“And the phone wasn’t good enough?” Maribelle’s voice was cautious as she stepped out of the entry. She allowed Kacey into the inner sanctum of her three-bedroom unit, but Kacey defitely felt the chill: she wasn’t welcome.
Well, too bad, she thought, walking across thick white carpet toward a muted blue couch placed in front of a gas fireplace that burned softly. Few of the pieces of furniture were reminders of Kacey’s youth. Most of the artwork, chairs, lamps, and tables were new, bought after her mother had sold the house where she’d grown up and had put what the new owners didn’t want in the garage, where she had organized her own estate sale.
“I needed to see you face-to-face.” Kacey’s heart was knocking more than a little; she’d never been one to confront Maribelle, but then few had, and then there was the continuing problem of her slightly upset stomach, which felt like it had turned into a hard fist.
“Can I get you a cup of tea or a glass of wine? I’ve got a nice pinot breathing—”
“No, Mom. I just want to talk.” She warmed the back of her legs before the fire as Maribelle, in jeans, gold sweater, and worried expression, settled into a corner of the couch, where a paperback book lay facedown and a half-drunk glass of wine sat neglected for the moment.
Kacey extracted an envelope from her purse, opened it, and slid the contents on the coffee table toward Maribelle. Pictures of Shelly Bonaventure, Jocelyn Wallis, and Elle Alexander stared up at her.
“What are these?”
“Notice anything, Mom? These women all look alike. They bear enough of a resemblance as to be sisters.”
“So?”
“They’re all dead. Died from accidents within the last week.”
Her mother paled a bit. Reached for her wineglass.
“And they look like me, too, Mom. Don’t tell me you can’t see. It. Then there’s this woman.” She pulled out the brochure from Fit Forever Gym, already folded open to a picture of Gloria Sanders-O’Malley, and placed it near the others. “She’s a fitness instructor, still very much alive.”
“What are you suggesting?”
Kacey stared at her mother. “I just don’t think this is coincidence. I checked. Three of these women were born at Valley Hospital, here in Helena. Just like me. I’m not sure about Elle. Her background is a little murky, and unfortunately she’s not around to tell us what she knows. She claimed she always lived in Idaho, but still . . .”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at. You think women who look like you are being killed?”
“Women who look like me and are from the same damned hospital.” Her insides were twisting, but she had to know, and Maribelle, if she wasn’t specifically hiding something, was definitely worried.
“Lots of people look alike.”
“I know. I was willing to dismiss it. But the hospital, Mom. If I go there, what will I find out?”
“I don’t know. Nothing.”
“What would I find out with a sample of my DNA? And a sample from some of the other women?”
“What?”
Kacey didn’t answer; she didn’t have to. She saw the change in her mother’s eyes as she realized her daughter wasn’t bluffing. Her thin shoulders slumped beneath her sweater. Suddenly Maribelle looked as old as her years.
“Oh, Lord.” She twisted her hands and glanced away, toward the window and the night falling beyond.
“Tell me what I’m missing,” Kacey demanded.
She shook her head slowly. “I was afraid this day would come.”
“Why?”
Maribelle closed her eyes and let out a tremulous sigh. For theatrics? Or from her heart?
Oh, God, who could tell?
“I was hoping I’d never have to confide this,” she said.
Kacey clamped her teeth together, waiting, wanting to scream while her mother slowly processed each word.