Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [116]
“You were the best babysitter I could have ever asked for.”
“Really?” Connie asked, her voice breaking, and she dabbed at fresh tears.
“Really. You can’t imagine how grateful I am to you. I could never have done my job without you, and I needed to do my job. For Will and for me.”
“Thanks for saying that.”
“I should have said it before, a thousand times. It’s true.” Ellen scratched behind Oreo Figaro’s ear, and he began to purr happily, his chest thrumming against the palm of her hand. “You know, I used to be a little jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Of you, of your time with Will. Of how close you were. I used to not like it that you loved him, and he loved you. It threatened me.”
Connie remained silent, inclining her head, listening. The sun coming through the living room windows was too bright to bear, and Ellen didn’t really understand what was powering her confession. But it didn’t matter why she said it, only that it needed saying, so she continued.
“I’m sorry about that, because now I know better. The more people who loved that boy, the better. We loved him up, really, between the two of us.” Ellen felt her eyes fill again, but blinked them clear. “I used to think that kids were like a glass or something, that they’d break if you poured too much love into them. But they’re like the ocean. You can fill them up with love, and just when you think you’ve reached the brim, you can keep on pouring.”
Connie sniffled. “Agree, but here’s the thing. Will may have loved me, but he always knew who his mother was. He knew the difference between you and me, and he never forgot it.”
“You think?” Ellen asked, though the words only hurt more now that he was gone.
“I know. I’ve sat for kids all my life, and take it from me, the kids always know who Mom is. Always.”
“Thanks.” Ellen set the cat aside on the couch and rose slowly, on joints that seemed suddenly stiff. “Well, I guess I have to go see what the kitchen looks like.”
“No, you don’t.” Connie wiped her eyes with finality. “I went in there. It made me sick to see it, and it’ll make you even sicker.”
“I have to live here. I thought about moving, but no way.” Ellen walked into the dining room, which was still in disarray. She flashed on Carol on the floor next to her, the two of them looking up at Rob Moore, standing behind the muzzle of his gun.
“I know it’s not a crime scene anymore. But I didn’t know whether to put the chairs in order or not.”
“I will.” Ellen picked up a chair from the floor and slid it noisily into place under the table, then did the same to the other, feeling the beginning of an odd sort of satisfaction. Maybe this was what everybody meant by picking up the pieces. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and headed for the kitchen threshold. “Let’s see how bad it is.”
“Right behind you,” Connie said, and they both stood together, eyeing the kitchen.
My God.
Ellen supported herself against the doorjamb, scanning the scene. A large, shiny pool of black-red blood had dried into the floorboards, filling the grain and knots in the hardwood, making a macabre drawing etched in ink. It must have been where Carol had died.
“Disgusting, huh?” Connie asked, and Ellen nodded, her chest tight. She flashed on poor Carol, her arms raised protectively, then chased that thought away.
Across the room, near the back door, lay another island of blood, smaller but just as nauseating, where Moore must have fallen. The stink of gasoline hung in the air, and a dozen yellow spots stained the floor where the solvent had splattered. She squeezed her eyes shut against an instant replay of Will’s mouth taped shut, his snowsuit drenched with gasoline.
“I told you it was bad.”
“It’s worse than bad.” Ellen bit her lip, thinking. “Do you think I can scrub the blood out?”
“No, and I swear I smell it.”
“There’s only one solution.”
“Cover it with a rug?”
“No.” Ellen crossed to the window and opened it, then fumbled around for the metal