by Lotta Smith
“Look, every moment I spent with him is my treasure… and I’m sure it will stay that way,” she said, clasping my hand tightly. “Actually, I’d been doubting if I made him happy, and wondering if I’d kept him from marrying someone he could produce offspring with… without having difficulties, someone he actually loved. You know, those thoughts have been tormenting me like a thorn in my side. But if you say Michael loved me in his own way, and if that’s true… I couldn’t be happier.”
“Of course he was happy. And he truly cherished his marriage to you,” Mr. Macomber said enthusiastically, as if he was at one of his rallies, giving a speech to his supporters. “Michael Rosenberg was the happiest husband in this universe in his own unique way. It’s true he had to fight the demon inside him, going so far as to seek religious help. Then again, that’s only because he loved you from the bottom of his heart. He couldn’t offer love in the way commonly perceived as ordinary, but in my opinion, he was trying to offer as deep a love as anyone—if not deeper—to you. He was so keen on making you happy, to the point of almost seeming desperate. Do you think anyone would be so lame as to try so hard for someone he doesn’t even like?”
“I’m so glad to hear that. Thank you.” Her voice shaky, her eyes welling with tears, Karen nodded and tried to smile.
CHAPTER 9
Karen regained her composure in no time. As soon as she recovered, she summoned her butler and the maids to the salon to tidy up. The light was turned on, the candles and the Ouija board were removed, and so were the shards of broken glass. With Mr. Silverman’s overseeing, a makeshift window made of plastic film was applied to the open space so the cold winds didn’t come in anymore.
As soon as the residue of the séance was removed, the salon looked like an ordinary, elegant place to gather for tea and chatting.
No one mentioned things like the murder and the spirits anymore, and it seemed as if everyone gathered had forgotten about what they’d been discussing so far. Perhaps we could have left as if nothing peculiar had happened. Maybe everyone could have gone back to their lives. I’d read somewhere that pretending everything was fine when it was far from okay was crucial to survival in the upper crust of society.
Until Rick opened his mouth, abruptly asking, “So, what was the reason for Mr. Rosenberg’s murder? Assuming from the way you guys were steering the séance, it didn’t sound like a crime out of grudge.”
Father Harten shook his head. “I have no idea about the motive, but… I’ve heard that Michael and Mr. Grasso used to be very close.”
“First of all, Mr. Grasso is a very close friend of ours,” Karen interjected before the priest could continue. “If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have survived the hard economic crash about a decade ago.”
Father Harten dropped his gaze to the floor. “The video footage doesn’t come with audio, so I couldn’t figure out what their conversation was about. Initially, they were having what seemed to be a friendly chat, but at some point, they seemed to disagree about something. It morphed into an apparently heated argument, and it didn’t take long for them to engage in a scuffle, pushing and bumping each other. And then… Michael fell off the stairs and landed on the living room floor.”
The priest shut his eyes, as if he was reliving the very moment he didn’t even experience.
“And?” Rick prompted Father Harten to go on as he fell silent, sporting deep frown lines between the eyes.
“As Mrs. Rosenberg has mentioned previously, Michael had a bad knee. I think that played a huge role in this tragedy. In the video, he was captured attempting to recover his balance, but the moment he reached for the bad knee, grimacing, he fell off the stairs, straight to the marble floor… hitting his head very hard. Mr. Grasso was still there and witnessed the fall. He glanced at Michael, who was shaking and apparently groaning on the floor, but he didn’t even try to offer help before he literally ran away from the condo. Michael seemed to have tried to get up, but when he attempted to rise using his arms, they buckled and he collapsed on the floor. Look, he didn’t die immediately. Michael was convulsing for a while, but he grew weaker and weaker, gradually but certainly, until his body convulsed for the last time and ceased to move.”
His voice was shaky from apparent anguish and what appeared to be heartache. As he spoke, tears streamed from his eyes.
“Father Harten… please,” Karen muttered, shaking her head. She seemed to be trying to hold her feelings inside, but that time, fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Father Harten screamed, “If only Mr. Grasso called the ambulance, Michael could still be alive! You know what? Mr. Grasso left Michael suffering his slow death. If you don’t call that a murder, I don’t know what is!”
