The Invisible Heiress
Page 26
“You killed Isabel?” It struck me then. “Brendan. You murdered Brendan too?
He let out a weak chuckle. “What am I? A professional? Ah, no. Isabel beat me to it. Of all the goddamn luck. Brendan decided to, how you say, get with the fucking program. Yeah. Followed us all over the damn place. I’d have done the deed sooner rather than later. No choice.”
At that second, I realized I was out of my league. I let Walter go. Dad shot up, pulled a gun out of the back of his pants, a lot faster than I thought he could in the shape he was in. Before he could shoot, or I could run, the front doors slammed. I turned toward the sound, heard Dad cock his pistol behind me.
I’m not sure what actually killed my father. Smiley’s bullet or Walter’s jaws around his throat.
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Preston
The sun peeked through the early morning clouds as Smiley and I watched the coroner’s van and the cop cars finally drive out. We stood on the porch until we couldn’t see them anymore and then shut the heavy double doors behind us.
“Glad I blew off the booby hatch for this mess.” I led Smiley by the hand to the sofa in the library. We sat. “Makes me miss bars on the windows.”
“I’m sorry,” Smiley said.
“Your timing was perfect,” I said, and quick to shoot when it counts, which I didn’t say. “I’d completely forgotten I’d dialed your number right before my father showed up, then I dropped the phone. You heard everything?”
“No, but some. Enough to get an idea of what was happening.”
“I could use a stiff drink.” Plus some.
“One more thing.” He held out a piece of paper. “Marv’s suicide note. Colleen wanted you to see it before it got cataloged into evidence.”
“You found her?”
“She came to me. He mailed the note to her the day he shot himself.”
My heart pitched to see my father-in-law’s last scrawled thoughts.
Colleen—
It’s my fault our boy is gone. I can’t prove it, but I know Todd Fitzgerald had a hand in his dying. Our son tried to find out the truth. He knew Preston didn’t hurt Harrison but couldn’t prove it. Well, I knew Todd did it. I saw him. God help me, I did. There’s no proof other than my word, but it’s true.
Preston and Harrison fought like she-cats over that poor, dead baby. Our grandson. Todd saw his chance and he grabbed the cutter. Sliced Harrison’s throat along with his hand. I justified keeping silent because Harrison lived and Preston didn’t go to jail. She got help, which we both know she needed.
You and I both know that no one would ever believe me. The Blair Fitzgerald machine would’ve buried me like they did our son. But with Brendan and you both gone, I can’t go on living with the guilt and a secret I can’t prove.
I’ve written everything that happened down in my notepad (you know which one) plus where to find Preston’s security cameras. It won’t prove what happened inside, but they still might help. I’m sorry for everything.
I’ll love you to eternity and back.
Marvin
Smiley held up a blood-smeared notebook. “One of the boys found this on Todd’s desk. The one Isabel died behind. Marv’s notes.”
Hard to say how I felt knowing I was innocent. I didn’t jump for joy, sing the hallelujah chorus or shout to the rafters. I didn’t move at all. Stillness settled in, down to my bones. I pressed Marv’s letter to my face and cried.
I was not a monster.
****
Smiley and I hadn’t moved from the sofa. Walter White slept in the corner like he’d died, tired after his superhero antics. I remembered something.
“What on earth did Judge Seward know about any of this?”
“He introduced your father to the fetish club. I guess it’s all the rage in the prosecutor’s office. He knew Todd and Isabel got together. They both left the scene soon after, so the judge didn’t know anything else. But that was enough.”
I shook my head. What a world.
“To think I actually loved my father, in my way,” I said.
“I’m sure you did,” Smiley said.
“His teary visits to Haven House didn’t have anything to do with my well being. He wanted to see if and when I’d remember anything.”
“Quite the actor, your father.”
“I don’t know where to go next, what to do.” In some ways I felt I’d never seen this room before, or this house, or this man. I’d never see anything the same way again. “For so long I’d tried to piece things together, put my finger on the pulse of what happened. Now that I know, well, now what?”
Smiley said, “Live your life. Sounds ridiculously simple but I find one foot in front of the other is best.”
I stared ahead in a daze like my head floated above my body.
“Your Mom’s scar always bugged me.” Smiley brought me back to earth.
“What?”
“It’s the standard ear-to-ear type cut,” he said. “That wound had to come from someone standing behind her. When I questioned Harrison about the judge and Isabel I took another look.”
I didn’t admit I’d overheard his call to her from under the stairs.
