Patrick smiled at me, very pleased with himself. It wasn't only the elders he wanted to win gratitude from.
I pretended not to be impressed, and said only, "Gabriel's hurt, too. He'll be fine to accompany you, but he can't carry Ricky. That'll be your job."
His brows shot up. I hauled Tristan to his feet and led him out.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
After Patrick finished with Tristan, "Jon Childs" turned himself in and confessed, and Patrick promised that Tristan would give the police evidence they needed to be certain he murdered James.
The next day, I went to the jail to confront Pamela.
Pamela now. Not my mother. Maybe never again my mother.
I didn't know how to process what Tristan said she'd done. I wanted to say it wasn't true. He was fae--he couldn't be trusted. But I knew it was true. In my gut, I knew.
Gabriel drove me to the jail, but I left him outside. This I had to do alone.
I don't remember walking into that room. Don't remember sitting. I do remember Pamela coming out, that moment when a two-year-old girl in my soul screamed, How could you? and I had to squeeze my eyes shut, clench my fists, banish that girl, and remember I was not Eden Larsen. I was Olivia Taylor-Jones. My mother was Lena Taylor. My ex-fiance was James Morgan, deceased. My boss--and, yes, friend--was Gabriel Walsh, framed for a murder he did not commit. Framed by the woman sitting in front of me.
"I know everything," I said as she sat.
She sighed. That was her reaction. A sigh, and a shake of her head, as if I were a child coming to her with some vicious rumor. "I don't know what you mean, Olivia, but whatever it is--"
"It was you. Not Todd. Pamela Larsen. Not my dad."
And that, perhaps, was the second-worst thing I could have said to her, the way I phrased that, and she flinched, and then I added the worst, a lie I needed to tell: "Dad confessed . . . after I told him how you tried to blame him."
Pamela reeled then, and all I could think was, Good. I'm glad I hurt you, for all the ways you hurt them: my father, James, Gabriel. And me. Yes, for all the ways you've hurt me.
"You think you did it for me," I said. "But you know what wasn't about me? James."
"Wh-what?"
I lowered my voice so the guard across the room wouldn't hear. "You conspired with Tristan to kill James and frame Gabriel."
It took her a moment to say, "I don't know what you mean," and that moment's hesitation answered any remaining question I had.
"Gabriel was your best shot at freedom," I said, struggling against the rage that swirled through me. "He would have gotten you out. We would have--Gabriel and I, together. You screwed yourself over. You get that, don't you?"
She shook her head, and I understood then. I understood that it didn't matter. That her hatred of fae was pathological, and it wasn't so much because Gabriel was part fae--so was she--but that his role, as Gwynn, was to bring me to the Tylwyth Teg, and she could not allow that. As for freeing her, she didn't believe that would happen, not really. After all, she was guilty. I suspected she'd only rehired him to keep him close enough to watch and to have some control over him, as leverage to separate him from me, which had failed. Step two, then, was more permanent.
"Why James?" I said, forcing as much calm into my voice as I could muster. "What did he do?"
"He was obsessed with you. I saw that when he came to speak to me. I didn't mean for that spriggan to kill him. I only wanted him hurt enough to scare him off."
"And then frame Gabriel for the assault."
"Yes. Assault, not murder."
"Then Tristan did kill James. You were horrified. You confessed to me what happened, told me he planned to frame Gabriel and you couldn't let that happen because it went too far, much too far. Oh, wait. No. That's not how it happened."
"I . . ."
"I don't know if you planned for James to die or not, but you knew it was a possibility, and when he did, you continued as planned. One innocent man died and another was due to spend his life in prison for the crime."
"Gabriel is not an innocent man, Olivia. Far from it. The sooner you realize that, the better off you will be." She leaned in. "He wouldn't have gone to prison anyway. He's too good a lawyer for that."
"James is still dead."