At that point, the priest was practically bawling. Mr. Macomber patted him gently on the shoulder. “It’s okay. It looks like you’re too upset to provide a coherent explanation. Relax and let me do that for you, okay?”
When Father Harten nodded, Rick glanced at Mr. Macomber and Ken Tillard. “I’m still having difficulty fathoming the reason why the two of you decided to take part in this ridiculous stunt.”
“Ridiculous?” Mr. Macomber started to chuckle, but soon he was having a fit of guffaws. “You’re right, this is ridiculous, but we couldn’t find any other way to achieve our goal.”
“Your goal?” Rick raised an eyebrow.
Mr. Macomber’s face turned serious. “Look, one of the cafés and restaurants Michael invested in is well-known among the gentlemen who have specific preferences. I frequent this particular nightclub. I wasn’t that close with him, but of course we knew each other, and we had many drinks together. I wasn’t romantically involved with him, but I liked his personality. When he passed away, I was so shocked and devastated. It felt almost like something very important that used to anchor me to this world had disappeared all of a sudden. A few days after his funeral, I went to see Father Harten. I knew he was very close to Michael, and I had a hunch that he was the only person with whom I could share my grief.” He took a handkerchief out of his suit pocket, offering it to Father Harten, but the priest dismissed it with a shake of his head.
“I’m listening,” Rick interjected.
Wiping his own sweaty forehead, Mr. Macomber went on. “At that meeting, I was informed about the video for the first time. I can’t tell you much about its details, as it includes something that could damage me. Michael used that Gramercy condo not just for unwinding but for business as well, so basically the video contained many business meetings that could be used as evidence to prove corruption. Michael was a truly good man, but at the same time, he was a savvy CEO. Look, Mr. Rowling, you can’t always stick to just doing the right things. Sometimes you can’t help but be a part of dirty deeds, right?” He looked at Rick as if he was expecting the son of USCAB’s CEO to nod in agreement and commiserate with the politician himself.
I half expected Rick to give the man a cold stare, but his face was unreadable. Instead of agreeing or denying Mr. Macomber’s words, he said matter-of-factly, “Now I can see that you’re the one who persuaded Father Harten to hide the video.”
Shaking his head, Mr. Macomber offered the same smile that he used whenever he had media coverage. “Look, even Father Harten himself was aware that the presence of the video was extremely sensitive and it couldn’t be leaked so easily. Still, he was determined to help Mr. Grasso do the right thing by turning himself in to the police. I couldn’t say no.” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Of course, it wasn’t easy, as the video was supposed to be nonexistent. We spent a ton of time thinking and brainstorming until we came to the realization that it wouldn’t be possible to do that with just the two of us. At that time, we decided to seek help from Ken here. After all, we needed some kind of stage to obtain Mr. Grasso’s confession, and we needed Ken’s expertise in acting in terms of setting up that stage. He was very close to Michael, and indeed, he’s been a lot of help. He’s the one who came up with the idea of utilizing a séance
tonight.”
As his name was mentioned, the actor sucked in a breath. With his eyes wide, he froze there for a while until he turned to Karen, muttering, “I apologize for setting this up. I wanted to make it something less offensive than it turned out to be tonight, but I guess I failed.”
Unlike the other two men, he didn’t go on and on with excuses. On the contrary, he looked purely remorseful for being a part of this.
“So, you were also captured on the video, right? And it wasn’t something you felt good about being leaked.” Rick tilted his head to the side. Ken didn’t say anything, but the silence itself spoke louder than any words. Rick snorted. “Hmm, so basically, you’ve been blackmailed into this circus. What a lovely companionship! I’m impressed.”
Without being provoked by Rick’s sarcastic words, Ken said calmly, “Mr. Rosenberg had been helping me since the early phase of my career. Also as a theater company, we owed him a lot for his help. Thanks to his support, young actors with our company have been getting more exposure outside Broadway.”
