“An accident. She—” He shook his head.
“Got in the way? Of what, your fist? Same way Kelly did when you ruptured her spleen? All accidents, Ken?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. They’re all accident-prone; runs in the family.”
“Ken, where’s Lucy? Is she locked in her room because you convinced her she needed to be for her own safety?”
He slumped. Gave me a helpless look. Then he grabbed the glass and threw it at me. I ducked but there was no need, he was way off.
“Get the hell off my property!”
“Or what? You’ll call the police? Lucy’s up there and I’m going to get her.”
He spread his arms and blocked the door. “Don’t mess with me, asshole. You have no idea.”
“Oh, yes, I do. That’s the point, I know exactly what you’re capable of. After your father-in-law fired you, you started flying down here. Not to get to know Lucy and Puck but to get rid of them. So you could have total access to the trust fund. Lucy’s share of the interest is twelve thousand a year. At a conservative five percent return, that means a principal of almost a quarter million. Times four sibs is a million bucks. You contacted Puck first, learned about his heroin habit, and fed it. Learned from him about Lucy’s sleep patterns and her daily routines. The way she came home, ate dinner, and nodded off watching PBS with a glass of apple juice. You started harassing her with hang-up calls. Stole a key to her apartment from Puck, checked it out, fooled with her underwear—that was the fun part.”
He cursed.
“A few days later, you let yourself in and put something in the juice—something with short-term effects. She mentioned feeling drugged a couple of times. After she went under, you came back, turned on the oven, and stuck her head in. Then you played hero. Waiting long enough for the sedative to wear off, calling the paramedics and driving her to the hospital. Adding the note and the rat shit a few days later just in case her anxiety level wasn’t high enough. The plan was to get her out of there and under your control, and Milo and I played into it perfectly. Though if we hadn’t, I imagine you would have found a way to volunteer. Instant family, huh?”
He pressed himself against the doors. Planting his feet. Fists clenching and unclenching, sweating alcohol and his gingery cologne.
“You couldn’t kill her outright,” I said, “because two young sibs dying that close together, all that money at stake, might have tipped someone off. Like Milo. The key was to get close to Lucy so you could choose the time and make it look like an accident—poor sleepwalking girl takes a tumble down the stairs. Puck made it easy for you with his addiction. He never went to New Mexico. By the time you made that call imitating his voice, he was dead. You didn’t even have to be a good mimic. Embrey didn’t know what he sounded like. And when you called your father to tell him Lucy had tried to commit suicide, you spoke to his assistant. But Lucy couldn’t stop worrying about Puck, so you went with her and discovered the body—Mr. Hero again. Puck never stood you up. He showed for that appointment, though I’ll bet it wasn’t dinner, it was a dope gift. Unusually strong stuff. He was probably shooting up before you closed the door, dead a few seconds later. How’m I doing so far?”
“Okay,” he said, fighting to sound cool. “I think you’re a little confused, but come on in, we’ll talk about it.”
“Two sibs down, one to go? Did Jo really fall off that mountain or was that your maiden voyage in family planning?”
He shook his head as if I were being silly. Then, twisting the handle, he hurled himself through the door and tried to slam it on me. I pushed. His weight worked in his favor but his middle was exposed through the door crack, and I shot my fist forward and knocked the wind out of him. My follow-up didn’t land solidly because he’d stumbled and fallen back. Forcing the door open, I dove on top of him, pinning him.