Virtuous Deception 2

by Leiann B. Wrytes

  “I guess we have to finish packing before our flight?”

  “Unfortunately. I like this space. No beauty is comparable to yours, Lisa. I am so sorry for my part in all of this.”

  “This is enough, Frank. Just last month, I stood in this spot, missing you, longing for you, lamenting our marriage, mourning what could have been. But look at us now. We are here.”

  “I thought you were . . . my life was over.”

  “I know the feeling. How about we agree to avoid near-death experiences from this moment on?”

  “I like that plan.” Frank visually roamed the shoreline, drinking in every little detail.

  “Only missing Brianna.”

  “We will get our family back, Lisa. I promise.”

  “Don’t wager those types of guarantees, Frank.”

  “Trust me.”

  Lisa pecked his chest through his polo top. “Packing.”

  “Right behind you.”

  Frank followed Lisa into the room, walking behind her in case she were to fall. “Why don’t you let me pack your things?”

  “Are you sure?” Lisa inquired as she hobbled toward the couch.

  “I’ll take care of things here, and then I’ll go to my room and pack my things up as well. I don’t think it should take too much time.” Frank hurried to Lisa’s side, taking hold of her hand while she lowered her body onto the couch. “I should be back with plenty of time left for us to partake in a little island fun.”

  Twisting the corner of her mouth into a half smile and offering a little wink, Lisa stretched out on the couch. “I don’t know how much fun I’ll be right now.”

  “No worries. I don’t need you to do anything. Let me take care of you. These last few weeks have been stressful for us both. I just want these last few hours to be stress free. So many have taken so much from you, including me. I won’t let this amazing space be taken as well.”

  “That is really sweet, Frank. This you is a pleasant change.”

  “This me isn’t going anywhere. You deserve this. Always have.”

  Click, Click, Click, Click.

  “Mrs. Mason, Detective Baptiste here. I need to speak with you. Open the door, please.”

  Frank braced himself for what this visit could mean. Neither he nor Lisa had been expecting it, and as far as he knew, there was no reason for it. There were no charges pending against him on the island. He and Lisa exchanged looks of surprise before he left her to answer the door. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Frank twisted the metal handle before he lost his nerve.

  “Detective.”

  Baptiste’s eyes widened in slight shock at Frank’s presence.

  “Please, come in. Lisa is right over there,” Frank stated, motioning toward the living room area. “She’s lying on the couch.”

  “Thanks.” Detective Baptiste eased past Frank and made his way into the living area. He wasted no time diving into the purpose of his visit. “Mrs. Mason, I can see that you are resting. I only came by to update you on the progress in your case. If I may have a minute of your time?”

  “Sure, please. Do you need me to—”

  “No, Lisa. Rest your body. I am sure the detective does not need you sitting up to speak with you. Do you, Detective Baptiste?”

  “No, please, no need to move.”

  “See? So, rest and listen.”

  Following a stint of awkward silence, the detective continued. “Well, ya husband has been officially cleared. We got partial prints off the knife used, and his was not a match. Phone records, financial transactions don’t show any suspicious activity that would connect him. I no longer believe ya husband had anything to do with this crime.”

  Frank breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the detective reaffirmed his innocence to Lisa. Though she told him that she believed he was innocent, there was no disputing the evidence.

  “Wait. You had the weapon all this time?” Frank asked.

  Detective Baptiste looked at Frank, meeting his obligatory accusation. “We tend not to share our evidence with the primary suspect. Since you are no longer under suspicion, I tell you.”

  “What does the partial print mean? What type of knife was it?” Lisa questioned.

  “Print would mean more if we had a suspect.”

  Frank could feel his face warming as his frustration over the situation rose to the surface. “Whoever it was probably got away while you were wasting time trying to pin it on me!”

  “Mr. Mason, I had a job to do. There was no conspiracy.” Detective Baptiste squared his shoulders, facing Frank, but kept his voice even.

  “But I told you I didn’t do it! I would never hurt her.” Frank began pacing, trying to calm himself down. Visions of the interrogation room, the cell, and the feel of the handcuffs ran through his mind. Hours wasted on him.

  “Every guilty person is innocent until the evidence convicts them,” Baptiste said.

  “It does not change the fact that you let the son of a bitch get away! Whoever it was. They are gone because of you and your vigilante partner!”

  “We follow the evidence.”

  “Is that what your partner was doing? Following the evidence?” Frank stared at Detective Baptiste, daring him to disagree, to deny that his partner’s behavior was completely unprofessional.

  “Right or wrong, the goal was to get justice for ya wife. His heart was in the right place.”

  “His goal was to lock me up. He was not interested in getting justice and you know it.”

  “I did not come here to discuss him.”

  “Frank, please. Come sit.” Lisa waved Frank to her side, patting the floor in front of her. “Come on. Here. I need you here.”

  Frank did not protest, obliging her request immediately. He sat on the floor near her head as she casually draped the arm closest to him over his shoulder, offering her hand to him. He grabbed it and closed his eyes. Lisa picked up the conversation.

  “What type of knife was it?”

