Riverstorm

by Tess Thompson

  He ripped a page out of the tablet on the nightstand and scribbled a note.

  Lizzie,

  I had to get home to change for a golf game. Please call me later so you can tell me where I’m taking you to dinner on the first day of “Project Win Lizzie Back.”

  Love,

  Grant.

  P.S. I wasn’t a dream.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Liz

  LIZ WALKED INTO Wally’s Bar and Grill a few minutes before noon. Her sister, Peggy, was in their usual booth in the back. Wally’s had been their favorite for years. They served thick hamburgers, salty fries, and had at least thirty beers on tap. Decorated in dark woods and low lights, the place was not what one would expect to find in Southern California. It was run by a crusty owner named Wally, who hadn’t changed the menu in thirty years and had no plans to do so anytime soon.

  Peggy, younger than Liz by twenty months, was tall and blond like their mother. The only feature the sisters shared was dark, round eyes. Unlike Liz, Peggy was fit and strong from running, playing tennis, and lifting weights. A natural athlete, in high school she’d competed at state for cross-country and hurdle jumping. Today, she wore a tennis skirt and tank top that showed off her tan skin and golden hair. They hugged. Peggy’s smooth skin smelled like a tropical flower.

  They sat across from each other in the booth. “You look pretty,” Liz said. Peggy’s outside appearance was a liar. She’s hurting. The divorce had dulled her eyes, which had once sparkled with expectation and curiosity, and had diminished her loud laugh to a reluctant chuckle. Liz hated Ladd. She’d smash her ex-brother-in-law’s face into the cement if she could.

  “You too. Did you get some sleep?” Peggy asked.

  “I did. I had an unexpected night, to say the least.”

  Wally came by with their usual iced teas and menus. They told him they’d wait for their mother to order. After he’d left, Peggy narrowed her eyes. “Spill it.”

  Sisters. There was no hiding the truth. Not that she’d planned on it anyway. She was bursting with it. “I had dinner with Grant last night.”

  “Okay.”

  “Not a work dinner.”

  Peggy’s mouth dropped open. “But he’s married.”

  “Divorced.”

  “I thought you hated him.”

  “Well, hate and love are closely related,” Liz said.

  “Tell me every detail. Quickly though, before Mother arrives.”

  “It started with me fainting.” Liz went through the entire story, ending with the admission that she’d agreed to give him a chance. “I’ve never stopped loving him. I had no idea he felt the same.”

  “That’s impossible. You’re in love with the idea of him. It’s been ten years. Too much time has passed. You’re just in love with the memory of your youth.”

  “Maybe.” Peggy was pragmatic like their father. She couldn’t understand. It was fine. No one needs to understand but Grant and me. “Regardless, I have to do this.”

  “He cheated on you.”

  “He was young and confused.” The flicker of doubt ignited in her belly. Peggy was right. Could she trust him?

  “Once a cheater always a cheater.”

  “It’s not the same as you and Ladd,” Liz said.

  “Why? Because Ladd cheated on me for a year and says he loves her?”

  “Well, yes. It’s complicated. Grant’s complicated.”

  “Suddenly, ten years later, all is forgiven?” Peggy asked.

  “No, not exactly.” She spread her hands on the table. “I just have to try. I’ve never loved anyone else. It is possible that we’ve both grown and changed.” She had known Peggy wouldn’t approve, and yet her reaction stung. What did I expect? That the sister who held me while I cried all night would so easily forgive?

  “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, Peggy. I can’t walk away.”

  Peggy crossed her arms over her chest. “Did it ever occur to you that we might be cursed when it comes to love?”

  “What? No. We’re not cursed.”

  “Both of us were cheated on by the men we thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives with. I mean, how is it that it’s happened to both of us?”

  “It happens to a lot of people.” Time to change the subject. “Anyway, before Mother gets here, I have something else I want to show you.” She pulled the letter from Lola out of her bag and handed it to Peggy.

