False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [56]
Vanessa took her by the arm and seated her on a wood chair, then looked carefully at the cut on her cheek. “Good, it doesn’t look deep. I’ll be right back.”
Zoe sat in the quiet, studying the framed photos that graced the Langleys’ bookshelves. Such happy faces. Did Vanessa have any idea how blessed she was to come from a normal family? The only pictures Zoe had of her parents and brother were in a sealed envelope at the bottom of a shoebox, her only memory of them locked away in the basement of her mind, along with the disgusting odor of whiskey and the sounds of yelling and slapping and crying—and of unwanted footsteps creeping in the darkness toward her bed.
Vanessa came back in the living room. “Why don’t we do this in the kitchen? It’ll be easier.”
“All right.” Zoe rose to her feet and followed Vanessa into the kitchen.
She stood at the sink and closed her eyes, trying not to think about how much it was going to sting.
“I’m going to pour some hydrogen peroxide into the cut,” Vanessa said, “and then dab around it with clean gauze. It’s going to hurt like nuts for a minute, but if I can get it cleaned out, I doubt you’ll have to worry about infection. Okay?”
Zoe nodded, her eyes clamped shut. A few seconds later, she felt the cold peroxide saturate her cheek and a stinging so intense it made her eyes water. She sucked in a breath.
Vanessa held a towel under her chin and let the peroxide run down her face. “Exhale, Zoe. The worst is over. I’m going to do it again, but it won’t sting nearly as much this time. Ready?”
“Go ahead.”
Vanessa repeated the process and waited half a minute, then dabbed around the cut with clean gauze and handed Zoe the towel. “Wipe your chin. But don’t touch the cut.”
“Thanks.” Zoe opened her eyes. “How bad is it?”
“Really not bad. I’m putting a little antibacterial ointment on it now … and a Band-Aid to keep the germs out. There. That should do it. All right, let’s sit at the table. Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Try the beginning.”
“We don’t have that much time.”
“Then give me the short version, Zoe. Come on, five minutes ago, you were ready to talk. Don’t shut down now.”
“I’m not sure I can do this. Really. This is a bad idea.”
“No, what’s a bad idea is your trying to deal with whatever happened all by yourself. Were you attacked? Is that why you don’t want to tell Pierce? Talk to me. I’m listening. And if I don’t wake Carter up, he’ll sleep till morning. Take your time.”
Zoe thought back to the day she told Mrs. Woodmore the truth. Hadn’t that worked out? If she didn’t talk to Vanessa, would Vanessa go to Pierce? Or Ethan? Would either of them go to the police? Was it too late to handle it herself? But did she dare involve Vanessa? Would it put her at risk?
“I honestly don’t think you want to get pulled into this. It could be dangerous.”
“I’m already into it. Just talk to me.”
Zoe sighed. “I don’t know where to begin, Vanessa. So I’m just going to give you the bottom line first: I’ve been living a lie for ten years. And it’s finally caught up with me.”
Pierce turned the kitchen over to Dempsey and walked out to the dining room at Zoe B’s, instantly spotting Hebert, Father Sam, and Tex sitting at the table in front of the window.
“Hey, guys,” he said. “How’s it going?”
Hebert shook his head. “Emile got da results of d’autopsy. Remy’s skull was crushed on one side wid sometin’ metal, possibly a tire iron. Dey say he died right off, but who can know dat fuh shore? Oh, dey say dey can, but Emile doesn’t believe it. Dat’s eatin’ him up.”
“I’m sure it is,” Pierce said. “Has he decided when he’s having the funeral?”
Father Sam cleared his throat. “Tuesday afternoon at one. Emile asked me to say the memorial Mass, and Monsignor Robidoux at Saint Catherine’s has graciously agreed to step aside and let me officiate for an old friend. It’ll be in the obits tomorrow. Remy’s being cremated, and there won’t be a burial. Emile’s going to spread his ashes along the Roux River—privately, when he’s ready and after