“Both you and Harrison remember you fought toe-to-toe,” he said. “So unless you’d managed to jump behind her you couldn’t have done it.”
“I never thought Dad would try to kill his cash supply.”
“I don’t think he thought about it at all. Crime of opportunity. He saw his chance and took it. Marv nailed that one. No premeditation.” He looked thoughtful. “That and he was probably scared shitless you’d remember he was there when Cooper was born.”
“I’d never have believed Dad could work up nerve enough.” I shifted sideways, draped my legs and feet across Smiley’s lap. “I understand the urge.” I thought more about the possibility. “I could see maybe something a little more festive, like a shove off a cruise ship. But a box cutter? No.”
“Harsh, no doubt.” Smiley smoothed my crazy hair.
“Only my dad could fuck up in his own favor. It would’ve been better if she’d stayed in a coma. He got to do what he pleased with that power of attorney. No one would’ve ever questioned him.”
“I know. Unbelievable.”
Smiley lifted his butt off the couch, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “Isabel’s cell. She recorded her last conversation with your father from under the desk. Right before he shot her.” Smiley hit play. We listened to the whole thing. Thought I couldn’t feel more horrified than I did a few short hours ago. Wrong.
“I can’t believe Dad carried a gun.”
“He took it from your mother’s bedside drawer when he moved out. Her old school security system.”
“Figures. What happened with Marcella?”
“Gone. Probably deep into Mexico by now.”
“What on earth was she ever doing at Beverley?”
“Besides pretending to be Isabel, your dad hired her to keep an eye on Harrison. She kept your mother’s sedative supply going until Harrison figured it out.”
“Dad got it right. He said my mother knew how this would all turn out. She knew he’d sink.”
My phone rang. Gate guard.
“Ms. Blair? Your mother’s here.”
My feet barely touched the floor when Smiley’s cell jangled. I’d gotten as far as the library door when Smiley said, “In case you thought this situation couldn’t get weirder. Isabel’s baby survived. Six weeks premature and struggling. But so far, still alive.”
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Preston
All these months I’d wondered how to get myself to show up at my mother’s door. Now she showed up at mine. The few minutes it took her driver to cruise up the lane felt like eternity. Smiley and I didn’t speak while we waited. I stood by the double front doors like a kid who just found out she was getting everything she ever wanted.
Soon as the Town Car rolled to a stop I flew outside. She met me midway on the stairs. We both
froze. When I imagined this moment I assumed we’d find all sorts of new things to say to each other—meaningful, heartfelt things. But the old script sat like a stone at the back of my throat. We’d need time to come up with new material.
While innocent of one crime, I’d inflicted terrible wounds, in so many ways, for so many years. I should’ve begged forgiveness but my tongue knotted up. Still, I saw in Mom’s eyes, blue as the deepest sea, she’d accepted the apology I’d never given. For the first time I felt seen by the most important woman in my life.
She, as always, looked ethereal. Her beauty still a living force. I’d never agreed with those who insisted we were alike. What daughter wants to be a rerun of her mother? Standing there with her, I knew, straight up, we were indeed the same where it counted—not the crumbling kind. Drinking in her presence I couldn’t help but notice she seemed free in a way she never did before. When my father cut her throat he cut her loose from a way of life that never suited her.
She touched my face with her delicate hand, the smell of her skin exotic and familiar at the same time. I leaned into her palm—arms limp at my sides. Mom put one arm around my waist, and we walked up the stairs to my house. Like generations of Blair women before us we didn’t flag under a torrent of emotions—the strong stand up and carry on, the weak can’t. I don’t have to tell you which category we fell into.
Chapter Ninety
Preston’s Blog
Musings from the Dented Throne
Grey Gardens 2.0
Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I’m sure you figured I’d been cheating on you with a more amenable, less surly, crowd. Not on your life. I’d never throw you over or close up shop without saying goodbye, my faithful devotees. I must say goodbye for now, but it’s not a sad one.
You might’ve seen our documentary. I don’t want to toss too many spoilers in case you DVR’d our fifteen minutes and plan to watch at a later date. Yes, the Queen and I let Jack (our very own commenter, Jack) film his little movie. So, if you prefer surprises, stop reading, because there’re things I must tell you, pay-per-view be damned.
I bought my Aunt James’s house, unloaded mine. Made the new owners an offer they couldn’t refuse. Why? I needed a fresh start for one, and for another, let’s just say my heart will forever reside near Aunt James’s gazebo, so the rest of me had to follow.
