Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [49]
“You think he had a super-mom? Maybe one who pushed him into sports or whatever, things he didn’t want to do?”
“I think it’s just as likely that he had a mother who didn’t give a shit. Or maybe one who directed her energies elsewhere, making him feel that everyone was more important than he was. Maybe he still resents her for it.”
“So maybe he’s killing women who were the type of mother he never had?”
Adam shrugged. “We’ll see what McCall thinks when she gets here.”
Kendra sat back to permit the waitress to serve their salads, then set about pouring the dressing over the bowl of greens. When she’d been quiet for longer than he thought was necessary, Adam asked, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“There’s something,” he prodded. “What are you thinking about?”
“How mothers do what they think is best for their kids, and how sometimes it can turn out that what she did might have been the worst for that kid.”
“Where’s this coming from?”
“This whole thing has just made me think about my mother. She was one of those mothers who always had you moving, always had you involved in something. Ian, even more so than me. She had hoped that keeping him busy would settle him down a little, but it seemed to just make things worse.”
“What things?”
“Ian had . . . issues, when he was in grade school. Mom thought it had something to do with our dad dying when he did, with having to grow up without a father. Whatever it was, he went through a stage, starting when he was around nine or ten, when he was a real handful.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know, getting in trouble in school . . .”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Oh, fights. Not doing his homework. Lying.” She paused, then added, “He’d gotten pretty defiant toward my mother.”
The admission appeared to embarrass her.
“How long did that last?” Adam asked.
“It never ended.” She averted her eyes, toyed with a piece of radish with her fork. “My mother almost canceled the summer thing that last year.”
“What was the ‘summer thing’?”
“Every summer, starting when he was about eight, our cousin Zach would come east and stay with us for two weeks, then Ian would go spend a few weeks in Arizona with Zach and my aunt. But my mother almost didn’t let him go to Arizona that last summer. Somehow, in the end, he managed to convince her that it would do him good to get away from home, to be with Zach. Spend some time outdoors, that sort of thing. Ian worked on her for weeks to let him go, to the extent that he did a total about-face. He seemed to change his attitude, picked up after himself, stopped sneaking out at night. . . .”
“He was sneaking out at night as a young child?”
Kendra nodded.
“No wonder your mother was concerned.”
“She was beside herself, worrying about him. And then he did such a turn around, that she agreed to let him have his summer. It seemed to mean so much to him.” She blew out a long breath. “I guess I don’t have to tell you that she never forgave herself.”
“She had no way of knowing what was going to happen to him.”
“I guess we’re back to the old wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time thing again.”
They ate in silence, then she asked, to change the subject, “So, what do you think of his latest victim? Annie McGlynn? You think this shows departure from his past MO?”
“Not really. He obviously watched this woman, obviously knew where to go to find her, how to approach her, and how to get her to step outside with him. Something a woman like that wouldn’t do under ordinary circumstances.
“So he created circumstances that weren’t ordinary.” Adam stabbed at a tomato. “Wonder what kind of car he told her he had outside in the lot?”
“You really think that was it?”
“It makes as much sense as anything else. Miranda’s going back to the bar tonight