"You killed Ciara," I said.
"No." The denial came hot and fast. "I wanted to talk to her, but she kept screaming. The sedatives weren't working, and she wouldn't be quiet. I just wanted her to be quiet. I wasn't trying to choke her. It was her own fault."
"And then you embalmed her."
"It was his idea. Tristan's."
"He's the one who told you who you were."
"Yes. Tristan told me about my birthright. About Ciara. He took me to see her, that rich bitch, turning her back on a good life to tweak in a scummy apartment. She belonged with my family--she'd fit right in."
"And you belonged with hers. So Ciara dies, and Tristan has you embalm her and cut off her head--"
"No, he cut off her head. But only to protect me. To erase any evidence I left strangling her. Afterward, he realized he could use her head to get your attention."
Tristan had done his work here, weaving Macy a story that she could accept. Sprinkled with pixie dust to make it go down easier.
A shadow passed. I looked up to see a raven circling, leisurely, as if getting the lay of the land.
Are you here to help? To observe? To gloat?
The raven winged off toward the wreck, as if to check that out, too.
Not hindering. Not helping, either. There was no help here. No sudden brainstorm that would solve my predicament. Only the obvious plan--play along and watch for my opportunity to get that gun from her.
"You mentioned a deal?" I said.
"I want you to tell the police about the switch. That's what Tristan said you'd do. You'd investigate, and you'd realize what happened, and you'd tell the police. And then it wouldn't matter how Ciara died, because my real parents would have their real daughter and they'd be happy. Her real parents wouldn't care who killed her. They only care about themselves. Everything would be fixed."
Did she really think a murder investigation could be halted if no one cared about the victim? That the Conways wouldn't care about the girl they'd raised?
"So you want me to forget what I know about Ciara's death and go to the authorities with the DNA results."
"Exactly."
I pretended to weigh the moral ramifications of this. Except there were no ramifications, because once I got to safety, there would be nothing to stop me from turning her in.
"All right," I said. "You walk away. I'll say I fell asleep at the wheel. I had a fever last night, which my doctor can verify. I drifted off and crashed the car. Then I'll turn over the DNA results."
"Do you really think I'd make it that easy?" Macy said. "You walk away scot-free?"
Why shouldn't I? I wanted to say. I haven't done anything. But I bit my tongue and said, "I've crashed a very expensive car. I'm battered and bruised. I might have seriously injured a guy who won't hesitate to sue me for every penny of my trust fund. That's not scot-free."
"You're right. You need to get rid of the lawyer."
"Exactly. I'll fire him."
"I mean kill him."
"What?" I prairie-dogged up for a split second before dropping behind the sofa again.
"Is that a problem?" she said.
"Is murdering someone a problem? Hell, yes. You know who my parents are, so maybe you think that makes it easy for me, but no, I'm not going to kill Gabriel. I'll deal with any fallout--"
"It's not an option," she said. "You're going to shoot him with this gun. I'm going to take a video of you doing it. If you double-cross me, I'll hand it over to the police. Refuse, and I will shoot both of you."
She wasn't as stupid as I'd thought. Just crazy. Another shadow passed, and I looked up to see an owl now, silently winging past to land in a distant treetop. Ravens and owls. Not so much an omen as a reminder of the puppet master pulling Macy's strings.