  Peggy’s eyes grew wider as she read it. When she was done, she handed it back to Liz. “Murdered? Do you think it’s possible?”

  “I don’t know. But I would love to meet her and see the old place.”

  “Me too.” Peggy tapped her fingers on the tabletop like she did when she was excited or curious.

  “I’m exhausted. You’re still spinning from everything that happened. What do you say we go up there for a vacation? We can get to know Lola and see the old place. Gennie told me there’s a nice lodge in River Valley now. We’ll take Bethy with us and have a few weeks to swim in the pool and have spa treatments, maybe visit some wineries. We both need a break.” Maybe Grant will join us. She couldn’t help it. That thought slipped right in.

  A second later, their mother, Karen Teeny, glided to the table accompanied by the faint hint of Gucci perfume. A dab behind each ear, girls, is all you need. For heaven’s sake, don’t bathe in it. A long, flowing skirt and white linen shirt perfectly draped her slim frame. Diamond earrings and a tennis bracelet screamed status and wealth. Her hair, once long like Peggy’s, was now styled in attractive layers around her face. She dyed her hair, but would never admit to such a thing, and stayed slim, both of which made her look younger than her fifty-eight years.

  She slipped into the booth next to Liz. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was awful.”

  “No worries,” said Peggy. “We were catching up.”

  “Wonderful. Oh, girls, you both look exhausted. Liz, you’re skin and bones.” She patted her hand. “I’m so sorry about the verdict, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks, Mother.” Liz leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder for a few seconds. “It was a rough day.”

  “Darling, the awful news programs keep running the tape of you fainting,” her mother said. “Was that really Grant Perry who picked you up and carried you away?”

  “In the flesh,” Liz said.

  “The local stations are calling it a modern fairy tale.” Her mother smiled with her hand over her mouth, as if she were ashamed of her amusement. “Which miffed your father.”

  “Because it was Grant?” Peggy asked.

  “Partly that,” her mother said. “But mostly outrage that the fairy tale myth is perpetuated over feminism.”

  Liz and Peggy laughed. “Tell him not to worry. Feminism is alive and well in the hearts of young women everywhere,” Liz said.

  Her mother patted Liz’s hand. “Sweetheart, I am concerned about your health. You don’t take care of yourself.”

  “This last case almost finished me off. But I’m going to take some time off. Peggy and I are thinking of taking a vacation up to Oregon.”

  “Oregon? Why Oregon?” A server brought another menu and an iced tea for her mother. She put on her reading glasses.

  “We had such fun times there when we were little,” Peggy said. “And we both need a vacation.”

  “Your cousin, Lola, is living at the old place,” Liz said. “She wrote to us and invited us up to visit.” She slid the letter across the table.

  “She’s back from France?” Her mother looked up from her menu, ignoring the letter.

  “Her husband died,” Liz said. “She’s trying to decide whether to stay or go back to her house in France.”

  “The poor thing. I had no idea Henri passed. I lost complete track of her over the years. How long will you be gone?”

  “A couple of weeks. Maybe a month,” said Liz.

  “A month? Don’t you have clients with upcoming cases?”

  “My associate attorneys can man
age. I haven’t had a vacation or any significant time off since the summer I graduated from law school.”

  “No one can do it like you do,” her mother said.

  “It’ll be fine.” Liz pretended to look at the menu.

  Her mother dumped an artificial sugar packet into her tea. “Have you given any more thought to your career, Peggy?”

  Liz sighed. Here it comes.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Peggy said.

  “Any conclusions?” her mother asked.

  “I want to do what’s best for Beth. If I go back to working at a restaurant, I’ll have to find a sitter for evenings and nights. I’m leaning toward opening my catering business again or maybe becoming a personal chef. I don’t know.”

  “You have time before you have to decide.” Liz flashed her what she hoped was an encouraging smile. Because of the community property divorce laws in California, Peggy had received half of everything in her divorce, which was a substantial sum. “Mother, she’s fine financially.”

