Disbelief erupts in me. "I saw it. I practically heard it break when she tried to kill us yesterday."

"Tried to kill you? You've lost your mind!" I hear him let out a long stream of air. "Are you...have you been taking drugs?"

"No. Well, except for whatever Smith injected me with."

"Ah, yes, the injection. If you come home, we can talk about it. I'll get rid of Smith just come home."

"I think you're in danger too."

"Nivi..."

"Could you tell me one thing?"

He sighs. "Sure."

"Who gets your money if you...die?"

"So this is your new take? Mali's doing all of this to get my money?" he shouts then lets out another sigh. "Nivi, it all goes to you. I was going to have the lawyer change the will and award Mali half. She refused. So now, what's your imagination got?"

Fat flakes of snow bead on the hood. I try to think of something. She'll get him to change the will once I'm dead? The money has to go to her with both of us gone? I know that would be very difficult and long without a will in her name. Then there's the will I found that awards everything to me. The flakes melt and turn into beads of water as my mind scrambles for a connection. "Okay, you're right. It doesn't make sense. Yet, I'm positive they killed Harrison. Call the police, find out."

He groans. "Will you please, please just come home?"

I take a deep gulp of icy air. "I'm trying but not yet."

He's silent for several long seconds. "I know you've had a hard time since last May. I'm aware I haven't come close to replacing your mother," his voice cracks, "but I do love you. I can try harder. I can be better. Please, please let me."

His words slowly seep into me causing my throat to burn. "You can start trying by believing me," I squeak as my eyes begin to water. I'm not sure if my father has ever verbally told me he loves me. Sure, the birthday cards with a big check each year had it above his signature. Him actually saying it? I can't recall a time ever.

"Oh Nivi," he says in a dry voice, "come home and we'll work this out."

A tear drips off my jaw. "I can't. I'm trying to work this out. Please be careful. Think about what I said. I love you too. Bye." I set the phone down and lay my head on the steering wheel. Two more tears and I control the flow, but I can't lift my head. Not even to push the window closed and stop the cold air from entering.

The door creaks open and I sit up. With one look at my face, Jai passes me the napkin wrapped around his coffee cup. "You okay?"

I draw in air and nod. In the rearview mirror, I use the napkin to fix my makeup.

"Should we shop?"

I lean my head back. "You want some new underwear?"

"Yeah, new scibs would be nice." I can hear the smile in his response.

"Good, I need some different clothes too."

I shift into drive and go find an inconspicuous parking spot. Jai waits with a look of anticipation as we drive around the mall. I search through my tangled emotions for what he wants to hear. We'd both come to the conclusion that she's after money but nothing's adding up. I take a sip of Coke trying to piece my thoughts together. "He says her arm's not broken." Jai's expression turns confused. "He told me he left everything to me. He told me she insisted."

Jai lifts his cup and sets it down without taking a drink. He glances at the mall, at the car next to us, before he looks back to me. "Then what the hell is she after?"

I don't have a clue.

Chapter 30*Snow.

Jai drives along the lane and quizzes Ping about his fake OCD. The trees thin and the building comes into view. Brian's House. Contemporary and sleek with horizontal and vertical angles, the building gives the impression of a Brady Bunch house for the young insane. I can't figure out how this fits into Mali's deranged plans so I hope the visit will shed some light.

"I should go with you," Jai says, parking in front of the never-ending steps.

I put on a pair of yellow tinted glasses. "Who would you be?"

"A brother?"

I frown at him. Shaking my head, I glance in the mirror one last time. Nice. The caked on makeup does make me appear older. Almost half a tube of cover-up covers my skin. The red lipstick, dark blush, and thick bronze eye shadow help too. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth. Gold loops jiggle at my ears as I pull my coat sleeve over murdering Mali's bracelet. It doesn't go with my getup, but I still can't get the damn thing off.

"Ready?" I ask Ping.

He holds up his phone. "Don't worry Jai. I'll keep you posted."

Jai's hands grip the steering wheel. "I'm not sure that's going to help if there's trouble."

"Just wait in the parking lot." I shut the door. My high-heeled boots click up the stone steps and my white parka swishes, but my white jeans don't make a sound. They're too tight.

Ping grins at me. "You'd be a hot step-mom."

