seen Uncle Landon smoke or drink. With the light shining from the living room, my eyes quickly adjust to the darkness. Mom looks like she hasn’t run a brush through her hair in days. Uncle Landon’s wearing another Hawaiian shirt that does little to hide his beer gut. His hair needs attention, too. It’s long enough to be approaching ponytail territory.
“We should probably tell her, Lizzie,” he says.
“Tell me what?”
“We have some good news.” Mom draws out the five words like it’s difficult for her to string them together. “Your uncle’s moving in tomorrow.”
My stomach rolls and in the back of my throat I get the sour taste of the lemonade I drank earlier tonight. Even though we call him Uncle Landon, he’s a family friend who isn’t related to any of us. The reason they were sitting close together in the dark slaps me in the face even harder than Adair did.
Ick. No, make that double ick.
“I’m gonna help out with Julian and Suri,” Uncle Landon says like that excuses things.
“I’m really tired.” Mom gets up without warning, slowly unfolding herself from the chair. She bends down and kisses Uncle Landon on the cheek. “You’re a dear friend, Landon.”
If this is her definition of a friend, she’s even worse off than I think. It’s torture to wait until she’s inside the house and out of earshot, especially because she shuffles more than walks, but I don’t want her to hear what I have to say to my not-uncle.
“You’re not moving in with us.” With my voice lowered, it sounds like I’m hissing. My hands fold into fists. “I won’t let you take advantage of my mother.”
“Hold up. You got the wrong—”
“You were my stepfather’s best friend! How can you live with yourself?”
“I said hold up.” His voice carries through the quiet night. “You got it all wrong.”
“Don’t you dare say you and my mom are consenting adults! She’s married.”
Uncle Landon raises his left hand and points to the silver band on his ring finger. “Hey, I was married, too. For twelve years. To the love of my life.”
I loved his wife, too. Aunt Jayne couldn’t have children of her own so she became our honorary aunt, cheering us on at every athletic event and school function. She was pretty and chatty and always on the go—until Lou Gehrig’s disease got her in its grip. Five years after she was diagnosed, she was gone.
“I miss her every single day. I don’t want any other woman.” Uncle Landon sounds dispassionate, like he’s afraid he’ll lose it if he lets out his grief.
Now that I think about it, Uncle Landon’s appearance has gone to hell since Aunt Jayne’s death. His health has, too. Why didn’t I put cause and effect together before now? Guilt creeps up on me. I make an effort to moderate my voice. “My mom said you were moving in.”
“To help out. She’s going through a tough time.”
I should apologize except I can’t make myself.
When I say nothing, Uncle Landon adds, “You know your mom’s a schizo, right?”
Duh. She used her disease to justify disappearing when Julian, Suri and I needed her most. She was gone when I went missing, when my stepfather flashed his unloaded gun at the liquor store clerk and when he waived his right to a trial.
“Mom says her meds are working again,” I say. “She said she has the schizophrenia under control.”
“Maybe for a while. But you must have noticed she’s not doing so great.”
If I mention the voices in my mother’s head, Uncle Landon might get her committed. My mom and I have our problems, but I don’t need another parent locked up. “I’ve seen her worse.”
“I’ve seen her better. It was either move in or call Social Services. With any luck, I won’t stay long, just till your mom gets it back together.” He inclines his head. “So are we okay now?”
I wouldn’t go that far, but having Uncle Landon around will take some of the baby-sitting heat off me. He’ll not only make sure my mother keeps custody of Suri and Julian, he’ll keep them safe.
“As long as you’re not sleeping with my mother,” I say.
“Hey, I wouldn’t do something like that. I’m not like your...” His voice trails off.
“Not like my what?”
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I don’t want to forget it.”
Uncle Landon rubs a hand across his mouth and kneads the back of his neck. “Maybe I should tell you. Then you’d understand why your father and I aren’t friends any more.”
My throat’s clogged or I’d point out that he’s my stepfather. The anger’s almost too much to bear, and it’s not directed at only one person. Since my stepdad held up that liquor store, I’ve been almost as furious at Uncle Landon. He didn’t offer legal help, although at one time he’d been a top defense attorney. Maybe if he had, my stepfather would have fought the charge.
“I’m not sure how to say this so I’ll just come out with it.” Uncle Landon peers out into the black night instead of at me. “Zach and Jayne slept together.”
No, it can’t be. My stepfather wouldn’t have cheated on my mom. He was always holding her hand, sneaking a kiss and telling her she was beautiful. When my friends were over, it was almost embarrassing. “I don’t believe that.”
“I had a hard time with it, too.” His delivery is matter of fact. “But Jayne and me, we talked about all kinds of thing
s at the end.”
“Maybe you misunderstood.”
“No. She told me everything.”
“What do you mean by everything?” I demand.
“It happened right after Jayne found out she was sick. I was working late. See, she wanted to keep things as normal as possible.” He shakes his head. “Except she was feeling low and opened a bottle of wine. Zach came by and she invited him to help finish it off. Then he took advantage of her.”
“You’re saying he forced himself on her!”
“As drunk as she was, it wouldn’t have taken much force.”
“But if it happened five years ago, why didn’t she say something then?”
“Zach warned her nobody would believe her and I’d never forgive her.” Uncle Landon stands up, picks up the empty beer can and crushes it. “He was wrong about that. Zach’s the one I’ll never forgive.”
He ruffles the top of my head on his way past, the way he used to when I was much younger. It doesn’t take away the sting of what he just told me.
“See you tomorrow, kid,” he says. “And thanks for letting Suri bunk with you so I can have her room.”
Groan. On top of everything else, now I have an eight-year-old roommate.