“Yeah, but can you show me tomorrow?”
Dahlia looked at Stephie. “Can I?”
“That’s a question for your mom.”
Dahlia disappeared like she’d been shot out of a cannon.
“I was hoping you would stay awhile,” Stephie said. “That’s selfish, I know.”
“I wish I could. You have no idea.”
“Oh, I have some, but I get it. Just remember our door is always open,” Stephie said and hugged her when she stood. “Don’t forget us.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
In the morning, Dahlia led Con to a quiet residential street in Belmont, a neighborhood on the southwestern edge of Charlottesville. The first thing that jumped out at her was all the empty parking spots, not to mention that every town house had a driveway and garage. On two good legs, it was twenty minutes by foot from Water Street. It might have made sense for her original to park there while visiting Stephie, but with her bad knee, there was only one reason to walk that far—she hadn’t wanted any record of exactly where she was going.
They took a casual stroll down the sidewalk, and Dahlia nudged her as they passed the town house that she’d seen Con’s original enter. It stood unremarkably in the middle of the block, a taupe house with taupe trim, a taupe front door, and taupe curtains. Exactly like the rest of the block. Con asked Dahlia how she could be sure this was the right house, and the girl pointed out a bed of red flowers on either side of the front door.
“Those are dahlias. They’re the national flower of Mexico.”
The house was dark, all the shades drawn, no vehicle in the driveway, no signs of life at all. Even though her original had been dead for more than a week now, the front garden was immaculately maintained, and the small strip of grass between the sidewalk and curb had recently been mowed. Though the same could be said of every other house on the street. Maybe a yard service maintained it? Or maybe someone had been here since.
“Did you see if she rang the doorbell?” Con asked.
“No, the house let her in.”
“You’re sure it was the house and not a person?”
Dahlia nodded. “I heard the chime.”
That was interesting. If someone had gone to the trouble of adding her original to the house’s exception list, that meant it hadn’t been a one-time visit. If her original had rented it, the police would know, so whose house was it? Why had she been coming here for the last six months?
“Did you see anyone else come or go?” Con asked.
“No. I hung around for a little bit, but then friends texted, and I went to meet them.”
“Why didn’t you tell your mom?”
“I don’t know. The way Con pretended not to recognize me. Like I meant nothing to her. I don’t know. I just didn’t want to tell anyone,” Dahlia said with barely disguised hurt. “Why did she do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was trying to protect you.” Con hoped that was what it was, and it seemed to cheer Dahlia up a little.
At the end of the block, they turned the corner and stopped. Con thanked Dahlia and told her to go home. The girl pleaded with Con to let her help, but Con reminded her that Elena would kill them both if Dahlia didn’t go straight home. Reluctantly, Dahlia agreed and threw her arms around Con, hugged her fiercely, then walked away fast without looking back. Con watched until the girl was out of sight. Whatever got her original killed, she was nearing its center, and couldn’t take the chance that Dahlia might double back. It was what Con would have done at that age, but then Dahlia had a much different relationship with the grown-ups in her life. It was amazing what feeling safe did for your outlook.
Clones weren’t identical to their originals, but Con doubted that the average home security system was designed with that in mind. Across the street, an older white man working in his garden paused and waved to her as she went up the walk to the town house. She waved back. Maybe it was the misleading security of daylight, but she felt safe. If anyone was home, she would just scream until a neighbor called the police. That qualified as a plan, didn’t it?
She went up the walk to the house. It chimed gently in recognition as the front door unlatched. Dahlia hadn’t been wrong; the house had her original’s biometric profile. Con gave the door a push. It swung silently open into a dark entry hall. Wonderful.
“Hello?” she said and winced when she got no answer.
When was she going to learn to quit doing that? She should just save time and tie a cowbell around her neck and be done with it. She stood there on the threshold, apologizing for all the names she’d called people in horror movies who had done what she was about to do. Because as much as she was enjoying the sunshine, any answers she hoped to find were inside.