  “Well, yes. I know. It’s not just about money. You need something of your own. Beth will be grown before you know it and you’ll be happy to have work you care about.”

  They were rescued from further conversation when the server appeared to take their orders. When he finished, Peggy changed the subject. “Mother, tell us about cousin Lola. Do you remember her?”

  “I vaguely recall meeting her when we were children. We’re close to the same age. Next thing I heard of her, she’d married a French artist and never came home. Aunt Sally wasn’t the type to talk about her feelings, but I’m sure it was hard for her. Lola and Henri were too poor to come home for visits. Sally and Jimmy visited her a few times in France, but Lola never came home. She couldn’t come to their funerals. Very sad.” She paused. “What does the letter say?”

  Liz pointed to the letter. “You can read it for yourself.”

  Her mother picked up the letter and read. Her brow wrinkled as she made a dismissive clicking sound with her tongue. Next, she shook her head and sighed. The letter fluttered in her hands. She set it back down on the table and mimicked Liz’s earlier movement by sliding it across the table. “This is ridiculous. Murdered? My mother wasn’t murdered.”

  “How did she die?” Peggy asked.

  “She was sick. The flu, I think.”

  “You think?” asked Liz. “Why don’t you know?”

  “Am I on the stand, counselor?” Her mother smiled one of her tight-lipped specials.

  “No, I just think it’s strange you don’t know,” Liz said.

  “I was very young. No one talked about that sort of thing to a child in those days. It’s not like today.” Her mother picked up her iced tea, but didn’t drink from it.

  “You don’t think there’s a possibility she was murdered?” asked Liz.

  “I suppose it’s possible. But who would murder her? She didn’t have anything. What would be a motive? I suspect she’s reading too much into an off-hand comment in one of the letters. Perhaps she takes after Uncle Jimmy.”

  “Uncle Jimmy?” asked Peggy.

  “He was quite the storyteller,” her mother said.

  Liz smiled. Uncle Jimmy was the best. He dressed in the same pair of overalls every single day except for church on Sunday. On the “Lord’s Day,” he wore a flannel shirt and a pair of khakis patched at the knee with a fabric slightly darker than the original. “We adored him.”

  “Yes. I recall.” She swiped an imaginary crumb from the table.

  “Was it the summer after the car accident that we first visited them?” Liz asked.

  “That’s right. You girls were nine and seven.”

  “Why hadn’t we visited before then?” Peggy asked.

  Too fast, she answered, “Because my grandparents forbade it. They never liked my mother’s family.” She pressed her lips together. “Nevermind all this. Ancient history.”

  She didn’t mean to tell us that. Liz shivered as goosebumps blanketed her arms. Her attorney instincts leaped to high alert. Their paternal great-grandparents, Markham and Josephine Bingham, born in 1915 and 1920 respectively, passed away within six months of one another in 1993—the year Liz and Peggy first went to visit Aunt Sally. It had not occurred to her that her great-grandparents didn’t want them visiting their grandmother’s sister. Their mother had waited until the Binghams were dead before she took Liz and Peggy for a visit.

  She wanted to ask questions, but her instincts told her to stop. Her mother was not one to be pushed. She didn’t like to speak of her childhood.

  Conversely, Peggy had no such instincts. “Why did they forbid it? Because Aunt Sally and Uncle Jimmy were poor?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “They weren’t snobs.”

  Liz laughed. “Mother, they were the epitome of snobs. Even Dad says so, and he’s a snob himself.”

  “They were good people who took care of me. Without them, who knows where I would’ve ended up? In some awful little town in Oregon.”

  “Wait, what?” asked Peggy. “Aunt Sally and Uncle Jimmy wanted you?”

  Again, her mother swept away the imaginary crumb. “My understanding is that Aunt Sally and my mother were very close. They wanted me to come live with them on the farm, but my grandmother insisted I stay with her.”

  “Was there a custody battle?” asked Liz. “Between them and your grandparents?”

  “No. They didn’t have the money to fight for custody from my father, who was technically my guardian. So that was that.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Peggy.