  “Military grade. USMC. Nothing that ya would find ’round here.”

  “So, whoever did this brought it with them?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  Frank raised her hand to his lips, kissing her palm, trying to communicate what his silence may have not, that he was behind her. He was present and listening.

  “What other clues do you have? Anything?” Lisa asked.

  “Not really. Mistaking him for your husband, a maid let him in. Much earlier. He waited a long time for you. Another maid, a different worker, witnessed someone fleeing the room around the time of the incident.”

  Frank felt his body growing tense again. He could not believe the detectives had been so careless. “Someone ran from the room and you didn’t think that clue was worth investigating?”

  “We had a suspect with motive, means, and opportunity covered in the victim’s blood. No, we did not find it necessary at the time. Obviously, that is no longer the case.”

  “I cannot believe this bullshit. Fuckin’ negligent bullshit.”

  “There was a lot of confusion in the beginning. Witnesses are not always reliable. Mrs. Mason, please understand that we took all the necessary steps to get justice for you.”

  Removing her hand from Frank’s, Lisa gently squeezed his shoulder. Frank understood.

  “Well, thank you, Detective Baptiste, for the update, but it’s been a long few weeks, and she needs to rest before our flight.”

  “Oh, you’re leaving? So soon?”

  “No offense, but my wife was nearly killed. I was arrested and jailed.”

  “Point taken, but I do hope ya will return one day. Don’t let this memory be the last ya have of this place.”

  Frank stood to walk the detective to the door. “We will see, I guess.”

  “I suppose. I did not want to say this in front of her, but—”

  “This is her room. If this is another tactic to intimidate me . . .”

  “No, I was coming to visit you next.”

  Fran
k shifted his weight, leaning on the door frame for support. “What is it?”

  “I am not going to stop until I find out who did this.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want to tell her that?”

  “I don’t need to tell her. You are the one that needed to hear it.”

  Frank responded defensively. “Are you saying that I am still a suspect?” Frank shouted in a whisper. “Are you serious? After what you just said in there?”

  “I am saying that I will never stop looking. No matter how long it takes.”

  “We appreciate you being zealous in your pursuit of the truth,” Frank retorted, his statement dripping with sarcasm.

  “I am.”

  “Yeah, well, you do that. Let us know what you find.”

  Frank watched the detective walk down the hall toward the elevators before quietly closing the door. He returned to the living area to find Lisa fast asleep. He walked over to her, careful not to wake her, kissing her on the forehead before he proceeded to pack her things.

  Uncertain of the detective’s angle, Frank knew he needed to watch his step. Regardless of what he may think, there was a very real threat to Lisa’s safety out there, and it was Frank’s duty to protect her. Nothing would hurt Lisa ever again if he had any say in the matter.

  Chapter 30

  Waking up on the floor of her den, Sophie scrunched her nose as the lingering scent of bourbon assaulted her senses, turning her stomach. Unable to decipher whether the scent was self-inflicted or coming from the walls, Sophie buried her face in her pillow to get some “fresh air.” The strawberries ironed out her temporary abdominal complications but highlighted the dust storm living in her throat.

  She looked around warily, searching for something to fuse the fragmented pieces of her memory. Her head hurt like she’d slept in a rehearsal hall with a heavy metal band. A cacophony of every kind of unpleasant sound rang out, sending waves of pain out from her cranium like a boomerang sealed in the hardest sediment known to man. Peter was gone but had left her a glass of water and two aspirin a few inches from her head. Rolling over onto her stomach, she tossed the pills into her mouth and drank the water. Thankfully, the curtains were pulled close, protecting her fragile blues from the high noon sun.

  The aspirin immediately began relieving her headache. She stood very slowly and surveyed the room. He had wiped the bourbon from the wall and cleaned up the broken glass. She shuffled to her favorite chair in the corner of the room, took a seat, and grabbed the phone. The ringer was off. No wonder she had been able to sleep uninterrupted. Peter was so thoughtful.

  She’d contact him later. Business first. She needed a new plan. Hoping he’d have good news for her, she decided to make Steven her first call.

  “Steven, this is Mrs. Lewis.”

  “Afternoon, Mrs. Lewis . . .” Steven replied, uncertain what to make of her formal speak.

  “I am Mrs. Lewis to you until you prove that you are worth my money,” Sophie retorted, responding to the question hidden in his greeting. She toyed with the possibility of this entire ordeal being an elaborate scam in order to drain her account. She needed to micromanage until she received some assurance that her fear was unfounded. Being in the shadow of R. Freemont had taught her that sophisticated people aren’t more decent than others; they are simply better at hiding.

  “What can you tell me about the Charlie situation?” she asked.

  “She has not filed a case with the court yet. No word from her or any legal representation either. Maybe she decided to cut her losses and leave.”

  Sophie knew that was not the case. She was definitely still around, but she couldn’t figure out why Charlie hadn’t gotten legal representation. Given everything Sophie knew, she could concoct a reasonably good case. There was no way Sophie was going to allow her a victory, but still, she could try.

