Chapter Forty
Daniel was still reeling, not quite sure how to deal with the revelation of his mistake. The girl wasn’t Hannah after all. So now what?
They’d gotten through lunch, no problem. He’d done his best to seem normal, setting out sandwiches and pouring milk, making small talk about Tucker and the weather. Until he decided what to do, he didn’t want her noticing any change in him.
After lunch she’d gone upstairs to her room. Daniel paced around the kitchen, his mind working furiously. He had to find a way out of this.
Driving out west with her was out of the question now.
If she’s not Hannah, she doesn’t belong at the farm.
He fell into a chair at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. Patricia was right. He’d thought he was granting her final wish, but he’d failed.
He should have sent the girl away the day she showed up. Or if he could rewind events even further—he wished he’d never seen her. That day when he first saw her in the park, when he thought for a minute she was Kelly. That put everything in motion. If he could only have been somewhere else that morning, or just had not noticed her.
But there was no point in thinking that way. She was here now. He no longer wanted her, but what should he do about her?
Maybe...just call the police, say it was all a mistake.
Don’t be crazy. They’ll arrest you. You’ll go to jail.
He wasn’t prepared to have that happen.
If this girl’s not Hannah…
He swallowed.
…Hannah is still out there somewhere.
He couldn’t go to jail. He had to be able to keep looking for her.
Maybe he could simply send the girl away. Open the door and tell her to leave.
That’s no solution.
No, it wasn’t. No matter where she went—back to Susan’s or out on the street—they’d soon be asking her where she’d been all this time. And she had no reason not to tell them.
Then, no way around it. The cops would be here right away, and that would be the end.
What if he dropped her somewhere—the suburbs, or a small town outside the city? That might slow things down. It could be a while—hours or days, even—before the cops connected with her. That would give him time to get away.
But where would he go? He couldn’t imagine himself going into hiding. He’d have to end up at the farm, anyway.
The farm is no secret. The cops know that’s where you’d go.
Daniel continued pacing, pounding a fist into the other hand. There had to be a way out of this.
Patricia’s voice was scratching at his brain.
Remember when Tucker got into my pills.
What was she getting at?
The vet said it could have been fatal.
No. She couldn’t mean…
He shook his head, trying to knock the thought away. But...it couldn’t hurt to know. Didn’t mean he’d use it.
He rose and tiptoed up the stairs, careful to avoid the step that creaked. Her room was empty, but he could hear water running in the bathroom. Sounded like she was having a shower.
Turning, he went into his own room and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. He zipped it open and dug out the bottle of sleeping pills he’d brought along in case of insomnia. He read the directions, the warning. Shaking the bottle, he guessed it was about three-quarters full.
That should be plenty.
****
Back in the kitchen, Daniel poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle stashed above the sink. He tossed back a measure, wincing as the liquid burned his throat, then bloomed hot in his chest. His eyes watering, he filled the glass again, the whiskey fumes filling his nostrils.
He couldn’t believe he was thinking this way. But he had to get rid of her, and it had to be...permanent.
Pulling on his jacket, he tucked the bottle of pills into the pocket. He pulled a saucepan from the kitchen cupboard, and taking a flat-bottomed glass with him, he went out to the back porch.
He dropped six pills into the pan—three times the maximum adult dose—and carefully crushed them with the glass. She was less than half his weight, so that should be more than enough. He’d mix it in her food—or maybe in cocoa. That’d cover up the bitter taste if he didn’t use too much. He couldn’t risk her noticing anything strange.
In the kitchen again, he poured the powdered pills into the bottom of a mug and added a heaping spoonful of cocoa and three of sugar, mixing them all together. Ready for making the cocoa later.
Darkness was starting to close in. He made them a meal—the pizza he’d bought yesterday, heated in the oven—and called the girl down to eat.
As she entered the kitchen, she did a small twirl. “I used the hair color you brought me,” she said, lifting a strand of dull-brown hair and pushing it behind her ears.
He glanced at her and blinked. “So I see.” It definitely changed her appearance—though he no longer cared about disguising her.
“But don’t worry, I cleaned up the mess in the bathroom.”
He forced himself to smile. “Good for you.” A mess in the bathroom was the least of his concerns.
They ate quietly, neither of them speaking much. Afterward he asked if she wanted to play cards; he figured that would pass the time until the pills took effect.
She reached for the deck of cards on the counter. “I’ll try to beat you this time,” she said, with a little laugh. Her laughter, so pleasing to him yesterday, irritated him today. But he tamped down his distaste. “I’ll make some cocoa while you deal,” he said.
He made cocoa the way Patricia had always done it; he’d watched her many times over the years. Milk in the pan, heated slowly on the stove. Add cold milk to the already-mixed cocoa and sugar in the cup to make a paste. Of course Patricia’s method didn’t include sleeping pills, but he was glad to see that the powdered drug dissolved perfectly in the milk along with the cocoa and sugar.
When the milk started to steam in the pan, he added a little to the paste in the mug, then tipped the whole mixture back into the pan, stirring it in until the cocoa was smooth and uniform in color. He poured it into a fresh mug for the girl, then sat down to pick up the cards she’d dealt him.
“Don’t you have any marshmallows?” she asked.
He shook his head. He wished he’d thought of that—it would have helped cover the taste. “No, sorry,” he said.
“That’s all right. It’s just that my mom—” She stopped, glancing at him.
He nodded. He didn’t care if she called Susan her mom. Not anymore.
She sipped the cocoa and played her hand. She was bright-eyed and eager at the beginning, actually playing quite well. She won the first game, and he dealt the cards for another.
But as the level of the cocoa fell in the cup, her eyes began to droop.
She jerked herself upright and stared at the cards in her hand. “Did...did I already dish...discard…” Her words were slurring. She reached toward the central card pile, but ended up spilling it. Cards fanned across the surface and several ended up on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, putting her elbow on the table and propping her head up. “I’m really…” Her voice trailed off, and a minute later she laid her head next to her cards. As Daniel watched, her body folded up, and she slipped to the floor.
Suddenly shaken, he dropped to his knees next to her. He frantically felt for her pulse.
Still beating.
He couldn’t go on with this. Looking around for his phone, he fought down panic. He had to call an ambulance, get her to a doctor.
Don’t do that. Patricia’s voice was stern. You have to follow through now.
He turned back to stare at the girl, motionless with her legs crumpled under her.
She hadn’t drunk all the cocoa, but it had knocked her right out. Was it enough to...finish the job?
He had to get her out of the kitchen, at least. He fit his arms awkwardly under her knees and shoulders and stood up, his knees groaning. She was heavier than he’d expected, and limp; her feet and arms bumped against the sides of the doorway and then the hall. He struggled to carry her upstairs; she was a dead weight, and the steps had never felt so steep.
A whisper in his mind said you can still treat her decently. He laid her out straight on her back on the bed, fully clothed, and covered her up with a blanket. He stood watching, listening to her faint breaths. Already they seemed quieter.
He pulled down the blind and went back downstairs.