  “When Aunt Sally and I got back in touch, she told me that my mother had written to them before her death begging them to take me if anything happened to her. Obviously, that didn’t happen. Sadly, I can’t remember much about my mother. My memories don’t start until after I moved in with my grandparents.”

  “Well, it sounds like there may be answers in the letters,” Peggy said. “Mother, don’t you want to know what happened? If someone murdered your mother, don’t you want to know who and why?”

  “I want the past to be the past. When I started a new life here in California with my grandparents—well, that’s the beginning of my real life. The first eight years are a blur of gray.”

  “Gray?” asked Liz.

  “Yes, we lived in Portland, Oregon. All I remember is looking out a window and watching the rain fall onto the sidewalk. The dampness seeped into everything.” Her mother pretended to shiver. “Even the bath water was cold.”

  “Bath water?” asked Peggy.

  Her mother shook her head as if to dispel her dark thoughts. “Bath water? Is that what I said?”

  “Yes,” said Liz, glancing at her sister. “Why would you say that?”

  She blinked. “I have no earthly idea. An image of a bathroom with white tile and one of those tubs with the footstools just popped into my mind. It must have been our Portland house.”

  Wally arrived with their lunch. Liz’s stomach growled as the aroma of their famous fries filled their booth.

  They ate in silence for a few moments, until her mother spoke. “The first visit up there was supposed to be just a quick trip, but you girls had so much fun that your father thought you should have stayed for an extended visit. Liz, it was after the car accident and you’d been so sick and weak. We could see you coming alive in all that country air. Your father felt terrible guilt about the accident.” She dangled a fry in midair. “It was your dad’s idea to have you stay for the summer. I didn’t want you to, but he insisted. You know how he can be.”

  “Always sure he’s right,” said Peggy.

  Her mother smiled. “Yes, and he usually is.” She cocked her head to the left, obviously thinking. “It was a blessing for all of us. We needed the summer to work on our marriage. We almost lost you in that accident and it scared us so badly we were drifting apart. We went to therapy that summer and learned a lot about what the other was feeling. I was resentful, and he was full of remo
rse even though it wasn’t his fault. The other driver came out of nowhere.”

  “I remember,” said Liz.

  “Do you?” asked her mother. “You were so young.”

  “When I close my eyes at night sometimes, I see that car coming for me.” Liz had been in the back seat behind the driver’s side, taking the brunt of the impact. It had temporarily bruised her spine and broken both her legs. Peggy and her mother were fine. Her father had bumps and bruises, but nothing like Liz.

  Her mother spoke softly, gazing at her hands. “I can still hear the sound when the car hit us. Metal against metal.”

  Liz rested her cheek on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s all okay now. I’m fine.”

  “When you’re a mother, you’ll understand how we felt. It’s hard to let something like that go.”

  “Mother, you should come up to Oregon with us,” Peggy said. “I bet cousin Lola would love to see you.”

  Her mother nodded with a sad expression in her eyes. “I have my summer classes to teach. Maybe I can go up some other time. Just don’t give too much credence to Lola’s crazy ideas. From what I understand, my mother was an emotional person, prone to hysteria. She probably wrote to her sister with all kinds of imagined angst. She may have been paranoid. Regardless, the Binghams…my father’s family…were nothing but good to her. It couldn’t be that they had anything to do with her death.”

  No one had said anything about their Grandfather Warren’s family having anything to do with her death. Liz skirted a glance at Peggy. Is she thinking what I’m thinking?

  “Mother, why would you say that?” asked Peggy. “No one said anything of the sort.”

  “Well, right. I guess I was reading into what Lola said here in the letter. Of course, she didn’t mean family had anything to do with it.”

  Or, did she?

  “When was the last time you saw Grandfather Warren?” asked Liz. Her mother’s father, Warren Bingham, was seventy-seven and lived in a posh assisted living facility in Malibu. His family money had survived long enough to take care of him in his old age.