Page 58 of Don't Trust Her

ChapterThirty-Five

This last week has been equal parts frustrating and amusing. I’ve been having fun messing with Angelina. I swear those biddies at the glorified daycare center are going to kick her out. They fully believe I’m her and think she’s either losing her mind or messing with them. This has been the best part of my vacation—I mean, mission. Since I’m still staying at the hotel, it feels more like a getaway than ever before. I’m already living my dream, and I haven’t even taken over my sister’s life yet.

But on the other hand, I haven’t spent much time with Peter. I’ve managed a little time with him most every day. The man loves his routines. Coffee before going into the hospital, for instance. I don’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t have that luxury, so meeting up with him has become our thing for the most part. Sometimes his schedule changes due to being on call. It’s no wonder they pay doctors so much. What an annoying thing to have to put up with.

That hasn’t been the only less than ideal thing I’ve had to face. I’ve been trying to ignore the fact that I feel like I’m being watched. It doesn’t happen just in the hotel, but around town, too. Not a day goes by when those tiny hairs don’t stand on end. But I can never spot who’s following me.

I’d think it was my guilty conscience, but I have zero regrets about what I’m doing.

Angelina’s been in her house an unusually long time. If she doesn’t leave soon, she’s going to risk being late to pick up her kids. That gives me the perfect opportunity to try and pick them up again. I think I could even talk that mousy girl behind the register into letting them go without the password. I very nearly did yesterday morning, but she called Angelina. She felt like an idiot about it. It was written all over her face.

But then my sister told her not to let the kids go. It was kind of fun to watch the whole ordeal, especially after I returned to the van and watched Angie peel into the parking lot and dash into the school like a madwoman. She left equally frustrated.

I was tempted to go back inside just to mess with everyone some more, but in the end decided not to risk it. If I send the daycare workers over the edge, they could call the cops. I’d totally pretend to be my sister, but that would also blow my cover.

I need to forget the school and come up with a bigger plan. Something to send my twin running from her life, never to look back again. I have to convince her she’s completely lost her mind so that she’ll either leave or check herself into a facility. By the time she returns, if ever, I’ll have taken over her life and will be able to convince everyone else she’s the fake.

It’s perfect, but I need details. I can’t run in screaming without preparing. Angelina already knows something is going down, but she doesn’t know about me. She’s never once tried to connect through that genetic site. At first, when I was naïve, I eagerly awaited her request. But days turned into weeks then months, and it became clear she wanted nothing to do with me.

Anger roils in my gut at the thought. She had to have found out that I come from trash, so she never contacted me. Her own sister. How could she think she is better than me, when our circumstances were nothing more than chance? It could’ve easily been me given to her parents and her given to my loser mother. Some random person at the adoption agency made the choice.

Lucky for Angelina. Until now. I’m going to take her down, and I’m done playing the waiting game. If it wasn’t the middle of the afternoon in a neighborhood sure to have doorbell cameras at every house, I’d jump her the moment she stepped out of the house.

Imagine how nice that would be. I’d be done with it and could step right into her life. The only problem would be what to do with the body. It isn’t like I haven’t faced that dilemma before. They aren’tthathard to hide. If they were, there wouldn’t be so many podcasts and shows dedicated to finding missing people. Bodies disappear never to be seen again all the time. Every day.

I should know.

My heart races at the thought of not just making Angelina think she’s crazy and sending her to the loony bin, but actually getting rid of her for good. The evil twin who thinks she’s better because she won the baby lottery all those years ago.

Bye, bye, Angie. It’s been fun.

Finally, the front door opens.

I lower myself, not that she has ever once looked toward my van. And she doesn’t this time, either. She locks up, hurries to her Escalade, then leaves.

After a few minutes, I drive away. When I find a block within walking distance with homes unlikely to have doorbell cams, I park. Fences block off back yards, and trees offer privacy to the residents.

And to me as I walk along.

I hurry toward the London house, careful to walk like Angelina. I’ve got the whole thing down perfectly at this point—every move I make is all her. Prissy, stuck-up, and pampered. It’s hardly difficult. I just have to act like I think I’m better than everyone else.

Once I get to the house, I punch in the code for the garage door. Would you believe that Peter stores all of that stuff in his wallet? For someone so smart and successful, he sure is an idiot. But soon he’ll bemywealthy idiot.

Nothing happens.

I type it in again.

The garage door doesn’t budge.

Something’s wrong.

I know I got the numbers right. This is how I got in the other times.

The keypad blinks rapidly.

My mouth dries. I look around. Several cameras are probably recording every moment of this.

Taking a deep breath, I punch in the code.

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