Keep Them Close(80)
“So the other day, when you kept telling me that Finley cut the brakes? Was that just another test to see if I’d come clean?”
Luke’s head tilts to the side. “Well…kind of. But I meant it, too. I mean, technically, it looked like you cut the brakes, best we could tell. But I figured Finley put you up to it. You worshipped him back then. And I know he’d have loved to knock me down a peg or two. You guys talked at the bike racks right before. It was his idea, right? He probably made it sound like a prank or something, right? Like, let’s play a joke on Luke—”
“No,” I say. It would be the easiest thing in the world to put this on Fin, who couldn’t defend himself. “Finley had nothing to do with it. It was all me, Luke. Something came over me, and I acted. It wasn’t planned. I just did it. And you want to know the worst part? I had nothing against you. You were a great brother. I didn’t want you to be hurt. I know how silly that sounds, but in a million years, I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt you.”
“Oh, I know that. Even when Trinity first showed me that video, even if you acted alone, I never thought you did it to hurt me.”
“No?”
“Of course not,” he says. “You did it to hurt Mom.”
That lands hard. Wow. I never…he’s right. He’s exactly right.
Those memories, the emotions, the guilt afterward, all flood back at once. I touch the bridge’s guardrail for balance. It will be a long time before I can fully process all of this.
“And you…have you always had that security video?” I ask Trinity. “Like, since you were a kid?”
“Yeah, my family had it since the accident,” she says. “It was part of our lawyers’ investigation. Once they realized the brakes had been intentionally cut, they subpoenaed the security cameras.”
Makes sense. At age twelve, I didn’t even know the school had cameras.
“Then why not use it?” I ask.
“I couldn’t have told you at the time,” she says. “I was seven. I was clueless. But I know the answer to that question now.” The wind carries her hair into her face. She tucks it away. “It was my mother’s decision,” she says. “She saw the video, obviously. She didn’t want to destroy a young girl’s life. The way she saw it, she was guilty of DUI—not by much, but guilty no less. She felt okay pleading guilty to that charge. And the prosecutors said as long as she served some time in prison, they’d take that deal.”
Warm tears spill down my face. She spared me. The woman whose life I wrecked was worried about wrecking mine.
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.
Trinity leans into me. “I don’t, either,” she says. “For so long, whether it was fair or not, no matter how young you were, whether you meant to or not, I…I looked at you as the person who ruined my mother’s life.” She takes a moment, clears her throat. “But last night, you saved mine.”
A harsh wind whips across me. I wipe the tears off my face and offer a sympathetic smile.
“Now’s not the time,” I say. “Let’s come up with the words later.”
71
Louise
—Investigation, Day 10—
Allison Brice enters Interview Room A to a full crowd, looking like someone who is comfortable under that level of scrutiny. The heels of her beige pumps click on the tile, each step seeming purposeful. Everything about her is deliberate, curated, expensive. Her navy sheath dress is structured and fitted just so, the kind of fabric that doesn’t wrinkle no matter how long you sit. Her hair is immaculate: sleek, shoulder-length, a rich chestnut with subtle caramel undertones that catch the overhead light. The precision feels almost defensive.
Her jewelry is restrained but telling—a delicate gold chain at her throat, diamond studs no larger than a pencil eraser, a slim watch with a mother-of-pearl face.
No wedding ring, Louise notes immediately.
Allison’s posture is perfect. She sits upright but not stiff, legs crossed neatly at the knee, hands folded on the table as if waiting for a quarterly report. When she looks up, her eyes are calm and unreadable, the kind of cool that comes from years of training herself never to show a crack. Louise can’t help but think that Allison Brice looks less like a witness in a criminal investigation and more like someone preparing to negotiate a merger.
* * *
Louise checks her watch. Allison has been talking for nearly an hour with Louise interjecting questions. “Okay if I summarize what you’ve just said, Mrs. Brice?”
“Of course.”
“Stop me if I’m wrong. The night of the road-rage incident, June eleventh, 2025, does not stand out to you. You were home all night. Finley came home. You went to bed. Nothing special.”
“Correct.”
“The next morning, Finley told you what happened. He explained it as an act of self-defense. He thought this man, Marlow Luckett, was going to kill him, and so he hit him with his SUV.”
“Yes.”
“So you asked Jennifer Harper to look into it. You said you were representing a client so she’d treat it as privileged.”
“Yes.”
“Harp told you that it looked like the case would be closed. Your husband dodged a bullet, so to speak.”