I almost bash him with the ugly two-hundred dollar purse in my hand. "Shut up and start acting like a disturbed thirteen year old." I grab the door handle. "Okay, that was disturbed but you know what I mean." We step into the warm foyer and I almost gag on my own perfume. Breathing through my mouth, I taste flowers. Even at thirty, I wouldn't wear this crap and the stench is so not helping my nerves.

"Hello may I help you?" a receptionist asks from behind a desk. With her short brown hair and large collared blouse, she looks like a librarian.

"Yes, you can." I prop the sunglasses onto my spiked hair. Walking over to her, my heels click on the tiled floor. Ping follows me. "I, well we," I glance at Ping in disgust, "have an appointment with Dr. Brewer."

She studies her book. "Mrs. Lee?"

I nod and push Ping forward. "And Steve," I say while inwardly cringing at the view of my long red nails on his coat.

"Yeah, I'm the nut," he says with a sneer.

Ooo, he nailed it.

Her smile's weak, but she seems to be buying our charade. "Let me see if he's ready." She pushes a button on the phone. "Your two o'clock appointment is here."

"Send them in," a voice from the speaker says.

The receptionist rises. "Follow me." She leads us into a stark hallway as I try to calm my nerves and hopefully pull this off. At the end, she swipes a card and the door pops open. "Second door to the right," she says, pointing.

I chomp my gum and breeze past her.

"Welcome, Mrs. Lee, Steven," Dr. Brewer says as soon as we enter the dark office. Tall and old, he looks like a doctor should. With its leather chairs across from the desk and shelves of books, the office looks like a doctor's should too.

"Just Steve," Ping snaps while the gray haired man shakes my hand. I ignore the nervous jitter along my spine and meet his gaze like the adult I'm supposed to be.

He turns. "Pardon me, Steve. " He holds out his hand. Pings sneers at the outstretched hand. The doctor lowers his hand. "Okay, shaking hands isn't necessary. Why don't we all have a seat?"

"I'll stand," Ping declares.

"Oh you're just being difficult," I say. "Sit down!"

Ping curls his lip. "I don't know who's been in that chair!"

"It's okay Mrs. Lee. We'll sit. Steven can stand."

"Steve!" Ping snaps and opens his phone.

Sitting and crossing my legs, I secretly smile. Jai had been right. Ping is perfect for this. His abrasive attitude is making it easy to act this out. And I have a feeling he's enjoying riling the doctor up.

The doctor appears flustered while moving around the desk. "Ah, yes, accept my apologies."

I drop my purse with a thud. "You see, this is why I called you. Everything is always so difficult with him. Germs everywhere, sit on the left, only eat with a spoon, only white towels can be used, shut lights off and on five times each, and always the texting, but to no one." Actually, he is texting Jai. "It's crazy!"

The doctor gives me a patient smile. "Now, Mrs. Lee, that's not a good word. It's not a good descriptor for a patient's problems."

"Oh, and what would you call it?" I ask with a raised penciled eyebrow.

"Different problems have different names. I can't make a diagnosis after the first few minutes of meeting Steve."

"There's nothing wrong with me." Ping doesn't look up from the phone. "I just like things a certain way."

The doctor puts on a pair of reading glasses and pulls a pen from his coat. "That may be true Steve. Sometimes these things can take over your life and you become imprisoned by them."

Ping keeps texting. "This place looks like a prison."

"Oh, we'll go on a tour in a little bit and you'll see it's nothing like a prison." He scrawls on the paper in front of him. "Though I'm new here at Brian's House, I like to include our patients in all of our discussions. Nothing is hidden from them. So please, describe how long you've been worried about Steve's behavior."

I wave my hand in the air. I'm now totally calm and totally getting into our deception. "I've only been married to his father for six months and Steve's been a weirdo from day one."

The doctor sets his pen on the desk. "Again Mrs. Lee, those kinds of derogatory words aren't helpful."

I fold my hands in my lap and snap my gum to hide a smile. It is fun riling this guy up. "What do you want me to say? Strange? Unbalanced? Psychotic?" I lean forward. "There aren't any good words to describe him."

Ping turns his back to us and continues to text.

The doctor rubs a temple. "The best thing would be not to use labels for Steve at all. Only refer to his behavior."