New Detective and I decided to give it a real go. He’s left the police force, dabbles in private investigations here and there. My bootylicious beau says I should’ve been a cop because I closed the case, not him. Says I’ve got a real nose for finding evidence. If you can call being in the wrong place at the wrong time a skillset then he might be on to something.
Given Jack’s Ken Burns imitation and our agreement to participate, I had to come clean with New Detective regarding this blog. Whatever criticisms or trepidations he might harbor about the Heiress’s personality, he’s wisely kept them zipped.
As for me, I stay home, write dark, depressing, occasionally humorous stories for little to no money, see to our giant lunk of a dog (you’ll need to watch our little film to find out who gave me such a wonderful surprise) and most important, I take care of Ruby James Blair.
I don’t like to say Ruby’s my sister, which she technically is, but I don’t like to say so. Because Jack’s film blew my blogger subterfuge, I guess aliases don’t matter. I only mention Ruby by name because she’s the first Blair girl (she’s a Blair as far as we’re all concerned) to bear a female moniker. Big improvement, am I right?
New Detective and I think of Ruby as our daughter, our much adored, beautiful, strong daughter. Without giving the whole twisted tale away, I’ll tell you this: I didn’t intend to acknowledge Ruby’s existence, much less take her in. But I did. I felt drawn by a force I couldn’t deny or explain. None of us in this terrible story can claim complete innocence except for this sweet baby who could not help the circumstances of her birth. And yes, I’m self-aware enough to know she represents my second chance, however fucked up that might be. I assure you one look at Ruby and I saw the light.
My handsome detective didn’t mean to love me. The Queen probably would’ve liked to stop loving me, my Irishman probably wished he’d never loved me. I’d have preferred to leave love for the saps, but now I know when it comes to love, you’ve got no say at all.
But the downside to a beating heart is the bleeding.
What of the Jester?
I don’t think of him often, even when I catch glimpses of him in Ruby’s face or bearing. He’s a part of our family’s dreadful history and history won’t be moved. One thing I’ve learned from so much death is when all is said and done, and the earth lays its claim to you, no one remembers the beginning, but it matters how things end.
Shrinky?
Well, now that’d give away the farm if I elaborate on her, so I’ll leave you to wonder.
What happened to the Queen?
She and Jack’s romance cooled, but he remains her close confidant and occasional bodyguard, which is (just my opinion) one small reason why she submitted to his intrusion into her life—to protect her from the press (we’re flavor of the day again since we’ve gone Hollywood) and at the time, the Jester. Our Jack’s a giant. The Royal She’s decision to commit her life story to film is one I’ll never fully understand. Maybe a lifetime of devastating, damaging secrets, her genetically induced requisite to deny the unpleasant, to cover up less than flattering incidents, prompted a need to lay it all on the table. Maybe, like all of us, she wanted to be noticed, really noticed. Not for her money, name, or beauty. But for who she really is. And who might she be, you ask? Ah, that my faithful, remains a mystery.
Well, my followers, I couldn’t let another day go by without telling you how much you all have meant to me. I know, I know, the Heiress can be one prickly bitch, but you knew all along she didn’t mean it.
You saved me before I knew I needed saving. So much water flashed under my bridge I almost didn’t survive the flood but for your lifelines. I’ll miss you so but will see you all in my dreams and can only hope you remember me fondly.
Try not to gag on my schmaltz.
The Queen and I are off to lunch to discuss Ruby’s shit-ton of money. Yes, she’s an heiress of blockbuster proportions. Her deceased grandmama’s lottery winnings passed right to our little girl. We Blair girls handle our own money, thank you very much, and when the time’s right Ruby will know how to take care of it herself.
After lunch we’re taking a new doll to Rosalie at the loony bin. You remember Rosie the Ripper? Turns out her endless supply of dolls came from the Queen, whose heart Rosie melted. We visit her often.
We’re quite a rag-tag group, me, Rosie and the Queen. All flawed mothers, fatally so, united by our failings and grief, offering one another the tender mercies that no one else can. I think together, we’re going to make it through.
BTW, on the way home, I’m going to start teaching the Queen to drive.
The Girl Formerly Known as the Invisible Heiress.
~~ The End ~~
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About the Author
Kathleen O’Donnell is a wife, mom, grandmother and a recovering blogger. She currently lives in Nevada with her husband. She is a two time Book of the Year finalist for her debut novel The Last Day for Rob Rhino. You can find short stories and blog posts on her website:
www.authorkathleenodonnell.com
Copyright © 2019 Kathleen O’Donnell
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