“Oh, I remember that. Michael used to be so excited whenever he saw you and other actors with your company on TV,” Karen responded, but her tone sounded absentminded. Perhaps she might have been having difficulties accepting Father Harten’s story.
I felt terrible for her. Had I been in her shoes and someone came up to me with news that Rick loved men more than me, I would definitely have difficulties accepting the story as the truth. Except, considering his track record of dating habits and everything, it would be hard to even imagine him having intimate relationships with men, much less accept it as a fact.
I watched Karen biting her lip and staring at a point of the oak table, as if she was trying to look for the answer.
Again, silence ruled the salon.
“So, did Mr. Grasso really push Mr. Rosenberg off the stairs?” I asked, half wishing and half suspecting that the trio was lying. After all, they’d staged a fake séance when the spirit of Mr. Rosenberg wasn’t even there, and I didn’t see any reason to believe that they were telling the truth after all. On top of all that, I knew for a fact that a death by falling off the stairs tended to be tricky. It could be an accident as much as it could be a murder. Giselle McCambridge, one of my ghostly pals, died following a great fall from the grand staircase at her mansion, but it wasn’t necessarily a murder.
Twitching a little, as if he was taken aback to see me for the first time, Father Harten glared at me. Mr. Macomber and Ken Tillard joined him and looked at me, but then the politician and actor exchanged glances.
After a pause, Mr. Macomber said, “The three of us watched the scene over and over—to the point that all of us got sick.” He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head slowly. “To tell the truth, it’s not crystal clear if Mr. Grasso indeed pushed Michael off the stairs. Thanks to the camera’s angle, the scene before the fall wasn’t exactly captured on the video. Still, the scene with Mr. Grasso literally running away as soon as Michael dropped to the ground was captured. Michael seemed to have fainted following the fall, so he was motionless for a while. We assumed that Mr. Grasso thought he’d killed Michael, and that was why he ran.”
“Still, Michael wasn’t dead at that point. If only Grasso didn’t run away, if he’d taken a moment to call the ambulance, Michael could have survived,” Father Harten interjected with a trembling voice. Ken didn’t say anything, but he was offering small nods over and over.
“Is that really so?” Karen questioned.
“What did you say?” Mr. Macomber muttered.
“I mean, your story is just about hypotheses. It’s like coulda, woulda, yadda, yadda, yadda—nothing more,” she said sharply.
“Excuse me?” The trio gasped with their mouths agape. With their eyes wide open, they glared at her as if to challenge her.
Karen didn’t budge at all. “Okay, so if Mr. Grasso had called the ambulance, Michael could have survived. Then again, considering he ended up having a massive brain hemorrhage topped with fractures in the skull and vertebras, I can’t help being skeptical about his prognosis.” Then she looked at me. “Mandy, I heard you went to med school. What is your opinion about my late husband’s prognosis, assuming he’d survived?”
“Well… I….” I fumbled with my words. I didn’t see that question coming.
“Mandy, you can answer that question!” Jackie cheered me. To make her point, she was carrying pom-poms in her hands.
I took a breath and responded, “I can’t give you a clear answer, as each case is different and so is each patient. Then again, a severe brain hemorrhage accompanied with the fractures in the skull and vertebrae is serious. Some damages to the central nervous system structures, such as the spinal cord, are irreversible. It’s true that, if Mr. Grasso had called the ambulance, Mr. Rosenberg could have lived longer. Still, it could have extended his life by just minutes, hours, or days. Even if he could have lived months or years longer, I can’t predict if his life would be happy in case he needed things like life support.” I glanced at Karen, unsure if I’d offered the right answer.
“Thank you, Mandy.” She nodded. “I think she’s right. Of course, it’s possible for Michael to be still around if Mr. Grasso had taken a few minutes to call the ambulance. Still, it’s just another hypothesis. Also, it’s possible that my husband tripped over one of the stairs and had a fall, or that he couldn’t have survived even if Mr. Grasso had called the ambulance. Am I wrong?”
“Wh-what are you saying?” Ken stuttered.