"Okay." I raise my hands-nails pointed out-and lean back. "He won't throw anything away unless he wraps it in a plastic bag first. He'll only drink out of two straws, not one or three, just two." I spread two red nails. "He has to have two sets of sheets on his bed. He won't go to the mall unless it's before noon."

"Dirty people go in the afternoon," Ping says.

I roll my eyes. "He has to wear two pairs of socks. He vacuums his room five times a day. Five exactly. He puts one thing on a new plate at a time. So he uses three to four plates to eat dinner, which just means more dishes to wash." I pause and chomp on my gum. "I already told you about the spoon."

"Forks stab," Ping says.

I put a finger on my chin. "He'll-"

The doctor stands up. "I think that's enough for now. Why don't we take the tour? If your husband and you find everything satisfactory, we'll set up some appointments. Then I'll be able to decide the best course of action for Steve."

"I'm not staying here," Ping says.

The doctor motions us out. "Let's take a look around. I was impressed with my first tour. No decisions yet. Just a look." He slides a card through a door next to his office.

Ping mumbles, "Prison."

Dr. Brewster forces a smile. "Why don't we wait for an opinion until the end of the tour?"

We walk through what appears to be a hybrid between a college dormitory and a hospital. Small lounges with windows to snowy courtyards let light in between dark halls. In some, kids are sprawled on couches looking outside. Staring into space, they either ignore us or are unaware of our presence. Along the halls, doors lead to private rooms and glass cubbies holding shelves of pills, plastic jugs, and an occasional nurse. Dr. Brewster shows us a stark, empty room with a bed, dresser, and a private bathroom. He has us peek in through a rectangle of glass to a circle of kids engaged in group therapy, but to me they look like they're staring into space again. The tour ends in the mess hall. A room filled with game tables, dining tables, a snack counter, and a huge TV.

While we walk, I search for anything to connect the place to Mali or give me an indication of her interest in it. Nothing. By the time we're in the room with the kids staring at the TV, I've decided this might be her backup plan-if the kidnapping thing doesn't work-she'll get rid of me here. And from the way my father keeps talking, she won't have any problem dumping me on the doctor.

Back in the hall, the one between the two locked doors, the doctor says to me, "Mrs. Lee, would you mind waiting in the lobby, so I can talk to Steven-Steve alone?"

I glance at Ping. He doesn't give me any indication he's against the idea. "Okay, but we've got to get going soon." I pat my spiky head. "I've got a hair appointment at five."

"Of course," he says with a frown, most likely thinking I'm the worst stepmother in the world. He has no idea just how bad stepmothers can be. "Why don't you call me tomorrow?"

"Sounds good," I say, strolling down the hallway with the huge purse on my wrist. The receptionist glances at me as I pass, but keeps typing.

In the waiting room, I saunter over to a bunch of awards and newspaper articles framed like pictures on the wall. I read them over while the receptionist's typing echoes off the walls. The awards come from different psychiatric organizations, which I know nothing about. I turn to the articles. They all praise Brian's House and its programs. Like I care. Blah, blah, blah, I think while skimming over them. Until my eye catches one of the grainy black and white pictures at the end, and my heart stops.

Chapter 31*Snow.

My eyeballs come within an inch of the photo. Yes, it's Mali. Worse though is the man she shakes hands with in the picture. Smith. I read the article's title while beads of sweat pop out on my forehead. Dr. Brian Smith Gets A Major Contribution for Teen Program. My red nails splay against the wall. I gulp air in. I've never fainted before, but there's a first time for everything. Get it together Nivi. This is the last place you want to be out cold.

I force air through my noise. Force myself to get a grip. Facing the nurse, I keep a straight face and ask, "Is Dr. Smith in today?"

She pauses her typing and looks up. "No, he's on an extended vacation." When I don't comment she adds, "Believe me, with the way he works, he's earned it."

Vacation my ass. "Oh, I'm sure he has," I say and spin back to the article. Long nails dig into my palm while my other hand searches the purse for a phone. I glance over my shoulder. She's engrossed in typing again. My hands tremble, but I manage to snap several close ups of the article.

Then-after three shaky tries-I text Jai, NEED DIVERSION CALL IMMEDIATELY The longest thirty seconds of my life later, Caribbean music comes out of Chang's phone. "Hello."