  “She is here. I don’t know why she is quiet right now, but she’s here. She’s waiting for something.”

  “I suppose you want me to find her.” His tone reflected his distress and irritation.

  Sophie did not care how he felt about what she asked of him. “I may have said some things in poor taste last night. Drunks don’t always say the most politically correct things, especially when speaking in anger.”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Mrs. Lewis.”

  Sophie scoffed. “I had not intended to. You are paid for your services. If you’re sensitive to somewhat harsh language, then perhaps you need to look at another line of work. Otherwise, compose yourself. Stop complaining and do the work that I am paying you to do.”

  “Of course. I am more than capable of doing my work.”

  “Glad to hear it. I trust I’ll hear from you later with good news?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Sophie disconnected the call feeling even less certain about Steven’s ability to maneuver. This was a gross oversight and could be very costly for her. If her desire to cremate him should come to Michelle’s attention, Sophie would be without an explanation for her. Michelle’s inquisitive nature would certainly send her digging into Sophie’s cave of wonder. It was the absolute last thing she needed to happen. No. Steven needed to figure this out or Sophie would be forced to call in the reserves. Richard was old and senile, but still very connected. She had no desire to speak with him, but if it came to that, she knew what exactly what to say.

  Baaadinnng, baaading . . . baaading. The phone rang in her hand.

  “Hello?”

  “Luce? Finally up?”

  Sophie could hear the hustle and bustle of the hospital in the background. “Yes, and thank you for everything.”

  “I told you that I would take care of you. Many years ago.”

  “That you did.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause before he went on. “I only have a few minutes. I am actually at work. Checking in with you. I have been calling off and on.”

  “The ringer was off.”

  “I thought you needed some rest. You were pretty worked up last night.”

  “I am sorry about that. Rough day.”

  “Do you want to talk about it later on?”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.” Sophie was not certain if she could trust Peter, and even if she could, she didn’t think it would be fair to burden him with her misdeeds.

  “I left a number for a therapist friend of mine. Did you see it on the table?”

  Sophie looked at the table again and saw the small note written on the back of a receipt for the first time. Picking it up, she read aloud, “Dr. Miya Shepherd?” For some reason, the name sounded familiar, but Sophie knew she had never crossed paths with any doctors in that profession.

  “You need to talk to someone. I somewhat understand your resistance in regards to being completely open with me. I highly recommend you see someone soon. Your episodes are getting worse, Luce. I can’t watch you fall apart like this.”

  If only you knew the half of it, Sophie thought. “I shouldn’t have involved you in this, Peter.”

  “No, you should have told me what was going on the day I asked after the blow-up with Michelle. Instead, you lied, and they have progressed since then. You have been through a lot. You can’t keep trying to do it all alone.”

  “I know.”

  “Listen, I am being paged. I have to go, but we’ll talk later.”

  “Sure. Just call.”

  Sophie sat in silence for a long while after that, pondering his offer. Perhaps he was correct and she needed help. She needed to tell someone, and Peter seemed best suited for the role. He had waited twenty-plus years to be with her. If that did not show his commitment, she did not know what would.

  She rose, aiming to retreat to her master bath to shower. By the time she arrived at her master suite on the other side of her home, she had made a very important decision. She would confess her truth—the whole naked, ugly truth. Hopefully he could handle it.

  Chapter 31

  Michelle emerged from the shower feeling new, believ
ing the piping hot stream spouting from the rainfall-style shower head to have possessed baptismal powers. Pushing her feet across the square earth-tone stone tiles, Michelle felt a plenitude of strength. It was not unlike surges of hope that had surfaced before, tempting her to believe that she could possibly survive this moment, until the mirror, which consistently proved itself to be a sobering agent, suggested otherwise. As she extended her arm, carving an oval out of the fog on the mirror’s face with the palm of her hand, she suspected this moment would be no different.

  Michelle studied the misty image before her and felt the pulse of a thousand prayers ossifying her spirit, anchoring her feet. It was a stark contrast to her swollen eyes, giving credence to the bottomless pit her life had become. Her emotions tumbled about like shoes in a dryer. The movement provided an audible record for her ears alone, echoing the unceasing cramping of her heart, the rhythm of her hurt. Nothing could soothe the ache of knowing all that was lost to her. She knew that she needed to move from this moment, but she didn’t know how. She felt cemented, trapped between what was and what could have been.

  Armand had blindsided her. Their relationship, in the midst of transition, had its fair share of uncomfortable moments, but she had not expected this. After everything that had transpired in the last few months, she had finally released herself to him, unlocking her heart completely when she accepted his proposal, giving him full access to all of who she was. He had proven himself to be a man of action, willfully putting himself in danger to save both her and her sister. She had no reason to question his devotion, no reason to suspect that he thought so little of the promise they had made to one another.

  The longer Michelle planted herself in front of the waist-length mirror, admiring her imperfections, the more at peace she found herself. Slowly, her psyche began to heal, finding jolts of courage in the scars she could not ignore. This chapter would end eventually, and she’d start the next. The thought invigorated her, peeling back her layers, exposing her most vulnerable parts.