“You’re not sure that Mr. Grasso had murderous intentions, are you?” Karen looked at Father Harten with piercing eyes, and then she moved her eyes toward Mr. Macomber and Ken Tillard.
“I’m not sure, but…,” Mr. Macomber mumbled.
“On top of all that, the video contains sensitive information that shouldn’t be presented to the public. And that’s why you came to the conclusion that you couldn’t report it to the police like any other evidence,” she went on.
“That’s right.” Father Harten nodded. His voice wasn’t shaking anymore. “Now that our plan didn’t work out as intended, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to report it to the police.”
As the priest made his declaration in a strong tone, Mr. Macomber and Ken Tillard lifted their heads hurriedly.
“That’s… Father Harten, that’s not going to end well. You shouldn’t do that.” Mr. Macomber’s words were commanding, but his tone sounded more like pleading.
“Still, he… Mr. Grasso shouldn’t be pardoned just like that,” Father Harten shot back.
“Pardon him? Who’s going to pardon Mr. Grasso? God? Or you, Father? Is Michael really wishing for the arrest of Mr. Grasso? I doubt so.” Karen shook her head.
“What?” Father Harten gasped.
“She mentioned her skepticism over your point, and her logic is justifiable. Revenge in the name of justice isn’t on Mr. Rosenberg’s bucket list,” Rick chimed in.
“Why don’t you shut up for a moment? You have no idea what we’ve been through, and it’s none of your business!” Mr. Macomber snapped at him. His face had turned crimson.
“I understand that you’ve been actively participating in the cover-up of an incident that you insist is a murder by Mr. Grasso,” Rick responded nonchalantly. “And so far, all you’ve done is conduct a fake séance without even summoning the spirit of the late Mr. Rosenberg. Look, dead people are dead. They’re just chunks of decomposing proteins under the ground. They don’t want anything. How can they think and feel when they’re dead?”
“How could you say that? How could you be so disrespectful to us, him, and everyone!” By that time, Mr. Macomber was practically foaming at the corners of his mouth.
“Hey, mister, why don’t you stop pretending to be a good guy? You persuaded Father Fraud there to hide that video!” Jackie snapped at the politician. “And stop being rude to Rick. So he can sound brazen sometimes, but underneath his tough façade is a really, really sweet guy. You have no idea h
ow he’s always nice and kind to people like us. Oh, and don’t forget that he’s super sweet toward Clara!”
Mr. Macomber couldn’t hear Jackie, but seeing the ghost lecturing a condescending old guy, I had to bite my lip, trying not to chuckle.
In the meantime, Rick was cool as always in front of the fuming politician. “I’m just stating the obvious.”
To my surprise, Karen chuckled and then broke into a fit of laughter. “Mr. Macomber, you don’t have to yell at Rick here. He’s a fine young man, and I’m sure he doesn’t have hearing difficulty. Besides, what he’s saying is true.” Closing her eyes, she let out a small sigh that sounded so sad and resigned. When she opened them again, a streak of tears rolled down her right cheek. Wiping them away, she went on. “A part of me wanted to object to him, indignantly tell him that my husband isn’t just a mass of decomposing proteins… but then again, he’s right. Michael isn’t here… or at his grave. Look, I speak to him in his den, in the living room, and when I’m visiting him at his grave, wishing and praying that he’d answer me. Oh, how many times I’ve talked to him and he’s never answered me. I even wish to see him in my dreams, but no….”
“But you’re not forgiving Mr. Grasso… or are you?” Mr. Macomber muttered, as if he was going through a daydream.
Without answering him, she offered a small, enigmatic smile. Mr. Macomber opened his mouth like he had something to say, but he fell silent as he met her eyes.
CHAPTER 10
When the silence grew so heavy it felt almost deafening, Karen spoke. “It’s not like that, Ed.” She turned to Mr. Macomber, shaking her head slowly. “Then again, as Rick says, dead men don’t talk. And we, the living humans left behind, must go on with life whether you like it or not. And of course, even though Michael has departed to a better place, the trace of his life and his honor remain here… and they must be preserved.”
“Karen?” Mr. Macomber looked into her face.
